An old friend, Lee Stone recently wrote an article on his blog (embodiedspace.blogspot.com) about "his old friend, John," which of course is the title of a song in the early seventies about President John F. Kennedy who was asassinated on November 3, 1963. He went on to say that he remembers he was in the library at Central City High School and he told his girlfriend, Diane Wright that they would " always remember where they were at that time." How true that is.
How many of us can remember exactly where we were when important events took place. I, like Lee, was also at Central City High School on that day except I was upstairs in the auditorium for study hall. It was overseen by Mrs. "Lillie" Orndoff who confirmed what we had heard in the hallways before class, that "President John F. Kennedy was wounded in an asassination attempt in Dallas, Texas and was rushed to Dallas Memorial Hospital. It was several minutes later when Mr. Delmas Gish, our principal came over the school intercom system and told us the president had died. It was a both a sad and scary moment. I also remember the days that followed as the nation prepared to bury our thirty-fifth President. That drum beat that was played as the caisson traveled to Arlington Cemetery stayed in my head for months.
I also remember where I was on July 20, 1969 when the crew of Apollo 11 successfully landed their spacecraft on the surface of the moon. I was at the Twilite Drive-In with a date and was aware that the spacecraft had landed but was awaiting the time one of the astronauts would step on the moon's surface. At about 10:00 O'clock, astronaut Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon's surface declaring "this is one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." I had the drive-in's speaker turned off as I listened to the events unfold on WLS radio in Chicago. It's funny that I can remember that moment but to this day I cannot remember who my date was or what the movie was.
For some reason I can't remember where I was when I learned of both Bobby Kennedy's death or Martin Luther King's. It was about that time that I was working up north and actually didn't follow newscasts much in those years. It would be years before I understood their importance. Both were great leaders but because neither was President, I just didn't get involved in their lives as much as President Kennedy's.
On January 28, 1986, the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded shortly after launch killing the seven crew members on board. I didn't remember the actual date (I got it from Wikipedia) but I remember vividly where I was and what I was doing and how I found out. At the time I was co-owner of HASCO Auction & Realty and we shared our building with West Kentucky Printing & Office Supply Co. David Hunt owned that company and as I was exiting my car in the parking lot, he came out front and asked me if I had heard, which I hadn't. We quickly went inside where we had a TV and watched the coverage for what seemed like days. I can't even remember the names of all the crew members but I still remember Christa McAuliffe, an elementary teacher (like my wife was then) who was chosen to be America's first "Teacher in Space."
It was kind of a "sickening" feeling just like when President Kennedy was killed.
During my senior year in high school (and near the time of President Kennedy's asassination), five members of our class were involved in a tragic automobile accident between Central City and Madisonville. Two were killed instantly, one died in the hospital and the other two were seriously injured. I was in the hallway standing near my locker when I received news of this. We immediately went to the auditorium and were given the details of how the accident occured and who was killed. It was one of the saddest days in the history of the school. One of the students that was killed, Kenny Stirsman sat beside me in most classes as we were assigned seats by alphabetical order. Three funerals were held "back to back" on one day. It made a lot of young people do a lot of "growing up" fast.
On August 16, 1977, I was working at Lester Motors and we had just welcomed a new baby into our family, born barely three weeks before. I had just gotten off work and pulled up to the back door of our home on Park Street driving a brand new 1977 Ford Grand Torino Elite. It was "burnt copper with a white vinyl roof," and was loaded with options including a (then) state of the art stereo system. I had the radio turned to NPR, as I liked "upbeat" music in the mornings but preferred "Easy Listening" in the evenings. I had just pulled into the driveway when the announcer broke with the news that Elvis Presley was dead at the age of 42. I couldn't believe my ears. A friend of mine had tickets to attend one of his concerts in about two weeks (he still has the tickets today). Elvis Presley wasn't supposed to die at 42....he was supposed to live forever and remain forever young. I remember it like it was yesterday.
On August 31, 1997, I was sitting in my living room watching Saturday Night Live on NBC. It was near midnight and NBC news came on and announced that Diana, Princess of Wales was involved in a car wreck in Paris and there were two known deaths. She had been rushed to a hospital but no further details were available. Of course, I immediately switched channels to CNN where coverage was ongoing. It would be another three hours before they would announce she had died. All of my family was in bed asleep and it would be the next morning before they would find out. I don't know why this was such an "earth shattering" event as I have never been a fan of the Royal Family (or the Monarchy in general) but she seemed so endeared to the public, I guess I just got swept up in the hype. She seemed to be a genuinely good person, however, and certainly one of the most famous in the world. It just created another event where I would always remember where I was and what I was doing.
Being an avid "forty year" NASCAR fan, I always keep the Sunday afternoon of the Daytona 500 open. I told Pat she could go shopping or do whatever she wanted but that is the one day a year I'm glued to the television set. To me, it' the first rite of spring even though it happens in February. On February 18, 2001, I was doing just that. Pat had gone shopping and my brother had come over to watch the race with me. Neither of us were Earnhardt fans (we both liked Mark Martin) but Dale Earnhardt was the same thing to NASCAR that Tiger Woods is to golf or Michael Jordan was to basketball. He was larger than the sport he served. He had been running near the front all day and in the closing laps he was running in the top five. He owned two competing race teams himself and both of these cars were running first and second and Dale was running third. Michael Waltrip was leading going into the last lap with Dale's son, Dale, Jr. running second. Dale, Sr. remained in third place driving "interference" for the other two, fiending off anyone behind him that wanted to make a run for the lead. This had been going on for several laps and on the last lap, Dale's car and Sterling Marlin's car made contact with each other, sending Dale into the wall on the fourth turn. The hit didn't look that hard and his other two cars went on to finish first and second with Waltrip winning his first Daytona 500. There was a football game on another channel that was winding down so since Mark Martin didn't win we "flipped" over to the closing minutes of the game. After a few minutes my brother went home. Pat had returned and was preparing supper when I went back into the living room to see what was going to be on "60 Minutes." I found it unusual that "post race" coverage of the Daytona 500 was still on. That's when they announced that they had taken Dale Earnhardt, Sr. to the hospital to treat injuries suffered in the accident. The hospital was only a short distance from the track so it showed the ambulance leaving (coverage was from a helicopter) and they followed it down the street to the emergency room. A camera crew, expecting his arrival, had already set up in the parking lot just outside the emergency room entrance. When the cameras showed them unloading him from the ambulance, it was apparent that they were still giving him emergency CPR including intensive heart massage. Moments later, NASCAR held a press conference announcing Dale Earnhardt was dead.
Finally, on the morning of September 11, 2001, I was driving to the City Building as I was Mayor at the time. Our Fire Chief, Ricky King called me on my cell phone just as I was pulling out of the gate leading into our subdivision onto Highway 70 to ask if I had heard about a jet liner hitting a skyscraper in New York. Of course, I told him I hadn't heard. When I arrived at the City Building, I stopped by the City Clerk's office where several employees were gathered around a small television. They were watching the coverage of the event. I stepped over to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and joined them. I hadn't been in front of the TV five minutes when the second plane hit the other tower and like everyone else in the country, I stayed glued to the television as the events of the day unfolded. This was another scary time and it was the only time in history that I could remember our government ordering all airplanes out of the sky. This was another day that I knew I would always remember what I was doing when I learned of the news.
Fortunately, these days are few and far between (although Earnhardt's death and 9/11 happened within months of each other). There were others (such as the "not guilty" verdict of O. J. Simpson or the untimely death of Tim Russert to name a couple) but I'm sure they won't be the last. My parents had a different set of events that were etched in their brains such as the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the sinking of the Titanic, etc. I'm sure my kids will be the same. Hopefully there'll be more "good things" to remember than "bad things" (such as the first man landing on the moon). At any rate, as the song says, "Time Marches On!"
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