Slaying of President Kennedy Remembered 56 Years Later

By Abagail Chartier

            New Bedford, one of the southern-most cities in Massachusetts, was already in motion at six in the morning on a Friday. For late November, it was surprisingly warm – a cool fifty with only a slight windchill. There was no snow, no rain, but it was windy. A good day for kids to walk to school, their shoes crunching beneath leaves that littered the sidewalks of New Bedford’s North end residencies. One little girl, however, wasn’t going to be walking to school today. 

            Over on Chicopee Street, a fever was keeping seven-year-old Jane Swiszcz from joining her older brother on their walk to St. Kilian’s school, owned by St. Kilian’s Church, where the two of them attended for school. Deemed too sick by her mother, Swiszcz was overjoyed about getting to stay home. Home, however, was not where she’d be staying for the day. With her parents busy, Jane was sent across the street to be watched by her aunt and godmother, Olive Weaver Paquin.

Paquin was a stay-at-home type of woman. Married to a politician, Zephier Paquin, the pair had one daughter together; a model family unit. Paquin was a perfect example of what a 1963 woman strived to be – ladylike, well put together, and perfectly mannered. She engaged in very feminine activities such as knitting; she had quite a knack for it, and had many knitted items from blankets to clothes in her home. Paquin’s short grey hair was always curled, and her makeup was always pristine before she went out, though she wouldn’t be going out today as she had Swiszcz to watch.

Swiszcz dressed in her play clothes as she headed over to the tan house across the street. Her cousin, Paquin’s daughter Lisa, was headed out and to her school, St. Therese’s. Only nine months apart, the two were playmates. Swiszcz was disappointed that they wouldn’t be getting to play today, but she said goodbye to her cousin as she entered the house.

            The pair’s Friday would be relaxing. Paquin was a knitter and would have Swiszcz help her for a while. They’d sit in the master bedroom, on the bed with beautiful crochet blankets and the room kept near spotless. At another point, Paquin would allow her niece to go to her cousin’s room to go and play. Swiszcz came over with her favorite doll as a comfort item, and Lisa had several toys in her room as well as a deck of cards to play solitaire. Lisa, as most children did, would come home for school for lunch. The cousins would eat together before Lisa headed back to her school.

            It wasn’t until after lunch when Paquin and Swiszcz went back to doing quiet, low energy activities that everything changed.

***

            Dallas, Texas was loud and celebratory. The President and the First Lady of the United States were in town and to attend a luncheon at the Dallas Trade Mart with leaders in the area. On the way, there was a parade for the motorcade that the president arrived in. President Kennedy’s goal was to appeal to the people of Dallas and get as much publicity as possible. Many flocked to see them. Instead of going an easier route to their destination, the motorcade passed through Dealey Plaza. The Kennedys waved from their convertible, along with Texas Governor John Connally and his wife who were with them.

“Mr. President, you can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you,” Governor Connally’s wife said as she turned to look at him.

“No, you certainly can’t,” President Kennedy agreed.

Moments after shots rang out in the plaza.

***

President John F. Kennedy was declared dead at 1 p.m. Dallas time at the Parkland Hospital. A priest rushed to give him his last rites, but by the time the priest arrived, Kennedy was already dead. The surgeons could do nothing to save him, as the first to see him, Dr. Perry, would declare. There was, sadly, no hope. 

            Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson requested that no announcement be made about the death of President Kennedy until after he left Parkland for Air Force One where he could be sworn in as the next President of the United States.

***

            There was a radio in the den of the Paquin residence that was often on. Mrs. Paquin listened to it as she did housework. Swiszcz was sitting on the braided rug placed over the hardwood floor, quietly minding her own business to keep out of her aunt’s hair as an announcement came through. It cut right through the middle of a song, which was what caught the attention of those in the house.

            We interrupt this program to bring you a special bulletin from ABC Radio. Here is a special bulletin from Dallas, Texas: 'THREE SHOTS WERE FIRED AT PRESIDENT KENNEDY'S MOTORCADE TODAY IN DOWNTOWN DALLAS, TEXAS.’ This is ABC Radio. To repeat: 'in Dallas, Texas, three shots were fired at President Kennedy's motorcade today.' The president now making a two-day speaking tour of Texas. We're going to stand by for more details on the incident in Dallas. Stay tuned to your ABC station for further details. Now, we return you to your regular program.

            ABC would not return to their regular schedule programming that day.

***

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEVfKKjODBg

***

            Swiszcz was brought back to her house after her parents picked her brother up from school. It was let out early. Normally St. Kilian’s was let out around three, a good while earlier than other schools in the area, but today was different. Kids would either walk home or be picked up by their parents. At the time, they didn’t know it, but school wouldn’t be held the following Monday.

            The family, like many across the nation, were glued to the TV as they watched for updates. On the TV in the den, CBS News played instead of the typical soap operas that played during the day. Swiszcz caught part of Walter Cronkite’s report announcing that President Kennedy had been killed in the shooting announced earlier. Later, while Charles Osgood was reporting, Swiszcz was shooed away from the TV as her crying mother attempted to shelter her.

            Swiszcz cried as well. The seven-year-old was afraid for herself, but mostly for the President’s children. She wondered what Kennedy’s kids would do, now that they no longer had a father. How would they take it? Were they going to be okay? What were they doing? Were they with their mother? Would they remember him?

            What if she lost her own father?

Dinner that night was tense. Swiszcz’s mother cried several times after the announcement of Kennedy’s death was made, though she did attempt to power through it. She was nervous, as most of the nation was, about safety. Was is just Kennedy the killer was after? Was it more than that? Who else could they hurt? Who else would they hurt?

Unspoken questions made the tension in the air thick. It would stay this way for days.

***

            Life carried on, because it had to. Thanksgiving was coming up the following Thursday, and it was Swiszcz’s house that the family would gather in. There would be aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents instead of just her usual family unit with her parents, older brother, and younger brother.

She couldn’t help but wonder what the Kennedy kids were doing for Thanksgiving this year. Would they even celebrate it? How could they with this tragedy that she knew so little about?

She only got little glimpses of it, as her mother and father tried to keep her away from it. It was hard, as it was all over the radio and TV. She didn’t know about the weapon used or any details, really. Only the basics. Swiszcz knew that they found Lee Harvey Oswald, the suspected killer. She was across the street with Lisa watching on their colored TV as Oswald’s transfer from city to county jail was being filmed. They watched, as did most of the nation, Oswald was fatally shot on live television by Jack Ruby. That clip would play over and over on TV, and she would be turned away from it repeatedly. Lucky for her parents, Thanksgiving would be a distraction for their children, Swiszcz included.

***

            Nearly fifty-six years later much has changed for Jane Swiszcz, including getting glasses and growing quite a bit taller. She works at Stonehill College in Easton, Massachusetts, only forty minutes from New Bedford where she has lived her whole life. She enjoys her job as a reference and government documents librarian, a position she’s held for twenty-six years. She doesn’t think of the tragedy she and others in the United States lived through very often; there is far too much news today going on to think of the past.

When November 22^nd rolls around, however, for just a few moments she allows herself to remember.

Daily Life Disrupted by Assassination

By Georgiana Ploss

   Waking up to her 6:45 alarm, Beth could already hear her five-and-a-half-month-old and three-year-old daughters blabbering to themselves. Daintily slipping out of bed onto an ornate rug, Beth could feel the November chill that was beginning to permeate New Jersey’s air and changed into a pair of slacks and a top to combat the coolness. Gracefully passing the bathroom door, where her husband was tying his tie, Beth sang out a Morning, Ed. Ed nodded towards her general direction and continued getting ready for the day.

   Crossing the upstairs landing, Beth floated into the nursery and picked the five-and-a-half-month-old from her crib, where she had been attentively watching Beth. Good morning to you too, Eileen, Beth crooned as the baby babbled with excitement. Changing Eileen’s diaper and returning her to her pajamas, Beth put Eileen on the floor where she almost instantaneously crawled towards the door to her sister’s room. Following Eileen, Beth had just enough time to wish Ed luck in him meeting while he rushed downstairs to a car awaiting his arrival.

   Walking into the bedroom adjacent to Eileen’s, Beth saw Meg sitting cross-legged on her ‘big-girl bed’ playing with her stuffed-doll affectionately named Doll-Doll. Perking up, just as her little sister did when Beth entered the nursery, Meg leaped off the bed in total preparedness for the day. Beth smiled and greeted her eldest child before scooping up Eileen and turning back to the upstairs landing to head downstairs. Confident that Meg was trailing behind her, as she could hear the familiar squeaks of the stairs, Beth went into the kitchen to prepare their breakfast.

   After giving each child a cupful of Cheerios to tied them over, Beth turned towards the stove to cook some oatmeal. Glancing out the window to her left, Beth could see her neighbor, Mr. Urion getting into his car, which, no matter the make or model, was always white. Deciding it was a beautiful day to go shopping for some food necessities, Beth turned back to her children, who had successfully made a mess of their food, with two fresh-made bowls of oatmeal and four sippy cups: two with milk and two with orange juice. After breakfast, Beth took the kids upstairs to get dressed and then sat them down in front of her bedroom’s small television with Captain Kangaroo playing as she took her own shower and got ready for the day.

***

   Finishing getting on the kids’ jackets and shoes, Beth put Eileen into the baby carriage, took Meg’s hand, and walked out the front door headed for town. The walk to the store, which was across town, took Beth nine minutes to complete on her own, but took 20 minutes with the kids since Meg was at the age where she wanted to pick up every stick and rock. It was nice to go slowly, though, Beth admitted to herself. The tree’s leaves were just finishing to change color from a dull green to bright reds and oranges, making the Victorian houses and office buildings look like they were part of a movie set.

   Arriving at the store, Beth picked up milk, bread, and a bag of chocolate chips: it seemed like the perfect day to have cookies, with which Meg agreed. Finalizing her purchase, Beth exited the store and instead of turning left to go home, turned right: it was also the perfect day to window shop. At this point, Eileen had fallen asleep, and Meg had crawled onto the seat of the baby carriage, which made the walk slightly easier and much quicker. Noting a few stores in which Beth wanted to look in, she turned around a made the journey back to her house.

   Once home and the kids had had a lunch of Spaghetti-O's and carrots, Beth put the two kids down for their afternoon naps and went back into the kitchen to prepare her own lunch. Flipping on the radio for a bit of noise, Beth turned to WCAU Philadelphia.

   “… was shot today just as his motorcade left downtown Dallas. Mrs. Kennedy jumped up and grabbed Mr. Kennedy. She cried, ‘oh no.’ The motorcade sped on. A photographer said he saw blood on the president’s head…” was all Beth heard before she sprinted into the living room to flip on the television.

   CBS NEWS BULLETIN was all the television screen read, but a reporter was calmly, yet urgently, saying, “… a Secret Serviceman has been, uh was heard to shout from the car, ‘he’s dead.’ whether he referred to President Kennedy or not is not yet known.

   Standing in shock only for a moment, Beth sprinted back into the kitchen, lunch forgotten, to telephone Ed, who was still at work. Not being able to reach him, since the line was jammed, Beth ran upstairs to check on the kids. They were peacefully asleep. She was alone. Should I wake them? Beth wondered. She did not. Instead, she raced back downstairs to try the phone again. Still blocked.

   Walking into the living room again and staring at the CBS NEWS BULLETIN screen, thoughts darted around Beth’s head: What’s going to happen next? Is this a war? Will my children be okay? Is my husband okay? There were no answers, but there was a child crying from upstairs. The sound surprised her at first since it seemed so simple and insignificant, but she shook her head, told herself to keep it together, and went upstairs to calm the crying child. Feeling comfort in holding the child, Beth brought Meg downstairs to the living room where, on the television, the blank screen had changed to Walter Cronkite, giving his news report confirming the shooting of President Kennedy.

   “Mommy,” Meg’s little voice caught the attention of Beth. “I hungry.”

   Beth nodded slowly and, without turning off the television, headed back to the kitchen to give Meg an afternoon snack of Cheerios and Hawaiian Punch. It was a normal day for the children, who were not old enough to understand. It gave the day a weird vibe, Beth decided, having to act so normally when something so life-changing had happened.

   Upon hearing the front door open, Beth scrambled from the kitchen into the front hall, where Ed had just walked in. “Did you hear?” Beth asked. Ed nodded.

   “Yes. It’s a room with no doors. What’s going to happen? Where are the windows in this room? What are we going to do?” Ed abruptly headed towards the television, where the report was still playing, as Beth went back to the kitchen to collect Meg.

   The telephone rang suddenly. Everything seemed sudden at the moment. Beth answered. It was a church member calling asking if she and her husband would like to join at church tonight, at 7, to pray. She did, Ed had to stay home with the kids. The rest of the afternoon followed as a normal day since it revolved around the kids, except the radio and television stayed on all afternoon.

   When Beth arrived at the church at 6:30, it was packed. Many there were not regular churchgoers: they came to give comfort and be comforted. The church was a good place to go. People seemed to become one, praying for happiness and answers.

K for Kennedy

By Anastasia Pumphrey

Dallas, Texas is 1,780 miles away from Weymouth, Massachusetts. Its population in 1963 was just over a million, at 1.06 million people. Weymouth, a little town tucked beneath Boston on the shoulder of the mighty Cape Cod, ran in at just over 50,000 residents who called it home. That was enough for them. It had a connectedness that you could feel – they used to say if you were born in Weymouth, you got married in Weymouth, and eventually would grow old in Weymouth. Mary Ellen Pumphrey could look at her five Irish Catholic siblings, three sisters and two brothers, and know that was true. This was where family was.

In 1963 she was nine years old, and fourth grade was in full swing at Immaculate Conception School. It was Friday, November 22, a day that would reverberate 1,780 miles and beyond, bringing a bustling small town, a big city, and even uniform-clad school children on the playground to silence. Mary Ellen did not know this yet.

The sun was up by 6:45 a.m. The sky was clearing from Thursday’s showers, and it was a bit warmer than the day before. 60 degrees was a treat for New England in November. The newspaper was brought to her house on Clinton Road just before she had to leave for school. The front page of The Boston Globe read, “Escape Probers Blast Charles St. Jail,” but below that in the middle of the page was a photo of a smiling Jaqueline Kennedy, her husband, the president, behind her.

John F. Kennedy had a special connection to the Pumphrey family. He had been married just 10 years prior in 1953 to Jacqueline by Cardinal Richard Cushing, who went on to baptize the president’s children as well as give a speech at his inauguration in 1961. Cardinal Cushing also happened to be Mary Ellen’s grandfather’s first cousin. That is, her first cousin-once-removed.

Her mother would say there was a slight chance she was related to the Kennedy’s since both families were so large, as her mother Barbara was one of 12 Cushing siblings, but there was no way of knowing for sure. Boston, Weymouth in particular, had a connection to the president. He was born so close, and in a way that made him family as much as anyone else in the small town.

On this mild day in November, Mary Ellen continued to school just like any other day. She kissed her mother goodbye, waved at her 4-month-old brother Mark, and didn’t think twice about John F. Kennedy.

Around 2 o’clock, she was sitting in class. The other fourth graders around her, all in matching uniform, all tried their hardest to pay attention to the nun in front of them giving them the lesson. Schools were relatively noisy usually, but there was something about the morning even that was a little more quiet than usual.

The intercom came on. “Students, teacher, the president has been shot in the head.” It clicked off. That was the last sound in the building for the next 10 minutes.

Mary Ellen did not know silence until this moment. Nobody in the school moved. Maybe out of shock, maybe out of fear, but above all she could feel the sadness welling in Immaculate Conception. It continued to swell, until it engulfed an entire nation with it. Immaculate Conception, Weymouth, the United States— all changed forever.

Within the next hour, Mary Ellen was back on the bus ride home. Even that was silent. Every child on the bus wore a look of disbelief, their brows furrowed with worry. The president had been shot. That was all she knew.

When she got home, Mary Ellen came in as quietly as she could. She saw her mother. “What’s going on?” She asked. Barbara hugged her oldest daughter.

Walter Cronkite’s voice on the television broke the silence. “From Dallas, Texas, the flash, apparently official, President Kennedy died at 1 p.m. Central Standard Time, 2 o’clock Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago. Vice President Johnson has left the hospital in Dallas, but we do not know to where he as preceded. Presumably, he will be taking the Oath of Office shortly and become the 36^th president of the United States.”

November 25^th, three days later, and almost every school in the country was cancelled. Mary Ellen sat with her parents and siblings, those of whom were old enough to pay attention, as four out of five were under four, to watch her president’s funeral. Cardinal Cushing was there, of course. The somber music was the only sound a the country of sadness embarking on a violent time in history. Mary Ellen could remember his being elected when she was in the first grade just learning to read; “K” was always for Kennedy. There would now be new first-graders next fall who would be learning “J” for Johnson, but it would not be the same. Nothing would be the same, and even in small towns like Weymouth, 1,780 miles from where the president was killed, things never felt the same.

Photo from Boston Globe

The Day the Dream Died

By Noah Powell

       April 2nd, 1968, Jersey City, New Jersey. The Powells lived in a two family unit on Claremont Avenue. They lived on the top floor with two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen and living room. It was a lower income, urban neighborhood. Outside, the sidewalks were cracked. The houses all had a deck, a first floor with one door and window, and two windows on the second floor. These houses were stacked tight to each other, as if the builder wanted to squeeze as many people possible. Everyone here shared the same experiences in this predominantly black neighborhood. The street of Claremont Avenue was filled with friendships and connections, creating a close community.
       The Powells had a similar routine every day. Elijah and Barbara rotated who would wake up before work to cook breakfast for their 5-year-old daughter, Karen, and newborn son Terence, leaving for work. Whoever didn’t work that day took care of the kids. Before leaving, they would talk about what was going on in the town and the world. Recently, with Martin Luther King Jr.’s march coming up, that was what all the talk was about. With all of the work he was doing for the black community, everyone was talking about him.
       “He was an icon,” Elijah Powell remembered years later.
       Today, before Elijah left, the conversation was about Barbara’s last chance to go to Memphis with her friends to attend Dr. King’s march.
       Barbara wanted to go so bad. She knew what an amazing experience it would be to witness his speech. But she also knew she had to be home to take care of her kids and go to work.
       The next day, April 3, 1968 was the day of King’s return to Memphis. A week earlier he led a march that turned very violent. It was odd considering King’s commitment to non-violent protest. The march’s path was down Beale Street, known for the musician W.C. Handy who helped create blues. It was a typical main street in town, filled with local shops. The purpose of this march was to support the 1968 sanitation workers strike. This strike started in February of 1968, when two garbage collectors were crushed to death by a malfunctioning truck. This was not seen as the only example of mistreatment of black employees. It was also the last straw to many in the community. This protest was supported by both the black and white members of the community. The strike was followed up with nonviolent protests, like sit ins and marches. The police used mace and tear gas against the protestors, and they arrested hundreds of them. On March 18th, King Jr. addressed the largest indoor crowd ever seen during the Civil Rights Movement supporting the March.
       “You are demonstrating that we can stick together. You are demonstrating that we are all tied in a single garment of destiny, and that if one black person suffers, if one black person is down, we are all down,” King Jr. said.
       Dr. King. wanted his next march in Memphis to be paired with a city wide work stoppage. Along with this, 22,000 students decided to skip school to participate in the
march. Thousands of people parading down the street with posters stating “I am a Man”. The streets were filled with people, and was led by Dr.King who linked arms to those next to him. During the march, a group of young kids self titled as the “Invaders” started destroying all the shops and started a riot. The police were prepared for any opportunity they could get to stop this march and were aligned opposite those marching, with gas masks on and clubs in hand. The attacked both the peaceful protesters and those creating violence. They followed civilians into a temple and threw tear gas at them, they beat people on the streets with clubs, and shot and killed a 16 year old boy. Dr. King originally did not want to return to Memphis, but realized this city was a symbol for nonviolent protest.
       Barbara followed what Dr. King was doing on April 3rd. Barbara stopped what she was doing when it was time for Dr. King’s speech and went to the TV to watch. King was at the Mason Temple ,Church of God in Christ Headquarters, speaking to a packed audience. The audience was not just an all black crowd, but filled with white people as well. This was not Dr. King’s biggest audience, but it was filled with hundreds of press members. He stood at the podium and began to speak.
       “Well, I don't know what will happen now,” Dr. King was saying. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about

anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord”.
       After the speech, the people who watched the speech on Claremont Ave praised Dr. King. Barbara heard her neighbors voices when they talked about it. She was mesmerized by how eloquently Dr. King talked, and how powerful his message was. Her friends who called her right after the speech told her it was one of the best things they had ever witnessed.
       April 4th, 1968. Both Elijah and Barbara were off from work. Barbara was home with the kids while Elijah went to the barbershop for a haircut.
Barbara kept up with little chores around the house as the TV played in the background. She knew that there would be some coverage of King throughout the day.
Elijah’s barber shop was your typical black barbershop. Three barbers and a row of chairs along the wall. Everyone who went in was a part of the community. They were united through skin color and renewed hopes for the future. There was also friendly banter, as they poked fun at each other.
       Then CBS anchor Walter Cronkite cut into the regular television broadcast.
       “Dr. Martin Luther King, the apostle of non-violence in the civil rights movement, has been shot to death in Memphis, Tennessee," Cronkite said. “Police have issued an all-points bulletin for a well-dressed, young white man seen running from the scene. Officers also reportedly chased and fired on a radio-equipped car containing two white men,”.

       This news felt like a dagger through the hearts of the Powells.
Someone who heard the report told Elijah about the assassination. Who would want to kill him?
       People all over the town were in disbelief. Dr. King’s murder was the topic of conversation everywhere.
       Barbara kept thinking, like others, why would someone do this?
       On his way home from the barber shop, Elijah felt the pain in the community. Dr. King was not just a public figure. He felt like a family member.
       When Elijah got home from the barbershop, everyone in the neighborhood was outside, talking about what just had happened.
       The streets and sidewalks of Claremont Avenue was filled with all those who resided there, trying to gather their thoughts on this traumatic experience. These people lost one of their own. Recurring questions of who would want to do this, and how this could happen. The most powerful conversations going on were the ones about what happens next. To the black community Dr. King was a beacon of light. He gave them hope for a brighter future, he provided them with a belief that things would get better. But in an instant, that was gone. People were stuck wondering who’s going to take care of them now. A feeling of emptiness overcame the Powells, and those that they spoke to. Could things now take a turn for the worst with Dr. King gone? Worst of all, what is going to happen to my family?
       In the following days leading up to the funeral, Elijah, Barbara and others waited for another powerful black figure to take charge for what Dr. King started. There was a void.
       On the day of the funeral, everyone was watched the service on TV. The Powell family did the same. It was a powerful and sad moment.
      “I think the white community and black community equally, at least the ones that I know, all felt the same way. I know the girls that I talked to at work felt the same way that I did. It was so emotional and disappointing seeing a tragedy like this,” said Barbara.
       The funeral service was led by Rev. Ralph Abernathy at Dr. King’s home church, Ebenezer Baptist. On the TV, people could see celebrities, presidential candidates and other civil rights leaders all in attendance. Outside of the church, 60,000 people listened to the service through loudspeakers.
Elijah watched the service; for the most part in silence. At one point, he asked Karen why she was crying. He didn’t realize that someone that young felt the impact of this loss.
       Years later, Barbara still remembers the day of his speech through his assassination and funeral. To her, it is very hard to forget. She had one regret.
       “I really wish I took advantage of the opportunity to go see him. I took it for granted, like you take a concert for granted thinking I could just go next time. So when this happened I was especially hurt,” Barbara said.