I rarely have anything important or interesting to say, but if I do, you can usually count on me to say it in a fairly entertaining way. For the most part, I will use this blog because it seems like a fun thing to play with. Like the rest of my phases, this will likely burn out quickly. Instead of a blaze of glory, however, it will simply smolder until someone steps on it like an irritating fire just begging to be extinguished.
Metaphors are for assholes.
"I'll publish right or wrong: Fools are my theme, let satire be my song." - Lord Byron
E-mail me: bergen.anthony@gmail.com
I also write about Dead Presidents
Posts tagged: John F. Kennedy
On October 5, 1813, nearly 4,000 American soldiers led by General William Henry Harrison engaged in a battle near the Thames River in present-day Chatham, Ontario, Canada against a much-smaller allied force of British troops and Native American warriors from a confederacy of tribes led by the great Shawnee chief, Tecumseh. It was the final battle of a long feud between Harrison and Tecumseh and their respective militias. As Governor of the Indiana Territory several years earlier, Harrison negotiated the Treaty of Fort Wayne, which induced a delegation of Indian leaders to cede over 3 million acres of land to the United States government. There were some questions about the treaty, mainly the fact that President Madison hadn’t authorized Harrison to negotiate it and some of the Indian lands didn’t belong to the tribal leaders who sold them. Not only that, but Harrison used some fairly controversial bargaining tactics — he bribed the tribes that agreed to sell the land and provided whiskey to the Indian delegation in order to get them liquored up nicely during the negotiations.
Tecumseh’s people, the Shawnee tribe of present-day Indiana, had no claims to the land purchased by Harrison, yet Tecumseh had major qualms about the treaty and worried about the precedent of Native Americans selling huge tracts of land to the government of the fledgling United States and being forced to relocate elsewhere. Traveling throughout different tribal areas of the Ohio country, Tecumseh urged tribes to band together as a confederacy, to oppose the treaty, and to cast out the tribal leaders that sold their land out from under them. In the summer of 1810, Tecumseh and a band of warriors showed up at Harrison’s home in Vincennes, Indiana and asked the Governor to rescinded the Treaty of Fort Wayne. Harrison angrily refused and the scene nearly turned into a violent clash between Tecumseh and his warriors and Harrison and the people of Vincennes, but the tensions were calmed by another Indian chief who persuaded the warriors to leave. Tecumseh continued building an alliance with various tribes and warned Harrison that they would partner with the British if the treaty stood.
In November of 1811, Harrison and a detachment of over a thousand soldiers decided for some payback, returning the visit of Tecumseh and marching from Vincennes to Tecumseh’s settlement in Prophetstown. Tecumseh was away recruiting warriors and tribes for his alliance, but his brother Tenskwatawa led an attack on Harrison’s men while they rested at an encampment near the Tippecanoe River. Harrison’s men easily defeated the Native Americans, forced them to abandon their village, burned Prophetstown, and handed Tecumesh’s confederacy a serious setback. The Battle of Tippecanoe became synonymous with William Henry Harrison and gave him the nickname “Old Tippecanoe”. Thirty years later, he campaigned for President alongside John Tyler with the slogan “Tippecanoe and Tyler, too!”.
By the time the War of 1812 broke out, Tecumseh had rebuilt his shattered confederacy and entered the war as a solid ally of the British Empire. Tecumseh’s Indian Confederation helped pester American forces along the Canadian border, allowing British troops to invade the United States from the Northwest as the Royal Navy attacked along the Atlantic seaboard. When the British attacked Fort Detroit, the maneuvers of Tecumseh and his warriors deceived American General William Hull into believing he was vastly outnumbered and resulted in the surrender of Detroit to the British. When the British General Henry Procter took over the troops allied with Tecumseh’s warriors, the two military leaders disagreed on tactics and the British/Indian alliance and war effort suffered setbacks. After promising Tecumseh that he would support his effort against Harrison at Chatham, Ontario in the autumn of 1813, Procter didn’t follow through and Harrison attacked Tecumseh’s force on the Thames River while they waited for Procter’s reinforcements.
The Battle of the Thames was short, but had long-lasting effects for students of Presidential folklore and believers of superstition. When Harrison’s troops attacked Tecumseh’s on October 5, 1813, a Colonel named Richard Mentor Johnson charged into the Indian force and, in the midst of battle, killed the 45-year-old Shawnee chief. Johnson was wounded five times and the men of his cavalry regiment suffered the heaviest losses, but Johnson became as big of a political hero as his commander, General Harrison. In 1836, merely on the strength of the belief that he personally killed Tecumseh, Richard Mentor Johnson was elected Vice President of the United States.
Four years later, it was William Henry Harrison’s turn to win high office. “Old Tippecanoe” campaigned on his military victories and the defeat of Tecumseh was certainly one of his biggest triumphs. Unbeknownst to the man soon to become the 9th President of the United States was that a “curse” was rumored to have been placed on the occupants of the White House, beginning with Harrison. Whether it was truly an “Indian curse” placed on Harrison and his successors by Tecumseh (sometimes attributed to his brother, Tenskwatawa) or simply a superstition that was somehow realized, the “curse” lasted for 140 years and, even then, almost claimed another victim, which makes it an extraordinarily odd historical coincidence. The “curse” is simple: beginning with Harrison’s election in 1840, every President elected in a year ending in “0” would die in office. This prophecy indeed began with Harrison in 1840, and continued to come to fruition every 20 years until the late-20th century, as you will see.
1840: William Henry Harrison
To this day, William Henry Harrison is still the second-oldest man ever elected to the Presidency. When he took office on March 4, 1841, he was 68 years old and suffering from a bad cold. Frigid temperatures on Inauguration Day kept the audience in front of the Capitol small, but the new President gave the longest Inaugural Address in history, a massive 8500-word-long speech that took over 90 minutes to deliver — and that was AFTER noted orator Daniel Webster took some scissors to it. Harrison also decided to give the speech without wearing a hat or an overcoat, and the cold, wet weather left the new President damp and shivering. Exactly one month later — on April 4, 1841 — William Henry Harrison died of pneumonia, the first President to die in office and the first victim of his old nemesis Tecumseh’s curse.
1860: Abraham Lincoln
Originally elected in 1860, Lincoln guided the nation through the devastating Civil War, was re-elected in 1864, and finally brought the war to a close in April 1865 when Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Court House, Virginia on April 9. Five days later, Lincoln told his wife Mary during a carriage ride that, for the first time, he felt that the war was truly over. With his spirits finally rising, Lincoln took Mary to the theater that night to watch famous actress Laura Keene perform in “Our American Cousin”. During the play, another famous actor, John Wilkes Booth, shot Lincoln, 56, in the back of the head, and Tecumseh’s Curse claimed another victim the next morning, April 15, 1865.
1880: James A. Garfield
James Garfield was a rising star in American politics in 1880. A brigadier general in the Civil War, at one point during 1880 he was simultaneously a sitting member of the United States House of Representatives, Senator-elect from Ohio, and President-elect of the United States. Garfield never took his Senate seat, of course, deciding to accept the Presidency instead and was inaugurated in March 1881. Just four months later, President Garfield was fighting for his life after being shot in a Washington, D.C. train station. He hung on for 80 days, but infections caused by the poking and prodding of doctors and their unsterilized instruments weakened his 49-year-old heart and killed him on September 19th on the Jersey Shore where he was seeking the fresh air of the ocean.
1900: William McKinley
Like Garfield, William McKinley was a decorated Union soldier from Ohio and in 1896 he was elected President, defeating William Jennings Bryan. Four years later, he destroyed Bryan once again and was re-elected. McKinley was an enormously popular President and an extraordinarily kind-hearted man who wore a carnation in his lapel so that he had something to give to people. In September 1901, the President was shot by an anarchist as he shook hands at Buffalo’s Pan-American Exposition. Thinking of others, as always, the wounded President first implored that the arresting officers be sure not to hurt the man who had just shot him. Then he asked that the news of his shooting be broken to his epileptic, semi-invalid wife as carefully as possible. McKinley lingered for eight days, once again hindered by medical practices of the era, and died, aged 58, on September 14, 1901 — the fourth victim of Tecumseh’s Curse.
1920: Warren G. Harding
Warren Gamaliel Harding looked like a President and spoke like a President, but as he often said himself, he had no business living in the White House. Widely considered one of the worst Presidents in American history, Harding’s Administration was plagued by corruption, although Harding wasn’t involved in it. Harding was involved in several extramarital affairs, however, including one that resulted in an illegitimate daughter and trysts in a closet near the Oval Office. Depressed by his administration’s many problems, Harding grumbled that he wished his ship would sink in the summer of 1923 when he became the first President to visit Alaska. Continuing to tour the West Coast, the 56-year-old Harding was ailing from food poisoning and died in San Francisco’s Palace Hotel on August 2nd of either a stroke or a heart attack. The exact cause of death is unknown because the First Lady refused to allow an autopsy — an action which resulted in many rumors that she had poisoned her husband to protect him from possible impeachment. It didn’t help her cause when she spent the night before the funeral sitting next to her husband’s open casket in the East Room of the White House while saying, “No one can hurt you now, Warren.” Harding was the fourth victim of Tecumseh’s Curse to be shipped back to Ohio for burial, preceded by all of the other victims other than Lincoln who was buried in Illinois.
By now, Tecumseh’s Curse was no longer a secret. Every twenty years since William Henry Harrison’s election in 1840, a President had died. In fact, only one President besides those elected in years ending in “0” had died in office — Zachary Taylor, who died of cholera in July 1850. Every other death in office or assassination was coincidentally struck down each and every President elected in the years covered by Tecumseh’s Curse. In 1934, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not published a story noting the coincidence of the 20-year-intervals between Presidential deaths and listed the the years that they had occurred along with an ominous “1940: ???”. After the election of 1940 was decided, the cycle continued and Tecumseh’s Curse remained unbroken.
1940: Franklin D. Roosevelt
Franklin Delano Roosevelt was President longer than anyone in American history ever was and will ever be (unless someone decides to ignore the Constitution). In 1940, Roosevelt was elected to an unprecedented third term and as the United States fought a World War from both oceans, he won his fourth term in 1944. The Roosevelt of 1944, however, was a weary, sick man. Even today, we can see how quickly the Presidency visibly ages the occupants of the Oval Office. FDR was President for twelve years — twelve years which included crises such as the Great Depression and World War II. When he was re-elected in 1944, he dumped eccentric Vice President Henry Wallace from the ticket in favor of Harry Truman and likely knew that he wouldn’t survive his fourth term. On April 12, 1945, Roosevelt was posing for a portrait while resting at his vacation home in Warm Springs, Georgia. The President was joined by the woman painting the portrait, one of his cousins, and his mistress, Lucy Rutherfurd, and startled the women when he held his hand to his head and said, “I have a terrific headache” before slumping over. Shortly afterward, he was dead, the victim of a cerebral hemorrhage at the age of 63. Mussolini died 16 days later, Hitler died 18 days later, and Nazi Germany unconditionally surrendered less than a month after President Roosevelt was buried at his home in New York.
1960: John F. Kennedy
The first President born in the 20th century wasn’t able to escape Tecumseh’s 120-year-old curse. John Fitzgerald Kennedy was the youngest President elected to office (Theodore Roosevelt was a few months younger when he succeeded the assassinated President McKinley in 1901) and the youngest President to die in office. Just 46 years old, JFK was brutally assassinated in front of the world while sitting next to his wife during a motorcade in Dallas, Texas. Kennedy’s assassination launched numerous investigations, scores of conspiracy theories, and approximately 85% of the History Channel’s regular broadcast lineup. It also finally brought an end to the cycle of Presidents dying every twenty years that had started with “Old Tippecanoe” back in 1840.
Barely.
In 1980, the 20-year-curse was a big enough issue that incumbent President Jimmy Carter was asked by a voter in Ohio whether he was worried about the odd coincidence as he ran for re-election. Carter responded that, “I’m not afraid. If I knew it was going to happen, I would go ahead and be President and do the best I could (until) the last day I could”. Carter didn’t have any reason to be afraid; he was not re-elected in 1980, losing in a landslide to former California Governor Ronald Reagan. Reagan was the oldest President in history when he was inaugurated on January 20, 1981. At 69 years old, he was almost a full year older than the first victim of Tecumseh’s Curse, “Old Tippecanoe” himself, and Reagan turned 70 less than three weeks after the inauguration.
On March 30, 1981, Reagan very nearly became the eighth victim of the curse when he was seriously wounded during a shooting in Washington, D.C. Reagan’s wounds, in fact, were much more severe than those suffered by President Garfield a hundred years earlier and President McKinley eighty years earlier. Reagan, however, was saved by modern medical practices — most significantly from the absence of unsterilized fingers and medical instruments being jabbed into his wound by a wide variety of doctors and medics. Reagan recovered and served his full eight year term, retiring in 1989, and, to further prove that the cycle was broken, was the longest-living President in history (since surpassed by Gerald Ford) when he died in 2004 at the age of 93.
Was it really a curse? Well, since Tecumseh died almost 25 years before William Henry Harrison decided to run for President, it would have been an amazingly precise guess that the General would someday make it to the White House. I’m not the type of guy who believes in “curses” anyway, but the coincidence of the 20-year-intervals between Presidents dying in office is striking, and the near-miss of Reagan in 1980 just adds to the intrigue. President George W. Bush, elected in 2000 (well…kind of), made it through his two terms safely, so whatever the cause of the cycle, it is definitely over now. All I know is that, coincidence or not, I’m not messing with Tecumseh.
It is November 22nd — exactly 46 years since President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. A couple of months back, I wrote a short trilogy of pieces for Dead Presidents about his assassination, so I figured today would be a good day to combine the three posts into one and reblog it.
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PART I: Colors
The strangest thing about the day was also the most welcome and surprising thing about the day. It was quiet — no protests, no angry demonstrations as expected — just blue skies, excited crowds, and an unseasonably warm and bright November day in Dallas. In fact, the most startling aspect was just how colorful the day was — a truly, aesthetically colorful day. That may be the first thing people noticed — the color. The color of the majestic Presidential aircraft, Air Force One; the color of that endlessly blue Texas sky; the color of the red roses handed to the beautiful First Lady after she walked down the steps of the plane at Love Field; the color of her pink Chanel dress and signature pillbox hat as she shook hands with the throng of cheering people greeting her and her husband; the color of the healthy glow on the tanned face of the young, yet secretly unhealthy, President; the color of the shiny black limousines organized in a motorcade set to transport John F. Kennedy and his party to the Trade Mart in Dallas for a political speech thought to be the kick-off to the President’s 1964 re-election campaign.
Yes, it was the color that most people noticed at first. It’s the color of that day that people still notice. In a time where the images we look back upon are frozen in black and white; the color of November 22, 1963 jumps out at us as if it was the day the world was finally painted. In a way, it was very similar because this was the day that the world changed. This was the day where America became a jaded adult. And, even now, the colors still strike us as being from another world. Beautiful, horrible colors illustrating our history, stirring our souls, and destroying a new frontier as we watched in disbelief and wondered what was happening to our hopes, wondered who was extinguishing our dreams, and wondered what reason there was for dragging us into a cold, modern reality.
Umberto Eco has written that “time is an eternity that stammers”. But time is as abstract as it is definitive; as much a matter of opinion or judgment as it is measurement or tool. For example, doing something for 46 years is long enough to make you experienced; yet dying at 46 years old means you died too soon. Living for 24 years is barely an instance in comparison to a long, full life; yet 24 years of bitterness and anger and misguided actions is equal to torture. However, you can change the world just as much at 24 as at 46, and it only takes a fraction of a second. In Dallas that day, in a collection of nightmarish seconds bracketed within several sudden minutes, a 24-year-old man who had never accomplished anything changed not only a nation’s leadership, but it’s attitude, by killing a 46-year-old man who had accomplished more than anyone else ever had at that young of an age.
John F. Kennedy had given power to youth. The first President born in the 20th Century; the torch-bearing, charismatic leader of a new generation of Americans; the first President who Americans didn’t view as one of history’s statues but, instead, as an agent of progress. Youth put JFK in the White House. Youth drove JFK’s message and his administration. The United States — a young country — was being led by a young President who energized young Americans, kicked down old walls, and set the nation sailing towards a new era.
John F. Kennedy gave power to youth, youth gave power to JFK, and on November 22, 1963, a young man killed the young President in front of his young wife and a young, ever-changing country — a country that would never be as young again.
This short series, “11.22.63” details that time — those short, hectic minutes which seemed to last forever — where a new beginning was brought to an abrupt and violent end.
PART II: Everything Changes
After greeting the crowd at Love Field that came out to welcome them to Dallas, President John F. Kennedy and his wife, Jacqueline, climbed into a highly-customized, dark bluish-black Lincoln Continental limousine code-named SS-100-X by the United States Secret Service. The driver is 54-year-old Bill Greer, born in Ireland, and the oldest man on JFK’s Secret Service detail. Next to Greer is Secret Service agent Roy Kellerman, the designated agent in charge of the President’s trip to Texas. SS-100-X is built specifically for Presidential use, heavily armored and fitted with running boards for Secret Service agents to stand on, as well as hand grips on the trunk that agents can hold on to as they ride on the vehicle. A United States Air Force C-130 accompanies Air Force One on its stops, hauling vehicles and equipment such as the Presidential limousine, from city-to-city. It is not easy to do this, nor is it cheap, but it is necessary. The protection of the President requires complete control by the Secret Service when it comes to the planning and execution of Presidential trips.
The President does control some aspects, however. This trip to Texas is a political trip. This is the unofficial kick-off of the 1964 campaign, and Texas is a must-win state — probably the most important state in the nation to JFK’s re-election chances. The President has the ability to electronically raise his seat and footrests by as much as eight inches, in order to give the crowd a better chance of seeing him. The President also can make the call about whether or not the limousine should be open or covered. In Dallas, the weather was perfect. The President would go without the clear, plastic bubble-top which could normally be used to cover the limo. A lot of people had turned out in Dallas to see their President; he wanted to be certain that he could be seen. For that reason, as well, there would be no agents on the running boards of Kennedy’s limousine as it slowly drove through the streets of Dallas.
Besides Greer, Kellerman, the President, and the First Lady, the limousine also carries the Governor of Texas, John Connally, and his wife, Nellie. Connally is a protege of the Vice President, Lyndon Johnson, who is sitting two cars behind the Presidential limo. Connally is young, ambitious, popular, and rising quickly in the world of politics. Many observers believe that Connally could become the first Texan to become President. In less than an hour, they would already be incorrect.
Eight motorcyle escorts and a lead car with Dallas Police Chief Jesse Curry at the wheel pilot the Presidential motorcade, with the District of Columbia license plate “GG 300”, out of Love Field and towards the Trade Mart, site of President Kennedy’s lunchtime speech. Following the President’s limousine is a convertible code-named “Halfback” containing Secret Service agents inside the vehicle and on the running boards, as well as Presidential aides Kenneth O’Donnell and Dave Powers, devoutly loyal, close friends of the President who help form his “Irish mafia”. Halfback is followed by Vice President Johnson’s limousine, also containing Senator Ralph Yarborough and more Secret Service agents, including Johnson’s lead agent, Rufus Youngblood. Another Secret Service follow-up car is behind LBJ’s limo, followed closely by press vehicles, photographers, cars full of Congressmen, local politicians, White House aides, military aides, and others.
As the motorcade makes its way towards the Trade Mart, it is sunny and bright and Jackie Kennedy wants to wear her sunglasses. After leaving Love Field, the caravan travels along lightly-populated roads with very few spectators. Governor Connally wasn’t expecting anyone to view the motorcade until it reached downtown, but here-and-there are a few people catching a glance at the President’s limo heading towards downtown Dallas. Inside the car, President Kennedy vetoes Jackie’s attempt to put on her sunglasses. The people want to see her eyes, want to see her smile, and this is a political trip — you have to give the people what they want. So, Jackie does. But she welcomes every overpass that the motorcade travels under because it provides a brief respite of shade and whenever the crowds momentarily thin during the drive, she slips her sunglasses on quickly to shield her eyes from the glare. Presidential aide Ken O’Donnell had reminded Jackie prior to the motorcade’s departure that she should do her best to look to the left side and greet those people who were on the opposite side of the street from the President that were prevented from getting a good view of JFK. Help temper their disappointment by allowing them to see you, Jackie. A lot of the time, she forgot that people enjoyed seeing her, too. She had a habit of looking at the President, watching the President greet the crowds. She admired his ability to turn on that switch and release that charisma that attracted her to him in the first place. For the most part, she did just as requested. For the most part, she wasn’t looking at the President. For the most part.
For weeks, fears gripped the Presidential advance team planning the Texas trip because of anti-Kennedy tension in many Texas cities, particularly Dallas. With the motorcade greeting happy, smiling, excited crowds, Governor Connally relaxes a bit. He was worried that this trip through Dallas would not be an easy one. Dallas is the most conservative city in Texas, and for the past few days, leaflets attacking the President have circulated amongst every level of Dallas society. Governor Connally thought that this would be an ugly trip through an unimpressed citizenry. President Kennedy wasn’t much more confident about Dallas than the Governor. Yet, as they inched closer downtown, Connally is relieved and the President appears to be genuinely enjoying himself.
In the follow-up car behind the President’s limousine, the Secret Service is scanning the crowds which are gaining in size as the motorcade gets closer to the Trade Mart. In that same car, Ken O’Donnell and Dave Powers also scan the crowd. Probably more worried about a hostile crowd than the President, these two aides are satisfied. O’Donnell is pleased that the First Lady remembered his suggestion and is facing the people on her side of the limo. Over the noise of the cheering crowd, O’Donnell tells Powers, “There’s certainly nothing wrong with this crowd.”
The motorcade is heading towards Dealey Plaza — “Dallas’s Front Door” — where the biggest crowd is gathered to see the President pass on his way to give his speech. It’s 65 degrees and the motorcade makes a turn onto Houston Street from Main Street. The crowds are now thick in numbers and bursting with anticipation. Cheers are drowning out the noise of motorcycles and big cars. The trip down Houston is short and leads the motorcade into a sharp turn on to Elm Street — almost a U-turn and fairly difficult for the long, awkward limousine to handle. From Main to Elm, less than one minute ticks off the clock. They are just five minutes away from the Trade Mart and this trip has been a pleasant surprise — astonishingly positive despite Dallas’s reputation as being virulently anti-Kennedy.
As they are navigating that sharp turn on to Elm Street, Governor Connally’s wife, Nelly, turns to the President and smiles. “Mr. President, they sure can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you, can they?”. Smiling back, the President responds “No, they sure can’t.”
A non-descript building called the Texas School Book Depository stands guard over the sharp turn where the motorcade merges on to Elm Street. At the top of the seven-story brick building, a large Hertz sign displays the time to Dealey Plaza. For hours, anxious Texans have been glimpsing at the clock from the positions they staked out in Dealey Plaza, waiting for their glimpse of the President of the United States. There are people with their children, pointing out the motorcycle escorts that signal that the President’s arrival is imminent. There are white people and black people, old people and young people, men and women, standing on grassy areas of the plaza or along Elm Street’s sidewalk, waiting and watching. There is a man named Abraham Zapruder, a local dressmaker, who is excitedly waiting to use his new Bell & Howell 8mm video camera to film a few seconds of the President’s visit to Dallas. In the buildings surrounding Dealey Plaza, there are workers who have interrupted what they are doing so they could flock to the windows and watch history pass through their city.
The motorcade is only moving at a speed of 11 miles per hour, but the trip through Dealey Plaza will be measured in seconds, not minutes, so the crowd is ready to catch their quick glimpse. On the sixth floor of the Book Depository building, an employee has taken a break from work to watch the motorcade. He is young — the type of person who is likely to have voted for John F. Kennedy if he was actually old enough to vote at all in 1960. He is also focused, even determined. Everyone wants to see the President, but this young man can’t miss him. He won’t miss him.
Just above that young man, the clock on the Hertz sign changes. It is exactly 12:30 PM in Dallas, Texas on November 22, 1963. The sky is blue. The temperature is warm. Pigeons on top of the Book Depository building seem to be just as interested in the activity below as the young man in the sixth-floor window. Below him, crowds are cheering wildly. The President and his beautiful wife are finally passing by, along with the Governor and Mrs. Connally. There are smiles and waves and cheers. But when that clock strikes 12:30 PM everything changes.
It’s inexplicable, but time acts unnaturally in the next few minutes. The minutes seem long while the seconds seem instant. At 12:30 PM on Elm Street, however, everything changes. Some think it’s a motorcycle backfiring, some think it’s a firecracker, but the pigeons on top of the Book Depository building think it’s time to fly away quickly. A smiling President doesn’t even have time to stop smiling as everything changes.
PART III: 12:30 PM - A Nightmare On Elm Street
What can you do in 4.6 seconds? It takes twice that amount of time for the fastest human being who has ever lived to run 100 meters at top speed. Some people take longer than 4.6 seconds to process thoughts, to start sentences, to absorb facts and make conclusions. Some people only need 4.6 seconds to leave an indelible imprint upon history, to make a wife a widow and children fatherless. For some people, 4.6 seconds is all the time required to change the world.
The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM. President John F. Kennedy’s motorcade has passed the building and is on Elm Street, in the open air of Dallas’s Dealey Plaza, en route to the Trade Mart, just five minutes away.
On Elm Street, Jackie Kennedy sees another overpass that will provide a brief, shady respite from the glare of the bright Texas sun. Those quick seconds of a cool shield from the unseasonably warm November day have been welcome interruptions from the waving and smiling that she has been greeting crowds with since the President and the First Lady arrived at Love Field just a few minutes earlier. As Presidential aide Kenneth O’Donnell had reminded her to do, Jackie is looking at the crowd on her left while President Kennedy looks to his right. Directly, in front of the President is Texas Governor John Connally, pleasantly surprised at the friendly Dallas welcome the President is receiving. Next to the Governor is his wife, Nellie, who just finished joking to the President that it would be impossible for people to say that Dallas didn’t love him. Driving the President’s Lincoln limousine at 11.2 miles per hour, Secret Service agent Bill Greer just navigated a sharp turn below the Book Depository building while agent Roy Kellerman scans the crowd from his front passenger seat. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
On Elm Street, a large crowd has gathered on the grassy expanse in Dealey Plaza, as well as along the sidewalks, hoping to catch a wave or a smile from their popular President before he disappears underneath the triple railroad overpass that Jackie anticipates while give her a momentary break from the sun. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
On Elm Street, Secret Service agents in follow-up cars search the large crowds for unnatural movements, suspicious characters, and anything which might interfere with or cause harm to the Presidential motorcade or the President himself. The car behind the President, code named Halfback, also carries the President’s close aides, O’Donnell and Dave Powers. They watch the President intently, studying his interaction with the crowd, soaking up what is working and what is not working on this almost purely political trip into suspected hostile territory for JFK. Up until now, they too have been surprised by Dallas’s warm welcome. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
On Elm Street, the car behind Halfback carries Vice President Lyndon Johnson, his wife Lady Bird, Senator Ralph Yarborough, and several Secret Service agents. This is his home state, but Lyndon Johnson is just along for the ride. He’s not happy with his role as Vice President. He’s not thrilled to be riding with Senator Yarborough, who he has been feuding with for several years, and he’d rather be home at his LBJ Ranch or running the country that JFK is in charge of. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
Above Elm Street, 24-year-old Lee Harvey Oswald sits in a sixth-floor window of his place of employment — the Book Depository building — watching, waiting, and ready. Oswald has an Italian-made, 6.5 x 52 mm Carcano rifle which he purchased by mail order eight months earlier. Inside of the rifle is a round-nosed bullet with a copper jacket. With this rifle and this bullet, Oswald is going to change the world. Before the clock on the Hertz sign a couple of floors above him ticks off another minute, Lee Harvey Oswald will change the world with something that weighs just 10 grams. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
The loud crack that everyone hears at exactly 12:30 PM is difficult to figure out, even for the highly-trained Secret Service agents guarding the life of the President. Most think that it is a motorcycle backfiring, perhaps even a firecracker. The First Lady would later say that was what she thought. Only one of those highly-trained Secret Service agents reacts immediately. He is Rufus Youngblood and the instant he hears the crack of Oswald’s gun, he leaps into the backseat of his car and shoves the 6’3” Vice President as far down into the limo as possible, screaming “Get down!” while covering him with his body. Later, Youngblood notes that he briefly worried that he he might be overreacting. He wasn’t.
One person does realize that the sound he heard isn’t a motorcycle backfiring or a firecracker exploding. Governor Connally is an avid hunter and he realizes that someone just fired a rifle. The Governor — relieved that the Dallas trip was going better than expected to this point — also realizes that the perfect trip just turned into an attempted assassination. Immediately after hearing the first shot, Connally begins saying, “Oh, no, no, no!”. In the 2.3 seconds after the first shot is fired, people are still trying to figure out what just happened. The clock on the Hertz sign still reads 12:30 PM when a second shot is fired.
Still looking to her left, Jackie Kennedy shifts to the right when she hears the Governor’s words. The President is smiling at a young boy and beginning to wave when Oswald’s second shot tears through the back of the President’s neck just to the right of his spine. The bullet causes damage to Kennedy’s right lung, shreds his trachea and exits through the front of his throat, slicing through his tie. The bullet doesn’t stop there. Governor Connally had jerked quickly to his right upon hearing the first gunshot. The same bullet that passed through the President rips into Connally’s back, exits his chest, re-enters his body at his right wrist and plunges through to his left thigh. Greer, the driver, looks back over his right shoulder. Kellerman, the passenger, looks over his left. Inexplicably, they don’t react. Agent Clint Hill, on a running board of Halfback, does. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
The President is hurt, but his wound is not mortal. In fact, Governor Connally is injured far more severely from the shooting. Blood is pouring out of his chest, but a delayed reaction means he doesn’t feel pain for a second or two after being hit. When the pain hits, it is excruciating and Connally moans, “They are going to kill us both!” as his wife grabs him and pulls him towards her. Jackie now realizes that something is terribly wrong because the Governor of Texas is screaming with fright and pain. She looks to her husband and he has a look on his face that reminds her of when he’d get a headache or was in the middle of a deep thought. Later, she would describe his look as “quizzical”. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
President Kennedy jerks into an odd position as he is hit. He grasps at his throat, his hands clenched in fists and his elbows higher than his shoulders. This movement — exceedingly unnatural-looking — finally elicits a response from the Secret Service. While Greer unsconsciously slows the Presidential limousine down and Kellerman freezes, Clint Hill has bounded off of Halfback and is running towards the back of the President’s car. Several Secret Service agents reach for their guns, still unsure of what happened, but positive that something has gone wrong. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
The President slumps slightly towards his wife, as if he is choking and needs assistance. Jackie leans towards the President. With her white-gloved hands, she gently grabs JFK’s left elbow and begins pulling him towards her. It has been less than five seconds since the first shot was fired, but it is now clear that the glare of the Texas sun is the least of Jackie Kennedy’s worries. She glances briefly towards the front of the limo at Governor Connally, whose lap is drenched with blood; at Nellie Connally who is pulling her husband into her lap; at Bill Greer, who actually slowed the limo down in his confusion; and at Roy Kellerman, who is looking back at the President, yet still sitting in his passenger seat. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
As the President leans towards his wife and the First Lady leans towards her husband, it appears as if Jackie is looking now at the area of the throat that Kennedy is clutching. Their faces are just inches apart from each other. Jackie is no longer looking to her left. There are no more waves, no more smiles. Kellerman remembers hearing the President say, “My God, I’m hit”, but no one else in the limo remembers that. In fact, it was probably impossible for the President to speak after the bullet tore through his throat. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
On Elm Street, the glamorous First Lady, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, is wearing a bright pink dress and spotless white gloves and has a bouquet of fresh red roses in her lap while the dark blue Presidential limousine passes a crowd of diverse colors gathered in a plaza full of green grass as a third shot rings out. The clock on the Hertz sign on top of the ugly, brown Book Depository building still reads 12:30 PM.
If there was any doubt about what was happening as the first two shots were fired, the doubt disappears in a thick mist of blood, bone and brain matter when the third shot hits its mark. Motorcycle cops escorting the President’s limousine are sprayed first by the sickening result of Lee Harvey Oswald’s third shot. One likened it later to being hit with “wet sawdust”. Before the third shot, there is no blood other than that pumping out of John Connally’s wounds. John F. Kennedy has been wounded, but he is not bleeding noticeably. Yet, as Jackie leans into her husband everything turns red — the limousine, Jackie’s fashionable dress, the Connally’s, Greer, Kellerman, the naturally red roses, the windscreens on motorcycles near the limo, and the faces of Secret Service agents inside Halfback.
By the third shot, Secret Service agents have turned their attention to the the Presidential limousine and many are watching President Kennedy’s head when the final shot hits. Later, people remembered the sound just as distinctly as the sight. One agent recalled the dull sound as being similar to the noise of a watermelon being smashed or a bullet being shot into a jug of water. Almost all of the agents watching the President immediately know that the wound is fatal. Ken O’Donnell and Dave Powers, two of Kennedy’s closest friends as well as longtime aides, begin praying. Clint Hill is almost to the back bumper of JFK’s car when the third shot hits and covers him in blood and flesh.
The fatal shot strikes President Kennedy in the back of the head, almost directly in between the ears. The entrance wound is small, but the bullet violently exits the right side of the front of his head, exploding into a cloud of blood, pieces of his cerebellum, skull fragments, and flesh with hair still attached. The President’s body jerks suddenly to the front and then to the back, awkwardly slamming into the seat and falling into the lap of Jackie. Blood is everywhere. Thick clumps of blood which immediately cover the limousine. Jackie screams, “My God, what are they doing? My God, they’ve killed Jack! They’ve killed my husband. Jack! Jack! I love you, Jack!”. Jackie is cradling her husband’s disfigured head in her lap as blood stains her pink suit and white gloves. The brain of her husband — a brain admired by so many for it’s ability and intellectual curiosity — is leaking out of his head along with bright red blood which is as thick as mud.
Suddenly, Jackie jumps up and climbs towards the trunk of the limousine. She is later asked about this action and doesn’t remember why she did it. In fact, she has no recollection of doing it at all, even when looking at photographs of herself doing it. Clint Hill has caught up to the hand grips on the back of the Lincoln as Kellerman finally acts and orders Greer to accelerate. Hill nearly loses his grip and is also unsure later why Jackie was climbing out of the backseat. To some it looks like she is trying to escape the horror, to others it appears as if she is trying to help pull Hill on to the limo. To a lot of people, it’s thought that she was retrieving pieces of her husband’s shattered skull. Despite Greer’s acceleration, Hill jumps on to the limo, grabs Jackie, puts her back into the seat, and lays spread-eagle above the mortally-wounded President. The site inside the limo sickens him. A flap of Kennedy’s skull is hanging to his head only by a thin thread of flesh. There is blood everywhere. Pieces of detached skull fragments with Kennedy’s hair still attached lie in the backseat.
Hill knows that the President’s wound is not survivable. As he shields the dying President and the shocked First Lady, he slams his hand against the car’s exterior, realizing that the Secret Service just failed to do it’s most important job. Nellie Connally cradles her husband in her arm’s as well. Not all of the blood is Kennedy’s. Governor Connally is bleeding profusely. He is also losing consciousness. Indeed, Nellie Connally believes her husband is actually dead until his hands move slightly. Jackie Kennedy is repeating over-and-over again, “They’ve killed him! I love you, Jack!”.
The President of the United States is still breathing, but barely. His eyes are open, staring blankly at Jackie as she tries to shield him from the horror that has already befallen her, her family, and her country. Kellerman orders the limousine to head to Parkland Hospital and the Greer slams the gas pedal to the floor, heading out of Dealey Plaza and underneath the triple overpass that Jackie was looking forward to. The people in the plaza are stunned. Most don’t even realize what has happened. Those who do are convinced that Kennedy is dead.
Before lapsing into unconsciousness from his wound, Governor Connally hears Jackie Kennedy’s tears. He hears his wife screaming. He hears static on the police and Secret Service radios as they frantically, belatedly take action. He hears orders being given, engines being revved, and his own heart pumping blood just as quickly as it pours out of his body.
What he doesn’t hear are frightened pigeons flying up and away from the Book Depository building. What he didn’t hear was empty shell casings popping out of Lee Harvey Oswald’s rifle and landing on the floor of his sixth-floor perch. What he doesn’t hear are the labored breaths and gurgling sounds coming from the President’s wounded throat. What he doesn’t hear are the preparations being made to receive a Code 3 emergency at Parkland Hospital involving the President of the United States.
What Governor Connally most remembers hearing as he drifts into unconsciousness is Jacqueline Kennedy — elegant, beautiful Jacqueline Kennedy — sobbing and saying over-and-over again, “What have they done to you? I love you, Jack!”. And, finally — tragically, heartbreakingly, horrifically — he hears the First Lady softly tell Clint Hill, “I have his brains in my hand.”
In less than five seconds, Lee Harvey Oswald changed the course of history in the most dramatic, violent, brutal, and sickening way — and he made it look easy. As the President’s limo sped towards Parkland Hospital, someone who looked towards the building that the shots came from would have noticed the pigeons flying upwards and away from the building. And as those pigeons rose into the bright blue Texas sky of November 22, 1963, someone who looked towards the building that the shots came from also might have noticed a clock on the Hertz sign on top of the building’s roof.
If they noticed that clock on that sign, they would have seen that the time was now 12:31 PM.
What can you do in 4.6 seconds? It takes twice that amount of time for the fastest human being who has ever lived to run 100 meters at top speed. Some people take longer than 4.6 seconds to process thoughts, to start sentences, to absorb facts and make conclusions. Some people only need 4.6 seconds to leave an indelible imprint upon history, to make a wife a widow and children fatherless. For some people, 4.6 seconds is all the time required to change the world.
The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM. President John F. Kennedy’s motorcade has passed the building and is on Elm Street, in the open air of Dallas’s Dealey Plaza, en route to the Trade Mart, just five minutes away.
On Elm Street, Jackie Kennedy sees another overpass that will provide a brief, shady respite from the glare of the bright Texas sun. Those quick seconds of a cool shield from the unseasonably warm November day have been welcome interruptions from the waving and smiling that she has been greeting crowds with since the President and the First Lady arrived at Love Field just a few minutes earlier. As Presidential aide Kenneth O’Donnell had reminded her to do, Jackie is looking at the crowd on her left while President Kennedy looks to his right. Directly in front of the President is Texas Governor John Connally, pleasantly surprised at the friendly Dallas welcome the President is receiving. Next to the Governor is his wife, Nellie, who just finished joking to the President that it would be impossible for people to say that Dallas didn’t love him. Driving the President’s Lincoln limousine at 11.2 miles per hour, Secret Service agent Bill Greer just navigated a sharp turn below the Book Depository building while agent Roy Kellerman scans the crowd from his front passenger seat. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
On Elm Street, a large crowd has gathered on the grassy expanse in Dealey Plaza, as well as along the sidewalks, hoping to catch a wave or a smile from their popular President before he disappears underneath the triple railroad overpass that Jackie anticipates will give her a momentary break from the sun. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
On Elm Street, Secret Service agents in follow-up cars search the large crowds for unnatural movements, suspicious characters, and anything which might interfere with or cause harm to the Presidential motorcade or the President himself. The car behind the President, code named Halfback, also carries the President’s close aides, O’Donnell and Dave Powers. They watch the President intently, studying his interaction with the crowd, soaking up what is working and what is not working on this almost purely political trip into suspected hostile territory for JFK. Up until now, they too have been surprised by Dallas’s warm welcome. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
On Elm Street, the car behind Halfback carries Vice President Lyndon Johnson, his wife Lady Bird, Senator Ralph Yarborough, and several Secret Service agents. This is his home state, but Lyndon Johnson is just along for the ride. He’s not happy with his role as Vice President. He’s not thrilled to be riding with Senator Yarborough, who he has been feuding with for several years, and he’d rather be home at his LBJ Ranch or running the country that JFK is in charge of. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
Above Elm Street, 24-year-old Lee Harvey Oswald sits in a sixth-floor window of his place of employment — the Book Depository building — watching, waiting, and ready. Oswald has an Italian-made, 6.5 x 52 mm Carcano rifle which he purchased by mail order eight months earlier. Inside of the rifle is a round-nosed bullet with a copper jacket. With this rifle and this bullet, Oswald is going to change the world. Before the clock on the Hertz sign a couple of floors above him ticks off another minute, Lee Harvey Oswald will change the world with something that weighs just 10 grams. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
The loud crack that everyone hears at exactly 12:30 PM is difficult to figure out, even for the highly-trained Secret Service agents guarding the life of the President. Most think that it is a motorcycle backfiring, perhaps even a firecracker. The First Lady would later say that was what she thought. Only one of those highly-trained Secret Service agents reacts immediately. He is Rufus Youngblood and the instant he hears the crack of Oswald’s gun, he leaps into the backseat of his car and shoves the 6’3” Vice President as far down into the limo as possible, screaming “Get down!” while covering him with his body. Later, Youngblood notes that he briefly worried that he he might be overreacting. He wasn’t.
One person does realize that the sound he heard isn’t a motorcycle backfiring or a firecracker exploding. Governor Connally is an avid hunter and he realizes that someone just fired a rifle. The Governor — relieved that the Dallas trip was going better than expected to this point — also realizes that the perfect trip just turned into an attempted assassination. Immediately after hearing the first shot, Connally begins saying, “Oh, no, no, no!”. In the 2.3 seconds after the first shot is fired, people are still trying to figure out what just happened. The clock on the Hertz sign still reads 12:30 PM when a second shot is fired.
Still looking to her left, Jackie Kennedy shifts to the right when she hears the Governor’s words. The President is smiling at a young boy and beginning to wave when Oswald’s second shot tears through the back of the President’s neck just to the right of his spine. The bullet causes damage to Kennedy’s right lung, shreds his trachea and exits through the front of his throat, slicing through his tie. The bullet doesn’t stop there. Governor Connally had jerked quickly to his right upon hearing the first gunshot. The same bullet that passed through the President rips into Connally’s back, exits his chest, re-enters his body at his right wrist and plunges through to his left thigh. Greer, the driver, looks back over his right shoulder. Kellerman, the passenger, looks over his left. Inexplicably, they don’t react. Agent Clint Hill, on a running board of Halfback, does. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
The President is hurt, but his wound is not mortal. In fact, Governor Connally is injured far more severely from the shooting. Blood is pouring out of his chest, but a delayed reaction means he doesn’t feel pain for a second or two after being hit. When the pain hits, it is excruciating and Connally moans, “They are going to kill us both!” as his wife grabs him and pulls him towards her. Jackie now realizes that something is terribly wrong because the Governor of Texas is screaming with fright and pain. She looks to her husband and he has a look on his face that reminds her of when he’d get a headache or was in the middle of a deep thought. Later, she would describe his look as “quizzical”. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
President Kennedy jerks into an odd position as he is hit. He grasps at his throat, his hands clenched in fists and his elbows higher than his shoulders. This movement — exceedingly unnatural-looking — finally elicits a response from the Secret Service. While Greer unconsciously slows the Presidential limousine down and Kellerman freezes, Clint Hill has bounded off of Halfback and is running towards the back of the President’s car. Several Secret Service agents reach for their guns, still unsure of what happened, but positive that something has gone wrong. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
The President slumps slightly towards his wife, as if he is choking and needs assistance. Jackie leans towards the President. With her white-gloved hands, she gently grabs JFK’s left elbow and begins pulling him towards her. It has been less than five seconds since the first shot was fired, but it is now clear that the glare of the Texas sun is the least of Jackie Kennedy’s worries. She glances briefly towards the front of the limo at Governor Connally, whose lap is drenched with blood; at Nellie Connally who is pulling her husband into her lap; at Bill Greer, who actually slowed the limo down in his confusion; and at Roy Kellerman, who is looking back at the President, yet still sitting in his passenger seat. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
As the President leans towards his wife and the First Lady leans towards her husband, it appears as if Jackie is looking now at the area of the throat that Kennedy is clutching. Their faces are just inches apart from each other. Jackie is no longer looking to her left. There are no more waves, no more smiles. Kellerman remembers hearing the President say, “My God, I’m hit”, but no one else in the limo remembers that. In fact, it was probably impossible for the President to speak after the bullet tore through his throat. The clock on the Hertz sign above the Texas School Book Depository building reads 12:30 PM.
On Elm Street, the glamorous First Lady, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, is wearing a bright pink dress and spotless white gloves and has a bouquet of fresh red roses in her lap while the dark blue Presidential limousine passes a crowd of diverse colors gathered in a plaza full of green grass as a third shot rings out. The clock on the Hertz sign on top of the ugly, brown Book Depository building still reads 12:30 PM.
If there was any doubt about what was happening as the first two shots were fired, the doubt disappears in a thick mist of blood, bone and brain matter when the third shot hits its mark. Motorcycle cops escorting the President’s limousine are sprayed first by the sickening result of Lee Harvey Oswald’s third shot. One likened it later to being hit with “wet sawdust”. Before the third shot, there is no blood other than that pumping out of John Connally’s wounds. John F. Kennedy has been wounded, but he is not bleeding noticeably. Yet, as Jackie leans into her husband everything turns red — the limousine, Jackie’s fashionable dress, the Connallys, Greer, Kellerman, the naturally red roses, the windscreens on motorcycles near the limo, and the faces of Secret Service agents inside Halfback.
By the third shot, Secret Service agents have turned their attention to the the Presidential limousine and many are watching President Kennedy’s head when the final shot hits. Later, people remembered the sound just as distinctly as the sight. One agent recalled the dull sound as being similar to the noise of a watermelon being smashed or a bullet being shot into a jug of water. Almost all of the agents watching the President immediately know that the wound is fatal. Ken O’Donnell and Dave Powers, two of Kennedy’s closest friends as well as longtime aides, begin praying. Clint Hill is almost to the back bumper of JFK’s car when the third shot hits and covers him in blood and flesh.
The fatal shot strikes President Kennedy in the back of the head, almost directly in between the ears. The entrance wound is small, but the bullet violently exits the right side of the front of his head, exploding into a cloud of blood, pieces of his cerebellum, skull fragments, and flesh with hair still attached. The President’s body jerks suddenly to the front and then to the back, awkwardly slamming into the seat and falling into the lap of Jackie. Blood is everywhere. Thick clumps of blood which immediately cover the limousine. Jackie screams, “My God, what are they doing? My God, they’ve killed Jack! They’ve killed my husband. Jack! Jack! I love you, Jack!”. Jackie is cradling her husband’s disfigured head in her lap as blood stains her pink suit and white gloves. The brain of her husband — a brain admired by so many for it’s ability and intellectual curiosity — is leaking out of his head along with bright red blood which is as thick as mud.
Suddenly, Jackie jumps up and climbs towards the trunk of the limousine. She is later asked about this action and doesn’t remember why she did it. In fact, she has no recollection of doing it at all, even when looking at photographs of herself doing it. Clint Hill has caught up to the hand grips on the back of the Lincoln as Kellerman finally acts and orders Greer to accelerate. Hill nearly loses his grip and is also unsure later why Jackie was climbing out of the backseat. To some it looks like she is trying to escape the horror, to others it appears as if she is trying to help pull Hill on to the limo. To a lot of people, it’s thought that she was retrieving pieces of her husband’s shattered skull. Despite Greer’s acceleration, Hill jumps on to the limo, grabs Jackie, puts her back into the seat, and lays spread-eagle above the mortally-wounded President. The site inside the limo sickens him. A flap of Kennedy’s skull is hanging to his head only by a thin thread of flesh. There is blood everywhere. Pieces of detached skull fragments with Kennedy’s hair still attached lie in the backseat.
Hill knows that the President’s wound is not survivable. As he shields the dying President and the shocked First Lady, he slams his hand against the car’s exterior, realizing that the Secret Service just failed to do it’s most important job. Nellie Connally cradles her husband in her arm’s as well. Not all of the blood is Kennedy’s. Governor Connally is bleeding profusely. He is also losing consciousness. Indeed, Nellie Connally believes her husband is actually dead until his hands move slightly. Jackie Kennedy is repeating over-and-over again, “They’ve killed him! I love you, Jack!”.
The President of the United States is still breathing, but barely. His eyes are open, staring blankly at Jackie as she tries to shield him from the horror that has already befallen her, her family, and her country. Kellerman orders the limousine to head to Parkland Hospital and Greer slams the gas pedal to the floor, heading out of Dealey Plaza and underneath the triple overpass that Jackie was looking forward to. The people in the plaza are stunned. Most don’t even realize what has happened. Those who do are convinced that Kennedy is dead.
Before lapsing into unconsciousness from his wound, Governor Connally hears Jackie Kennedy’s tears. He hears his wife screaming. He hears static on the police and Secret Service radios as they frantically, belatedly take action. He hears orders being given, engines being revved, and his own heart pumping blood just as quickly as it pours out of his body.
What he doesn’t hear are frightened pigeons flying up and away from the Book Depository building. What he doesn’t hear are empty shell casings popping out of Lee Harvey Oswald’s rifle and landing on the floor of his sixth-floor perch. What he doesn’t hear are the labored breaths and gurgling sounds coming from the President’s wounded throat. What he doesn’t hear are the preparations being made to receive a Code 3 emergency at Parkland Hospital involving the President of the United States.
What Governor Connally most remembers hearing as he drifts into unconsciousness is Jacqueline Kennedy — elegant, beautiful Jacqueline Kennedy — sobbing and saying over-and-over again, “What have they done to you? I love you, Jack!”. And, finally — tragically, heartbreakingly, horrifically — he hears the First Lady softly tell Clint Hill, “I have his brains in my hand.”
In less than five seconds, Lee Harvey Oswald changed the course of history in the most dramatic, violent, brutal, and sickening way — and he made it look easy. As the President’s limo sped towards Parkland Hospital, someone who looked towards the building that the shots came from would have noticed the pigeons flying upwards and away from the building. And as those pigeons rose into the bright blue Texas sky of November 22, 1963, someone who looked towards the building that the shots came from also might have noticed a clock on the Hertz sign on top of the building’s roof.
If they noticed that clock on that sign, they would have seen that the time was now 12:31 PM.
I don’t think there’s a better place for Senator Kennedy to be buried other than near his brothers at Arlington National Cemetery.
Also, I need to go to Arlington National Cemetery.
(Photo courtesy of the Boston Globe)
