(Editor’s note: Most people who were living in 1963 have strong memories of the assassination of President John Kennedy. But Miller’s Margaret Ann Walsh has a closer connection… following are her recollections as a Washington D.C. resident.)
The words most often quoted from President Kennedy’s inaugural address were, “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.”
Little did anyone know on that day, that this very young president, whose presidency was so filled with promise, would make the supreme sacrifice of his life, for his country.
Friday, Nov. 22, 1963 dawned a beautiful, sunny, fall day in the nation’s capitol—certainly not the kind of day that would portend the anguish and tragedy that would unfold throughout the United States and the Free World.
At the time, I was employed as an executive secretary to the legal counsel for the Post Office Department.
Since it was such a beautiful day, I decided to walk up to Hecht’s Department Store and do some shopping over my lunch hour.
I just returned to my office when the Red Telephone on my boss’s desk began ringing. I hurried to answer it, and the voice on the other end said, “This is the White House calling. President Kennedy has just been shot in Dallas. We fear that it may be a conspiracy to shoot all cabinet officials, and we want them to report immediately to the White House.” I replied that Mr. Doyle was at lunch, but I would get hold of him immediately.
I rushed to my phone to call Cere’s Restaurant, only to learn that all of the telephone lines in the D.C. metro area were jammed (and would remain that way throughout the weekend). So I literally ran the five blocks to the restaurant in five-inch heels, and met up with Mr. Doyle on his way back to the office.
Not much work was accomplished the remainder of the afternoon, as we all crowded around the few (black and white!) TVs available throughout the department.
The voice and demeanor of chief correspondent Walter Cronkite with his news bulletin to the world is forever etched in my mind. He looked directly into the camera, removed his glasses and reported, with tears in his eyes and his voice choked with emotion, “President John F. Kennedy died at Parkland Hospital, Dallas, Texas, at 1 p.m. Eastern Standard Time this afternoon.” There was a long pause. “Some 20 minutes ago.” He laid down his papers, bowed his head and continued, “This is Walter Cronkite, CBS News, reporting.”
We all just stared at the TV, as I’m sure everyone in the United States did, in complete silence and disbelief. This just could not be true!
When my roommate Glenda and I walked out of the Post Office Department at 5 p.m., we were met with a city we scarcely recognized.
The usual hustle and bustle and noise of honking horns was completely absent that night. The city that was eerily quiet, almost completely devoid of vehicular traffic and honking horns. People were totally at a loss as where to go, what to do, what to say. Their handsome, young, intelligent, sophisticated, elegant, erudite leader, filled with so much promise, was dead.
It was a beautiful, warm evening so we all simply wandered around, talking softly to each other, and to strangers we would never see again.
Somehow, word spread that Jacqueline would be returning to the White House, aboard Air Force One, at approximately 10 p.m.
So we walked over to the White House, where a large crowd had already gathered. We learned that Vice President Johnson, with Lady Bird Johnson and Jacqueline by his side, had been administered the Oath of Office as President of the United States aboard Air Force One, as it was in flight from Dallas to Washington, D.C.
We stood by as the group deplaned, with Jacqueline, eyes cast downward, still wearing the elegant fuchsia Chanel suit she had begun the day with, now stained with the blood of her husband, as she had cradled his head in her lap as the limousine had sped from the motorcade to Parkland Hospital in Dallas.
Glenda and I decided to walk the five miles to our apartment in Arlington, Va. Not until we arrived at our apartment did we realize that we had done all of our walking in five-inch heels! Such was our emotional state that our feet didn’t even hurt!
Saturday was a dark day, with pouring rain all day long, so we stayed in the apartment, glued to the TV, as dignitaries from all over the world began to arrive in Washington, to offer their condolences to the Kennedy family, and to attend the President’s funeral.
Sunday was a cold, sunny day. I attended Mass at St. Stephen’s Church in Georgetown. The front pew was cordoned off with a black rope. This was where the President, Jacqueline, Caroline and John-John had worshipped every Sunday.
After Mass, I walked down to the White House, where a very large crowd had already gathered. People had driven and flown in from all across the country to express their condolences and sorrow for the horrific event that had taken place Friday.
Of course, all this took place long before the advent of cell phones. However, several people were listening to transistor radios…and shots rang out once again in Dallas. We soon learned that a nightclub owner, Jack Ruby, had shot and killed Lee Harvey Oswald, the accused assassin of the President, as he was being moved from one jail cell to another. Would the shooting never stop? What was this world coming to?
Monday was cold and cloudy, as we lined Pennsylvania Avenue, watching the funeral caisson, pulled by a riderless horse, as it wound its way from the White House to the Capitol Rotunda, where President Kennedy would lie in state. Immediately behind the caisson was a long procession led by Jacqueline, her head held high, her face covered by a full-length veil, striding at a brisk pace. At her side was the President’s brother, Robert, followed by members of the Kennedy family, world leaders and members of the President’s Cabinet. The throng of people lining the sidewalk was utterly silent…there was not a sound to be heard, except the clip-clap of the horse’s feet.
At the Rotunda, Jacqueline and Caroline knelt, kissed the casket and offered a silent prayer, while John-John stood silently by. As Jacqueline and Caroline rose, John-John joined them and offered a perfect military salute in honor of his father. This became the picture that was seen around the world! What poignant memories it evokes.
Following the Funeral Mass at St. Matthew’s Cathedral, the procession moved by motorcade to Arlington National Cemetery. The sound of Taps rang out and Cardinals Cushing and Hannan offered the final prayers of farewell as Jacqueline knelt to light the Eternal Flame.
All was still. And so ended the reign of Camelot…all too soon.