Where were you when JFK died?

Students honor JFK on Nov. 22, 1963 on campus of South High School,
Torrance, California

It's been 48 years today since the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Dallas. I was a 15-year-old sophomore in Tallmadge Wilson's English class when I heard the news. Here are my recollections:

The commotion in the hallway was the first indication that something was wrong that November 22nd morning in 1963. Students and teachers seemed to appear in the hallway all at once -- girls were crying and some were screaming  "the President's been shot." It was chaotic.

What a rude awakening from the pronouns and adverbs of my sleepy third-period class at South High School in Torrance, Calif. And what an introduction to the harsh and cruel side of life. Until then, my small world as a 15 year old had been surfing, playing music and having fun with friends and family.

After those initial moments of confusion and uncertainty on campus, we began to learn more details of events as they unfolded in Texas. Things on campus calmed down, but it all seemed so unbelievable . . . surrealistic. There were no televisions or radios in classrooms then, so details were passed by word of mouth and loudspeaker. We soon learned the president had died.

Not long after the classrooms were emptied. Students, teachers and staff gathered around the flagpole on the campus lawn. In the hush, the flag was lowered slowly to half staff in honor of President Kennedy. We stood in silence for many minutes, and then students were dismissed to go home.

Note: The photo above was taken during the flag ceremony . . . students circling the flagpole, many deep in thought with heads bowed. A colleague on the student newspaper "Sword and Shield" captured the historic event with his camera. (A flag ceremony on the OLCC campus on Sept. 11, 2001 was eerily similar to that day in 1963).

Schools were closed for three days while the nation was in mourning . Except for one or two religious movies, our black and white televisions showed non-stop assassination news, JFK’s funeral and then, the horrible on-camera murder of Lee Harvey Oswald.

Innocence lost, I guess. Just three years earlier, I’d pedaled my bicycle to the local Kennedy for President election office and picked up some campaign bumper stickers and buttons for my room.

I was really too young then to understand the meaning of it all, but I was aware that this was an important event in U.S. history.
 
I’ve been interested in the JFK assassination ever since and have read many books (and DVDs) on the subject.

Remembering Mom on her birthday

Shirley Palke with husband Byron, center, and on fishing trip.
Photos taken in 1940s and early '50s.

Today is Mom's Birthday. She would have been 86. I miss her.

Shirley Mae (Allen) Palke was born on Nov. 7, 1925, in Los Angeles, California. She died in July 2003 in Salem, Oregon. But these statistics only mark a beginning and an end. In between she lived life, and along the way had a profound influence on my brother John and me.

She and her brothers Ed and Paul grew up in L.A. during the Depression years of the 1930s when money and sometimes food were scarce. Her parents Gladys and Ed died young, so she was raised first by her grandparents, and then a loving aunt and uncle. The three Allen kids did odd jobs and the small change they earned went into the family coffers for necessities.

Mom was athletic and excelled at academics at Washington High School. A couple of photos of her at school show her hamming it up with classmates on the campus lawn. She met Dad (Byron Palke) at church during the early years of World War II.

It was quite a pairing. Mom was a city girl and Dad (nicknamed Bud) was fresh off a Nebraska farm. Their courtship was interrupted by a draft notice from the U.S. Army. Dad was sent overseas pretty quickly, serving in the infantry in the Dutch East Indies, New Guinea and the Philippines. He was severely wounded in action and they were married not long after he arrived home.

I was born in 1948 and John in 1951. Mom stayed at home until us boys were through school and on our own. In those early days, Dad took the family station wagon to work at the cabinet shop. It didn't matter anyway because Mom didn't drive. So when we went someplace with her, we walked, took the bus, or rode with Grandpa and Grandma.

Some of those walks were special. Like the time she clutched my hand walking those few blocks to Woodcrest Elementary School on my first day of kindergarten. Or the first time she waited at the curb with me to meet the Sunday school bus. Other times, Mom, John and I would walk to the nearby Daylight Market or dime store on shopping trips.

In 1958 she took us on the streetcar to see a Dodgers game at the Coliseum. Another time, we rode the bus to see Elvis Presley in the movie "Jailhouse Rock."

Mom was a great cook and loved to have the extended family over for birthday or holiday meals. Her specialties: roast beef and mashed potatoes, fried chicken, ham or fish, macaroni and cheese, barbecue, and a Mexican casserole. If we liked it, Mom would cook it.

She also loved gardening, reading, travel, camping and family. She was great at Scrabble. Mom could be feisty, but she was a kind and gentle person with a big heart.

Over the years, she influenced me in many ways. She shared her love of music and the big bands and offered encouragement during my piano lessons. Her enjoyment of baseball rubbed off on me; over the years I've loved playing and watching the game. And it was her suggestion that led me to a career in writing and journalism. I was on the high school and college newspapers and became a professional journalist. After she died, Dad gave me a scrapbook that she had filled with clippings of my early newspaper stories.

I remember and honor Mom for these things and for the thousands of little things she did over the years to make our lives more enjoyable. And I know Dad, her brother Ed and John feel the same way.