I was a graduate student at the University of Utah. With three small children. Working on my Master’s Degree–surrounded by 3X5 cards and card boxes. My father, an electrician with a keen interest in electronics, re-built a television set and gave it to me that quarter. He thought that a television to watch while I copied and filed cards would be a great help. And it was. I was less apt to become tense at the repetitive task ahead of me.
My husband was a dairy farmer. When he came in for lunch, he wanted to get the weather for the coming hours to know what cows to shelter and what feed to cover from the November elements.
So, on 22 November 1963, we both sat eating our lunch watching the news. The news flash of President Kennedy’s death broke across the screen. And our lives changed forever.
The rebuilt television lasted 4 days–it was on almost 24/7 during that fateful event. We cried. We watched in shock as each part of that drama played out across our minds and hearts. Each image imbedded in our psyches.
What evil could create such chaos? And such out-pouring of love and respect for the man, his family, the nation he lead. We didn’t think in terms of conspiracy on the 22nd. By the 26th, all sorts of speculation filled our home and the homes of our family members.
Several years later, a close personal friend and genealogy client informed me that her husband was an FBI agent, now retired. It was assignment to carry Oswald’s rifle cuffed to his wrist and arm 24/7 while the rifle was subjected to tests and logistics. At that time, this agent and many of his colleagues at the Bureau were questioning whether one man and one gun and one bullet could possibly leave behind such carnage.
Years later still, my associate Afton and I were in Dallas TX doing research at the Public Library. We left early one day and went to the School Book Depository where there is now a Museum to that dreadful day and the President who lost his life there. In vain we looked for a trace of the evidence that a conspiracy could have taken place. On their bookshelves there was not one volume of the many that had come forth since 1963 questioning what happened. Not even a copy of the Warren Commission findings.
“How strange,” Afton and I said to each other. “How strange!”
Since I haven’t been back to the Museum, I have no way to know if this omission has been corrected. If not, how strange! Your favorite genealogist, Arlene Eakle http://arleneeakle.com
PS Evidence has always fascinated me. I own and have read almost all of the books and articles on President Kennedy’s assassination. Lots of evidence and lots of speculation. And my comment is still “How strange!”