JFK
Caught the 48 Hours recap of the JFK shooting of 50 years ago. I have read quite a bit about it, of course, through the years, but I had never seen live footage of the shooting or a documented recap of it all.
All of it was sort of horrifying.
I suppose that the shooting should take center stage, but just how we lived back then was fascinating to me. There was a shot of men entering the police station at one point and there was a hat on each man's head, and I'm not talking a Yankee hat either.
A regular old top hat.
Women were all in dresses and high-heels and everyone sort of looked dignified. I didn't see nary one eye piercing.
And then the way that the news was reported. They showed concerned Americans gathered around a transistor radio and most of the people they interviewed talked about the loud-speaker announcement that they heard.
Everyone alive knew exactly where they were and what they were doing.
"Grandma just had Uncle John," I told Sam. "He was born that morning."
"What time did JFK get shot?" Sam asked.
"They said he died at 2:00 Eastern Time," I said. "See if Grandma remembers what time Uncle John was born."
Of course I was well aware that my brother had been born first. Mom told us often about the nurse crying in the recovery room as Mom opened her eyes.
"He died," the nurse said.
"Who died?" My mother shrieked. She even struggled to a sitting position. "Who died?"
"The president," the nurse said.
"What're you a idiot?" Mom had screamed. "You don't sit at the foot of my bed after I just delivered a kid and say 'He Died!' Get the hell out of here!!"
And my Mom had a lot more details.
She remembered what she'd eaten the night before - a hot dog with onions. She remembered that she woke in the middle of the night with the first pangs of labor pain. She remembered that Dad had panicked and backed out of the driveway without her in the car, prompting my grandfather to quip:
"When do you think he'll figure it out?"
My Mom and Grandpa had laughed heartily and Dad came in screaming.
Then he promptly drove to the hospital in the sleet at more than 100 MPH. Mom had protested the entire way saying that he was going to kill them all.
"I ain't delivering a baby," he said.
And they had made it.
And one John entered the world as another John was leaving.
Dad, of course, had a little fun with that same dip-shit nurse.
"Have you decided on a name?" The story goes.
"Lee Harvey," Dad had said.
But it was John, of course.
All of it was sort of horrifying.
I suppose that the shooting should take center stage, but just how we lived back then was fascinating to me. There was a shot of men entering the police station at one point and there was a hat on each man's head, and I'm not talking a Yankee hat either.
A regular old top hat.
Women were all in dresses and high-heels and everyone sort of looked dignified. I didn't see nary one eye piercing.
And then the way that the news was reported. They showed concerned Americans gathered around a transistor radio and most of the people they interviewed talked about the loud-speaker announcement that they heard.
Everyone alive knew exactly where they were and what they were doing.
"Grandma just had Uncle John," I told Sam. "He was born that morning."
"What time did JFK get shot?" Sam asked.
"They said he died at 2:00 Eastern Time," I said. "See if Grandma remembers what time Uncle John was born."
Of course I was well aware that my brother had been born first. Mom told us often about the nurse crying in the recovery room as Mom opened her eyes.
"He died," the nurse said.
"Who died?" My mother shrieked. She even struggled to a sitting position. "Who died?"
"The president," the nurse said.
"What're you a idiot?" Mom had screamed. "You don't sit at the foot of my bed after I just delivered a kid and say 'He Died!' Get the hell out of here!!"
And my Mom had a lot more details.
She remembered what she'd eaten the night before - a hot dog with onions. She remembered that she woke in the middle of the night with the first pangs of labor pain. She remembered that Dad had panicked and backed out of the driveway without her in the car, prompting my grandfather to quip:
"When do you think he'll figure it out?"
My Mom and Grandpa had laughed heartily and Dad came in screaming.
Then he promptly drove to the hospital in the sleet at more than 100 MPH. Mom had protested the entire way saying that he was going to kill them all.
"I ain't delivering a baby," he said.
And they had made it.
And one John entered the world as another John was leaving.
Dad, of course, had a little fun with that same dip-shit nurse.
"Have you decided on a name?" The story goes.
"Lee Harvey," Dad had said.
But it was John, of course.
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