Darker Days: The Death of JFK

Francesca Simon

JFK Narrative 

October 29, 2019 

It was early in the morning that cold Friday in November of 1963 in Findland Ohio when 20-year -old Georgeann Simon was walking up to the 5 story brick RCA factory where she was working. She was in a better mood than usual because it was a Friday. She had one more shift to get through until it was the weekend and she couldn’t wait to spend some one-on one-time with her new  1 year old baby named John, after her husband.

She walked into the building and found her seat in the long aisles that spread out throughout the factory. She immediately started to work on the transition switch she had been working hard on all week, hoping that the day would go by faster if she lost herself in her job. By one o’clock, she had successfully put one transition switch together and was about to start on the next one, when she heard the little beep the loud speaker makes before someone makes an announcement.   

She was hoping they were going to announce free donuts in the breakroom again.  Everyone stopped to what the person on the loud speaker was going to say.

 “I regret to inform you that our president, John F. Kennedy has been shot and killed in Dallas, Texas this afternoon,” the mans voice said.

In that moment, the upwards of 100 people in the factory froze. It was as if someone pressed a pause button, no one moved a muscle or said anything. The factory was so quiet, Georgeann  felt as if she could hear the rapid heart beat of the person sitting right next to her. Georgeann kept her eyes glued on the transition switch in front of her, waiting for someone to break the agonizing silence.

As she slowly lifted up her head, she saw the young man sitting across from her wipe a tear from his eye with the cuff of his shirt. As she looked around the room, it seemed everyone was crying in the factory, including her. There were no details given, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the president was dead, a man who was extremely popular and well liked by his country who had lost his life at 46 years-old.

With only two hours left in her shift, Georgeann was in a daze for the rest of the day. She couldn’t leave work early because she wouldn’t get paid for the full day. She had a new baby at home she needed to support, but it was hard for her to focus on her work. Time moved slowly. Every minute that passed seemed like an hour, she kept hearing the same words by co-workers: “I need to go home and watch the news”. There was no television in the factory. People could only listen to the radio. All they knew was someone had shot JFK. All they knew was that their president was dead.

As soon as the clock hit 3, everyone who worked the morning shift gathered their belongings and left in silence. She kept her head down and walked quickly to the bus station so she could finally go home. Georgeann felt as if she was in a daze and in a dream. Her heart felt heavy looking out the window on her way home. It took about 12 minutes from the bus stop to her one story, small white house. When she arrived home, she rushed passed her mother-in-law Gene who was watching her newborn and went into the family room where the television was. Her husband John was working until 10 at Bell in Corporate right down the street. There was a clothing hanger working as an antenna. She clicked the side button until she got to channel 5, turned up the volume, and sat down on her couch.

The first image she saw on the television was film footage of people laying on the ground at the plaza in Dallas minutes after the shooting trying to protect themselves from a gunman. Hundreds of people were sent into a complete panic at the first sound of the gun shot. Police officers were scrambling to contain the crowd. 

Walter Cronkite came on the screen. “From Dallas, Texas, the flash apparently official President Kennedy died at 1 p.m. central standard time” he said while talking his glasses off. Cronkite looked distraught as he shuffled through his papers and repeatedly look his glasses on and off. Gene entered the room and stood by the doorway and saw Georgeann shed a tear, “You okay?” she said in a low voice. “I will be” said Georgeann.

As Georgeann laid in bed that night, she stared at the ceiling trying to fall asleep. She was still trying to process everything that had happened that day, but every time she closed her eyes all she could see was Walter Cronkite announcing that the president was dead. She couldn’t understand how anyone in their right mind would want to hurt such a kind, down to earth individual. Even though her husband John was fast asleep right next to her, she felt completely alone. 

The day of the funeral, Georgeann could not watch the live broadcast because she was at work. She made sure to tell John to grab a copy of the paper so she could read it once she got home. The photo on the cover of the paper was John F. Kennedy’s son, John F. Kennedy junior saluting his fathers casket surrounded by hundreds and thousands of people. Having a brand new baby boy, this image struck Georgeann and she couldn’t imagine her baby John losing his father at such a young age. She sat there and stared at the picture, and that day she didn’t even read the newspaper. The image struck a chord with her, and she couldn’t bring herself to read the paper until the following week.

To this day, Georgeann still keeps that newspaper at her home underneath her bed. She keeps it there to remind herself that life is short, and anything can happen to anyone at any time. She will always remember JFK as an honorable man who inspired millions and would have done anything for his country. She is proud that her first born son shares the same name as such a reputable man.

Small Town Grieves President Kennedy

By Lily Whitten

Small Town Grieves President Kennedy

Elaine Enochs lived a simple life in many ways. She grew up in Lincoln, Maine, population 4,541 and she enjoyed the benefits of a small, safe town. She enjoyed going to the bowling alley and the movie theater. She liked going to the roller-skating rink on the weekends. She rode her bike around the small town, waving to others. She would walk around Lincoln alone. She would ride in her mother’s Pontiac without a seatbelt. The town was safe but even Lincoln could not escape a national tragedy. 

Elaine lived in a large white farmhouse, a comfortable home for her large family of six. Her father was a classic family man. He provided for his family even when it meant traveling for weeks at a time then returning on the weekends occasionally. He was a professional salesman, selling vacuum cleaners. Elaine remembers always seeing him in a suit. Her mother had brown curly hair. She was a housewife. She always wore cat-eye glasses with bright red lipstick. She could be identified by the sound of her high heels.

Elaine was the middle child. She was overshadowed by her older brother, Robert. He was seventeen at the time and a reckless teenager. He enjoyed going to parties frequently and had a habit of staying out late and sneaking back into the house as the sun came up. He was well-liked and popular, but he was not around the family much. Elaine’s two younger sisters required the most attention from her mother. Mary Jane was seven and the youngest Joann was five. Elaine kept to herself most of the time.

November 22, 1963 started as a normal day for Elaine. She rode the bus to Ella P. Burr Elementary school. She was wearing a home-made floral dress and sat quietly with her legs crossed at her desk. Her permed brown hair hung off her face, some curls hugged her chin. Her mother was a hairdresser and never let her leave the house with unstyled hair. Each night for as long as she could remember, she slept with curlers in her hair. At age twelve, she had permed hair. Sitting in school she glanced out the window. The sky was clear, and the wind lightly blew. Just earlier the class had recited the Pledge of Allegiance.

The kids returned from lunch and filed into their seats. They were still rowdy from recess. They squirmed in their seats ready for the afternoon lesson. Their teacher walked in and closed the door. She had curled black hair and black cat eye-glasses. The door opened and a voice called her out of the room. After a minute, she returned. She was softly crying. Tears fell from her eyes but she managed to muster up a few words.

“The president has been shot,” she said.

The faces of the young children went blank. The kids sat in their seats silently. The class was dismissed and school was not held until the next week. The next few hours were dipped in a fog. Elaine could not recall the bus ride home. Her mind shut down.

When she returned home, the television was already turned on to the news. Her mother paced the house, restless. The rooms of the house were filled with the sound of a manly voice. The voice of Walter Cronkite echoed to every part of the house alerting all the members of the family of the latest updates. Cronkite was the most popular CBS news anchor at the time. The family relied on Cronkite to relay any updates. When their eyes were not glued to the screen, they were listening.

On their small screen, in black and white. Cronkite sat at a desk and spoke into a thin microphone. The camera zoomed into his face. His hair was slicked back neatly, and his bushy eyebrows hardly moved while he was speaking. He reached for his chunky black reading glasses. He stared somberly into the camera, Elaine felt like he was talking directly to her. He fidgeted with his glasses and repeatedly looked down at the desk like the words were almost too hard for him to get out.

“President Kennedy died at 1 Central Standard Time 2 Eastern Standard Time, 38 minutes ago,” he said.

The death of the president rocked the small and patriotic town. It invited shock and fear into the all-American family’s home. Elaine’s neighbors dropped their flags to half-staff. In the days following, everywhere Elaine went she overheard whispers of fear and concern. She wondered what was going to happen to the country. In the grocery store, people spent more time gossiping than food shopping.

President Kennedy’s funeral was broadcasted on November 25. Again, her family gathered together in the small living room. They watched solemnly. No one said a word. The younger children were silent even though they did not understand what was happening. The faces of thousands of citizens were featured on the screen.

On Thursday, November 28, the family gathered in front of the television again. Elaine and her father watched the giant balloons stride down the street for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. That Thanksgiving was quieter than usual. The family had an open-door policy with neighbors and family but on that day, the front door was never opened. Her mother cooked a feast as usual. She brought out the good china for the holiday. Elaine recalls only seeing the blue china set on special occasions. In the middle of the table were candles wrapped in plastic. Her mother always put them out for display but never burned them. The family gathered around the table. This was the first time all of the family dined together since the news. They turned off the radio and the television. Though the country suffered a great loss, the family was able to unite in the wake of chaos.

Katelyn Clark- Midterm- JFK Assassination

John F. Kennedy Assassination

By: Katelyn Clark

It was a cool and sunny day in November 1963 in Pittsfield, Massachusetts and Deborah Grandshaw was in gym class in the convent basement at Mount Carmel Grammar School. 

Grandshaw, 13, with beautiful long brown hair is surprised to see Mother Superior come in. She called the nun teaching gym over and they spoke privately. 

Before Deborah knew it, the entire school was walking to the church, Father Santini went up to the altar and told them they needed to pray.  They all bowed their heads and put their hands together as he spoke.

“The President has been shot,” said Father Santini. “We need to all pray for him.”

The entire church was silent, Deborah started crying. So were others in the church.

They were all scared and sad, John F. Kennedy was a Massachusetts native once, the first Catholic president, Catholic school loved him.  His photo hung in the school hallway when you walked into the lobby. 

Deborah was sent home early, along with the rest of the school.  She arrived home after walking home from school to her brother Michael, who was eight years old, and her sister Marie, three years old. 

Her mother, 34, and father, 36, are very sad, coming home from work with tear stained faces.  Michael knows enough to cry with his sister and parents.  Marie is too young to understand.

The whole world stopped, everything was standing still since the news broke JFK was shot.  Everyone was sitting around their small boxed televisions and barely breathing.

No one knows what is going to happen to the country Deborah remembers.  She knew that the vice president was going to take over, but that didn’t make her feel any better. The President of the United States was dying.

“Mother Superior called, no one is going to school today.  She says to pray for the Kennedys,” her mother told her the next day

They all huddled around the television again, days later, to watch the broadcast of the funeral. 

She couldn’t believe how sad Jacqueline Kennedy looked walking behind the horse drawn hearse.  It was almost as if it should have been a movie, but this was real life.

The family cried silently watching on television. Little John John salute his father’s coffin. Deborah imagines being in that position, looking at Michael, the two were close in age.

Two days later the country was in shock again when it was announced that Lee Harvey Oswald, who was charged with murdering the president, had been shot in the basement of Dallas Police Headquarters by a man named Jack Ruby.

In the days following, people returned to work and school.  The only thing anyone was talking about was the assassination and how Oswald had also been murdered on November 24^th. 

This will change the United States, remembers Grandshaw.  She knew she had witnessed a piece of history that would be talked about forever.