Understanding President Kennedy
By Larry Berz
I’m approaching 60 years old. My hair is quite gray, I’m rather wrinkled and eccentric. I bend down more slowly and rise up even more slowly. My reaction time is longer, my ability to process problems more problematic. My memory is more nostalgic than practical. I’ve enjoyed the wonders of childhood, school, jobs, career, love, marriage, children/grandchildren, home and house.
I’ve been exposed to aging, death, grief and dying. And taxes. My circumstantial world of affairs sounds even more impressive: Civil Rights, Vietnam, China, the atomic and hydrogen bombs, Moon landings, Liberation and Fundamentalism, Watergate, September 11th, to name a few. Now, more than ever, I’m looking for answers, big answers to understand what a dear friend, Professor Mel Gershman once posed to me years back: What’s it all about?
Somehow, a small fry like me on a pale blue dot of a planet still hopes and dreams to change this world, perhaps to improve its conduct and sensitivity- to honor our material efforts on this planet and to encourage the dear people who occupy it. I cannot think of any more important quest.
What’s daunting to consider remains the rather miserable flawed attempts of men and women impressively more qualified to execute that role than myself. That’s what leads me some 50 years too late to rather desperately wrestle to understand President John Fitzgerald Kennedy in a personal way. Not the man, mind you. Historians and pundits unearthed enough controversial details about the man. No, I place my hope in assessing the ideals communicated through his unforgettable public voice that somehow sustains my dreams in an ideal American way accessible to us all.
I’m a middle aged guy now, older and crankier. In the course of the last eight months, I’ve walked some 500 miles on the highways and byways of our communities fired by a Kennedy legacy challenging us to pioneer “new frontiers” in our personal lives. Although the tragedy of November 22, 1963 haunts our better selves, the eloquence of our President’s mission should overshadow the grief his death entails. That’s a call for all of us.
Larry Berz, director of Easton’s Francis Malcolm Planetarium and astronomy instructor at the Maine School of Science and Mathematics, spent late November, 1963 with his family by a small black and white television watching the death of our President Kennedy. Now he walks for new frontiers in the color of our daily lives.
Was it really 50 years ago?
By Mike Lange
Nov. 22, 1963 was a routine day for me at Fort Knox, Ky. I was on guard duty, which wasn’t a big deal because I usually lucked out with an easy post.
I was a radio repairman in an armored battalion and counted on having guard duty at least twice a month. I was in Korea the previous year, and guard duty came up twice as often.
Fort Knox, as you probably know, is a huge military base that also houses the nation’s gold bullion. Ordinary GI’s don’t guard it, however. I think they had a security force with weaponry that the average Joe wouldn’t be trusted with.
As usual, I dressed up in my starched fatigues, dug out my inspection-only boots from the locker and joined my buddies at the guard barracks.
Sometime between noon and 1 p.m., someone viewing the 14-inch black-and-white TV tucked in a corner of the building yelled, “The president has been shot!”
I never saw a bunch of GI’s move that fast. The guard commander, a Hispanic 1st lieutenant, was half watching the TV broadcast and half looking at his watch. Whether we liked it or not, duty called. We were on a 12-hour rotating shift and the inspection was looming in minutes.
But damn it, the President of the United State was shot! He was our commander in chief. Were we being invaded? Were the Russians getting even for the Bay of Pigs?
Eventually the lieutenant quietly, but firmly, ushered us out the door into formation.
But he stayed inside for one final look at the TV broadcast.
Five minutes later, he came out with tears in his eyes. “Men, the President of the United States is dead.”
I was numb. Guard inspections usually include scrutiny of your weapon, uniform and knowledge of the chain of command and general orders. I had no idea what the lieutenant asked me or even if he looked at my M-14.
Eventually, reality set in. The same nagging questions came up as we headed to our posts. Who did it and why? Should we be extra-careful tonight? Are there foreign enemy agents watching us?
But this was only Part 1.
I did my 4-hour tour, tried to sleep for a while and went back on duty the next morning. Just when we were ready to pack up and head back to our home barracks, we took one last glance at the TV and, incredulously, saw Jack Ruby gun down Lee Harvey Oswald.
Now things were really getting bizarre. What was Oswald’s motive? What connection did Ruby have to Kennedy or Oswald?
After resting a few hours, I jumped in my car and took a slow ride around the post. It was as quiet as a tomb. There was no music in the enlisted club. Even if the jukebox hadn’t been unplugged, I doubt if anyone would have played it. Radio stations either ran nonstop coverage of the funeral preparations or soft classical music.
Yes, it was 50 years ago. But unlike some countries where an assassination would throw the populace into chaos, we survived. We gained strength through adversity.
And above all, we learned never to take anything for granted, even the life of our Commander in Chief.
Mike Lange is a staff writer with the Piscataquis Observer., a sister publication in Dover-Foxcroft.
