Pivotal events in our lives demand total recall–where we were, what we saw, who was with us, how our hearts jumped to our throats so we could hardly speak, how our brains interpreted the events, and how we reacted to them. November 22, 1963, the Challenger disaster, 9/11. They so engrain themselves into our personal psyches that they need no anniversarial reminders. They’re just part of us.
I was not particularly impressed with JFK’s presidency; all show and little substance, but he did have the power to make us dream.
Jackie Kennedy became the royal princess, her highness, the closest thing we’ve come to in adulation of a First Lady. She earned every accolade as she led the nation in mourning.
But I have another experience with her to tell.
She was redecorating the White House, with the help of inspiration she gave to American schoolkids. I was beginning my second year of teaching. My students wrote a book of poetry, sold it for $.25 each, and earned an amazing $87.00 to send to the White House. The week before JFK’s assassination, they received a personal note from Jacqueline Kennedy acknowledging their gift, telling my 7-9th graders that she had read their poetry and appreciated the hard work they had done for her project. It was signed by her, and we had sent a copy to the newspaper. We had just cut out the article and posted it on the bulletin board the morning of November 22nd.
About 1:00 the teachers were told to step outside the classroom to meet in the hall. The principal told us the news. We had no TV’s in the classroom in those days, so each of us, most of us with tears in our eyes, were charged with telling our students that the President was dead. We were told an announcement would be forthcoming over the PA about school closings as soon as the District could notify the parents.
I was with my favorite class of seventh graders. You can’t imagine, or perhaps you can, how emotional an experience it was. They identified with Jackie Kennedy and the children, and there were copious tears. It was a teachable moment for me.
I remember clearly telling them that the First Family knew of their love and concern, that it was all right to be sad, and that they should write in their journals about their feelings. And write they did. We filled bulletin boards with their writing, made copies and sent those to Jackie Kennedy too, in an envelope marked, “From your friends at Ockawamic Central School in Philmont, New York.” I was amazed at the depth of their emotion, the outpouring of love for Caroline and John John, and for the maturity of their promises to remember this day forever.
It is indelibly etched in mine.
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