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Page 12 text:
“
Tou Looked Up A t the Crowd.. . Tou stepped onto Capitol street and right before your eyes stood an empty caisson drawn by three pairs ofgray horses. Off to the side stood a black horse. Tou walked up to the caisson until you were only inches from it. Then you touched it. Tou noticed a broad, black leather strap which would secure the President’s bier. The sides were draped in black. It was the same caisson that carried President Lincoln. Tou looked up at the crowd. The faces were young . .. high school stu- dents and college students . . . tiny tots and grade schoolers. Their par- ents came too. The masses stood in uniform and in everyday clothing. Some were laymen and some were clergymen. Some were foreign born and some were native born. Some were dignitaries and some were ditch- diggers. Tour mindflashed back to Friday afternoon. The solemnity etched in the faces was the same. . . . The Faces Were Toung. The bier in still silence was carried down the steps of the Capitol. Tou recalled how some fellow students vigiled through a long night to see the bier resting in the Great Rotunda, and how they were turned away at the foot of the Capitol steps. The bier was slid onto the empty caisson. The strap was tightened around the flag-drapped casket. Slowly the march of muffled drums began to roll toward St. Matthews Cathedral and onward to Arlington National Cemetary. The hushed crowds waved goodbye, as the President retraced the route he had made up Pennsylvania Avenuefor his Inauguration. Inside the covered casket lay Kennedy the martyr, Kennedy the leader, Kennedy the writer of history. He would no longer lead a nation. His pen would no longer write. Tou left Washington and traveled across the city into Maryland. A radio announcer eloquently described the moving funeral scene. Taps echoed across Arlington. With the last notes you turned to your right and viewed thick wisps of clean, white smoke rising toward the heavens. John Fitzgerald Kennedy was committed to the ages. Michael Luckman—Class of 1964
”
Page 11 text:
“
The Side of a Loved One As tragedy struck, students rushed to their radios. A small group con- gregating around a car radio grew to a crowd. The small people and the big people of the campus were drawn together in common sorrow. Per- sonal and political differences melted during those silent minutes. The radio reports begged our attention. But somehow the announcers couldn't supply enough information on the President's condition. It was like a close relative or member of the family or next door neighbor being lost at sea and you stood praying and hoping, leaning on the slim chance that he would be saved. Grief on that fateful Friday was an aching murmur that intensified as the minutes ticked away and conflicting re- ports on the President's condition were given. You wished you could be at the Dallas hospital, at the side of a loved one. You journeyed to Washington for a funeral Monday—a funeral for a man you had never met, but had learned to love. You were joined by other students who felt a respon- sibility to be present. Then, all too quickly, the inevitable resounded. “President Kennedy is dead! You heard what you didn't want to hear. You shook your head in disbelief, as a little child would try to shake off a bad dream. But it was real enough. Your friends were standing next to you with tears in their eyes. A few girls with familiar faces broke out into hysteria. And your heart was tugged. On the other side of the campus, students approached the flagpole. They glanced upward at a flag which had once flown over the nation's Cap- itol. The sky was now growing darker. Dutifully, they lowered the flag to half mast.
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