Remembering Tragedy

By Hailey O'Connell

            Pat Walker got ready for her city job in the morning. She is a fresh-faced 21-year-old, still living at home with her parents in Warwick, one of 6 girls, and she has always been taught to work hard. She has held a job since she was able to, and has always relied on her own income since her early tweens.

            “It was always important to me to have a cushion,” she explained, remembering her younger years. She is sitting on her plaid red couch, surrounded “We are very lucky, but coming from the bottom you learn the value of a dollar.”

            Pat took the bus to Providence, then walked to her office building. She always got off at the stop that was two blocks away instead of one, so that she got some extra steps in that day. Considering she donned her staple kitten heels She was wearing her new navy coat, despite the temperature reaching nearly sixty degrees.

            “You know when you want to wear something, especially if you spent too much on it,” laughed Pat. “That was my navy coat.”

            Her old office building is now an industrial park, but in 1963 it was the esteemed Connell DuBoulier.

“It is about a block after the main bus stop, then you see the post office, boom, that’s where I worked,” said Pat.

She was in her first three months as a billing clerk and had developed a comfortable banter with her coworkers.

“My coworkers and I were always laughing, but never too much so that our boss noticed,” noted Pat.

Pat was sitting at her desk when her coworker ran in crying. This, according to Pat, wasn’t particularly unusual.

“Sometimes the payroll office became colorful,” said Pat. “A different time, so sometimes people became upset.”

The woman, Barbara, was visibly upset when she entered the crammed billing clerk space.

“I don’t remember Barbara’s last name, but I can tell you two things,” laughed Pat. “She worked in the payroll office and she cried a lot.”

Barbara announced to her coworkers that President John F. Kennedy was shot. Pat remembers that their boss came in to confirm the news, and everyone fell silent. The banter and constant chatter paused, and for once, they were speechless.

“It was just a terrible day, we were given a moment and then we had to go back to work like we always do,” remembered Pat. “But everyone was afraid. What is it that thing Jackie O says, he’s like Camelot you know?”

Nearly 30 miles away, a young 27-year-old laborer was working a temporary job in Moosup, Connecticut. His commute was considered unheard of by his small-town’s standards, but he was aiming to save as much money as he could for his upcoming wedding.

Roarke, at that time 27 and a veteran, was working at a helicopter plant. His transition from being a soldier included a series of odd jobs, and electrical repairs became his favorite trade. The day was overcast, Walt remembers clearly due to the hesitancy a coworker had for testing out some helicopter repairs he had done on the side.

“Awfully cloudy, but we were inside all day anyways,” Walt said. “It was like we were in our own little world until it was time to pack up and go home.”

Walt focused on electrical wiring work, and referenced that as being one of the possible causes of his arthritis.

“My hands used to be my biggest help, now they get in the way most of the time,” laughed Walt.

There were transistor radios scattered about the plant, but none of them were turned on. The week before, the boss had temporarily banned them. Walt admitted that he was disappointed, especially with the upcoming Yankees game coming up that weekend. A born and bred Sox fan, Walt admitted to keeping up with the most prolific enemy of the Sox to stay in the loop. His favorite way to pass time in his shift was to listen to sports commentary, but unfortunately it was no longer an option.

 “My boss wanted us to always be working, so most of the time we only used the radios if we were ahead of schedule,” Walt said. “We just talked to each other.”

A couple of hours into his shift, Walt’s boss emerged from his back office and asked his employees to gather in the back of the room. The men looked around at each other, fearing that someone was about to be fired. Walt was living in a modest apartment, but had set his heart on buying a house. If he lost his job, it would have but a dent in his plan.

However, the news was more shocking than that. Walt’s boss- it was either Bob or Bart- he couldn’t remember his name, announced the president had been shot.

“He had heard it on the radio and wrote down almost a script to tell us,” Walt said. “He didn’t want us to go into a panic or something, so he wrote down the facts and said them to us before someone else could come in and get everyone riled up.”

The men were given about a half an hour to digest the information, some just sat and others pulled out their transistor radios, listening to the minute by minute updates. Many men left to make a quick phone call to check in on loved ones.

Today, Pat and Walt Roarke have been married several decades, and are residing in their home in West Warwick. Their home is two houses down from where Walt grew up. Despite his parents’ fear that he would end up in rural Connecticut, he managed to stay close enough to home to care for them until their old age. The furniture is eclectic, Pat was always taught that antiquing is a good way to find high quality furniture while also being able to negotiate the price. Red Sox memorabilia hangs above the kitchen sink, with the dish towels embroidered to match. Pictures of their grandchildren scatter the walls, as well as quilts. Two of the grandchildren live in New Jersey, about ten minutes outside of New Jersey, and are Yankees fans. A painting of Jesus hangs above the mantel, Walt’s old uniform is framed.

Sitting on the side table is a small framed portrait of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy.