Nov 27, 2016 6 min read

Donald Trump’s election to the presidency might — might — be a turning point in history. We know the assassination of John F. Kennedy was. JFK was cut down in Dallas, Texas, in November 1963 — 53 years ago this month.

Kennedy’s death was a searing event for millions of Americans. My generation especially. We were young and impressionable. I was a high school sophomore, 15 years old. My school was old North Union High School. The building is still there, on Coolspring Street.

For me, the impressions of that day are vivid. Or not.

My classmates and I celebrated our 50th class reunion in September. It was then that I got the idea of asking some of them what they recalled of that day. Maybe it’s not surprising that their recollections diverged from mine — and from each other — in some fundamental ways.

Memory is an elusive thing.

Kennedy suffered his fatal head wound at 12:30 Central Standard Time, 1:30 our time. In any event, early afternoon.

Most of us remember being together in the gym. But what were we doing there? Several of my classmates said a donkey basketball game was underway. (That’s right, a donkey basketball game. With real donkeys. Poor donkeys. Poor human “players.”)

Others recalled a football pep rally. Others just remembered being in the gym for an “assembly.”

In my informal inquiry, limited as it was, there is no general agreement on how we got the news that the president had been shot.

According to one classmate, Jackie Kruper: “I recall we were in a pep rally at the North Union High School gymnasium. Someone (teacher, administrator) announced it from the stage and we were dismissed from school within that hour. I think “it” was the president’s death not the account of the assassination.”

Another classmate, Bernie Quarrick, remembered differently: “About 1:45, Jackie Kruper entered the main door from the hallway to the gym, adjacent to where I was seated in the end bleachers with friends. She was crying and told us she had just heard that President Kennedy had been shot but had no details. Within a minute or two, the assembly was abruptly halted and we were told to return to our homerooms.”

Bernie recalls getting word of the president’s death in Mr. Schuessler’s homeroom.

When I emailed Bernie about the discrepancy he emailed back: “Wow …”

Charlie Martin had this to say, “I believe I was in class with Mr. Crawford when I heard.”

Chuck Duritsa was pretty straightforward. He said, “We were at an event, a basketball game, in the gymnasium when word came that the president had been shot. We all returned to our home rooms and a public address system announcement was made stating the president had died.”

Lois Adams (Lois’ married name is Minnick) said she couldn’t remember “what class I might’ve been in; and I don’t recall everybody going to the gym for the announcement. I had to be there that day; but the only thing that stands out is the bus ride home.”

“Possibly,” Lois said, “we were all in shock.”

At the class reunion, Ed Kacmar told me he remembers me saying “that damn Lyndon Johnson is now president.” That might be true, not because I remember saying it, which I don’t, but because Bernie Quarrick said I said it, too, and Bernie had no idea what Ed had told me.

(I must have been channeling my mother, who once remarked, contemplating LBJ’s dour countenance, “I’d hate to have him for president.” As far as I know, my mother was an Eisenhower voter who grew to love the handsome and dashing JFK.)

The sense that something big and beyond belief took place that November day in 1963 was immediate.

Chuck Duritsa wrote, “The unexpected death of a president was shocking enough, but to have it happen to the young, inspirational leader was all the more difficult to comprehend.

“Being from a blue collar, staunchly Democratic family, the impact was felt deeply at home. We were glued to the television for days.”

Jackie Kruper said, “It is all so vivid … as I write this, my words on the screen blur through the tears. A very, very sad time.

“This event for me, above so many other national benchmarks, will always beg the question, “What if. . .?” What could have or would have been different if he had lived?”

It’s a question that nags Charlie Martin, a veteran of the war in Vietnam. He emailed me, “I was shocked that someone could kill the president of the United States. I don’t think that the full meaning of what happened sinks in until much later in life.

“At an older age you begin to wonder how much this affected your life and the world. Would there have been a Viet Nam War? I think so, he had already sent in advisers. But I believe the outcome would have been totally different, I think we would have fought to win and not merely to appease world opinion.

“Would all of the civil strife and students riots have occurred? I think not. People might have reacted differently to a government that they could trust. I know that no matter what, the world is a worse place because of what happened on 11/22/63.

“PS My granddaughter Deleany was born on 11/22.”

Life goes on.

My own recollection goes something like this: We were watching an alumni-varsity basketball game in the gym when word spread through the stands that the president had been shot. Someone — I believe it was Jake Swaney — said it was a hunting accident. Afterward, in the crowded hallway, came the announcement that the president had died.

I walked home, as I always did. It was chilly and overcast and windy. One of the kids in our group said, inexplicably, that he was glad Kennedy was dead. I think I told him it was a stupid thing to say, though I can’t exactly remember.

On Sunday, two days after the assassination, I was home alone, on the living room couch, eating a piece of my mother’s cake, when I watched, on television, Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald. It was incredible.

I think we had basketball practice on Monday. I played on the junior varsity. Why coach Taylor called a practice on the day of JFK’s funeral is beyond belief. Then, again, maybe he didn’t. It’s what I remember.

Richard Robbins lives in Uniontown and is the author of two books — “Grand Salute: Stories of the World War II Generation” and “Our People.” He can be reached at grandsalutebook@gmail.com.