50 Yrs. Ago: TV’s 1st Live Murder

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1963 2013: On this day a half century ago, in the wake of President John F. Kennedy’s assassination, about all anyone could do was hunker down in front of their television set to mourn the tragic loss of this visionary leader. That’s precisely what I was doing.

And so, it was inevitable that I’d soon become an eyewitness to something no one, especially a youngster (I was 9 at the time), should’ve ever been forced to endure. My childhood innocence would soon be shot to hell.

My NBC affiliate, WWJ-TV Detroit, channel 4, was broadcasting the live, national feed; the network cameras set up in the basement of the Dallas, Texas municipal building; where the cops were in the process of transferring Lee Harvey Oswald from the city jail to the more “secure” county lockup facility. It didn’t take long before these lawmen had discovered exactly how flawed their game plan had been; i.e., how sloppy their efforts had been in securing the route taken. Maybe they just didn’t care what happened? Or was it more a matter of hoping someone would make “something” happen?

That “something” did happen. At 12:20 EST, I distinctly recall watching a man, wearing a hat and dark colored suit, emerge from the throng of reporters. He turned out to be some sort of self-appointed, one-man firing squad. For him, it was simply a matter of READY… AIM… FIRE!

Fire he did. Oswald dropped to the ground (subsequent replays from different cameras / camera angles as well as still photos showed the grimace of agony, which contorted his face). Then, before the flummoxed, incompetent cops had even begun to react, I had reacted. My first thought was, “Now what? Would someone else soon step out from the shadows to kill Ruby?” Was that the general MO of this locale or just some random, isolated incident?

True, if Oswald really had been guilty of the crime he was accused of, punishment was required. But, what the hell had happened to the concept of innocent until proven guilty? Of course, at that point, Ruby’s gunfire had made such a trial impossible. Nope, there could be no orderly, legal proceedings where, via the carefully presented testimony and examination of the forensics, we could’ve perhaps patched together what actually happened in Dealey Plaza on 11/22/1963?

Moreover, not everyone believes in the death penalty. Looking at this from a more evolved perspective, had the (then) 24-year-old Oswald gone to trial and been proven guilty, had he been serving a life sentence, he may’ve still been alive today. Even though it’s highly unlikely that he’d have ever taken the witness stand back in 1963/64, who knows? When an incarcerated man comes to the realization that he has fewer days ahead than those behind him, he sometimes softens into a what-do-I-have-to-lose, tell-all mood. And tell-all is exactly what we have needed for the past half century.

Of course, maybe there really was nothing for Oswald to tell?

Well, if anything positive emerged from this long, fifty years ago, blood splattered weekend, it has been my consequent attitude; i.e., my loathing of firearms (and all things related to them).

As for the flipped out flip side of “our” “civilization”; i.e., the others out there… WAY OUT THERE? Well, these are the ones who learned the exact opposite lesson. Their “role models” were / still are Oswald and Ruby. They got off on / still get off on a vigilante / Wild West / anything goes mindset where the sound of BANG… BANG… BANG is the soundtrack of their lives; the “music” that tops off their Top 40 Hit Parade; that “catchy tune” that plays over and over and over again in their warped minds.

Over the course of the past half-century, this foul ‘tude has had plenty of time to fester and devolve America into our present-day, lowercase america… A.K.A., a gun sick society seething with raw, insatiable bloodlust.

“It Felt Like the World Would Freeze”

PREFACE To give credit where credit is due, today’s blog title is a song lyric from the Dream Academy recording, Life in a Northern Town. Any words between “” (which are not identified otherwise) are the actual words my late mother wrote in her journal, dated 11/22/1963.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1963 2013: Even the passage of time has not diminished my intense feelings for and memories of this tragic day’s events in Dallas, Texas… fifty years ago. When that long ago day began, I could not even begin to fathom such deadly horrors, which is about what one would expect from any typical nine-year-young boy growing up in early Sixties, small town America…

The public schools, which my twelve-year-young sister and I attended, had scheduled parent/teacher conferences for this day (only for grades K-8). That meant we’d be spending the day at home with our fulltime, stay-at-home mom. Needless to say her two children were both overjoyed over the prospect of a long, three-day weekend. However, since dad taught high school science courses (within the same school system), he did have to report for work.  

Weather-wise… well… to sum it up in one word? Gloomy. True, temps were unseasonably mild (in the mid to upper 50^oF range), however, a daylong, steady drizzling rain fell from the dark bluish gray clouds; making playing out of doors not a particularly attractive option. But sis and I found our own diversions, anyway, and the morning wore on.

I ate my lunch shortly after 1 p.m., my dessert consisting of a glass of milk and a Hostess™ Finger (a cake made from the same recipe as their chocolate Cupcakes… only shaped like a Twinkie). By 1:35 p.m. (EST), just as I was taking the last bite of this taste treat, my sister rushed from her bedroom into the dining room repeating what she had just heard on her pocket-sized transistor radio. That was a news story… one, which defied believability. She exclaimed, 

“Someone shot President Kennedy!”

Mom quickly turned the kitchen radio back on. Mere minutes earlier, she had silenced it because of “the lousy music blaring forth”. My sister’s reportage was quickly confirmed. We all filed into the living room to turn on the TV. Even before the still warming up black and white screen lit up, we could hear the audio of a CBS News bulletin… already in progress. Within less than half an hour, Walter Cronkite was choking back his own tears to report.

“From Dallas Texas… the flash, apparently official… President Kennedy died at 1 p.m. Central Standard Time… 2 o’clock Eastern Standard Time… some 38 minutes ago.”

From that point onward, we were all in a state of shock; too much to even cry; too much to even put our feelings into words. The three of us could only sit in dead silence, “glued to the TV”. It all seemed so surreal; as if everything had gone into slow motion; the entire world was grinding down to a dead halt.

About an hour later, our next-door neighbor rang our front doorbell. He had stopped by to ask if we had heard the news out of Dallas and mom told him, “We knew.”

Around 4 bells, dad came home from work and joined his family to watch the ongoing reportage of the gory, blood spattered carnage figuratively spilling forth from Dealey Plaza unto our living room carpet.

As the afternoon continued to wind down, Lyndon B. Johnson took the oath of office with JFK’s in shock, grieving widow standing at his side; those ceremonies taking place aboard the Air Force One, makeshift, Inauguration Day platform. 

Glancing out the window, from time to time, I couldn’t help but notice how the dismal overcast had made the darkness of night arrive much earlier than what would’ve normally happened on a less inclement, late afternoon autumn day. The pale bluish grey hue from the TV images, flickering off the living room walls, became more noticeable.

I also found myself occasionally zoning out from the TV reports; going into this deep, stream of consciousness; recalling everything my young mind could conjure up about JFK.

I could remember Election Day 1960; sis and I standing with our parents as they waited to cast their ballots. It was the longest line I had ever seen; one, which snaked around the periphery of the entire high school gymnasium. Mom and dad both being educators, they were using this event as a teaching moment; instilling their values on how crucial it is for Americans to have a voice; maintain an active role in how their country is run.

Our folks had nothing but high praise for the Kennedy family; how their considerable economic wealth hadn’t tainted their altruistic and philanthropic nature. They loved what JFK and his family stood for; i.e., an America, which was not merely of, by and for the wealthy, BUT an America where every motivated person, regardless of their race, color, creed and station in life, could expect a fair shake to get ahead.

I thought back to how visionary our now slain president had been; how he presented a gutsy proposition; to boldly go where no one else would’ve dared venturing… to the Moon, no less; how his anything’s possible spirit was just beginning to ripple forth to each and every caring soul in our nation, including yours truly.

And I also knew of how JFK’s boldly go character had figured prominently into his WW-II service record. He could’ve easily used his bad back and/or his family’s influence to avoid military service but, instead, used that clout to GET INTO the military. As a lieutenant, he’d later go on to become a war hero for courageously saving his surviving crew from their attacked, sinking boat, PT-109.

While I was destined to grow up as a pacifist, I do believe a man, such as JFK, who as a Lieutenant, had served his country in wartime, had learned much from these destructive experiences. They made him a far more prudent Commander-In-Chief when it came down to go or no go decisions re wars; left him fully cognizant that going to war should always be dead last on the list of options. And I suspect that had JFK stayed home fifty years ago, he would’ve been far less likely to embroil the US in Vietnam than LBJ was. Just imagine what the Sixties would’ve looked like had no war protestors been needed!

I even flashed back on a televised Q and A session where, I saw a grinning JFK, standing behind his podium, using some humorous quip to get most of the press corps to chuckle along with him. Even at this young age my overall impression was that this leader was vibrant, brilliant, pleasant and optimistic.

Well… as my eyes refocused back to those then present day’s assassination reports I realized that fond memories of JFK were all that we had left and they were not enough to ease my anguish. Beyond that, my nine years of age just didn’t give me much else to draw on; i.e., to help me get a handle on how, anyone would even want to reject all the good the president stood for; how anyone could possibly feel such hatred; to the point where they’d use bullets not ballots to remove a president from office; that with the pull of a trigger, a man, so full of life, had been denied his life / cut down in his prime; how all of his noble ideas would soon be buried in the dirt with him.

Being among the first generation raised on the tube, of course, I had seen televised violence and death. But I was old enough to know the diff between playacting and reality. Yet, part of me wanted, oh so desperately, for the reports of President Kennedy’s assassination to be untrue or some wretched nightmare I could wake up from.

It was along about 5 p.m. when mom got up from her chair to get dinner going. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to her switching on the dining room lights. That early evening, we ate more out of habit than hunger. And we had no sooner consumed our meal than we all found ourselves drawn back to the living room to watch more of the somber, continuous, commercial-less TV coverage.

As the weekend went on and on and on, we all watched the endless procession, going on and on and on as mourners filed past JFK’s casket, lying in state beneath the Capitol Rotunda.

Two days after the assassination, a Sunday no less, as if Friday’s gun violence hadn’t already been enough, I became an eyewitness to the first ever nationally televised live murder. I watched the self-appointed judge, jury and executioner, one Jack Ruby, whip out a handgun to blow away JFK’s alleged assassin, Lee Harvey Oswald. The question that instantly entered my mind was, “Now what?” Would someone else soon step out from the shadows to kill Ruby?

Well, the three-day weekend had been extended to four days when our school system announced that classes would be cancelled on Monday; so all could watch JFK’s funeral.

Monday brought a return of the sunshine and as we all watched the horse drawn procession en route to Arlington National Cemetery, I found myself putting myself in John-John Kennedy’s shoes; here that young boy was, on his third birthday, no less, saluting a flag draped coffin; watching his own father being buried. Considering his tender years, did he even fully understand? Sadness overcame me as I listened to the performance of Taps.

Back in my school classroom on Tuesday morning, I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret the intent of my teacher’s lesson. Her chosen upbeat musical selection, which she played on the classroom piano, was Deep in The Heart of Texas. This was either her way of saying that we kiddies shouldn’t be harboring ill will towards Texans OR she was so giddy with joy over JFK's death that her message was more like, “Don’t mess with Texas!”

In any event, I had done a lot of growing up that extended “weekend”. Overwhelming feelings that the US and the whole wide world would never be the same again, were impossible to dismiss. Those shots in Dallas, indeed, were heard around the world and the sounds have not stilled; still echo on and on, fifty years later. A “what if” question no one could ever possibly answer is…

What if JFK had played it safe by laying low on November 22, 1963? Well, had he lived on, I believe he’d have won reelection. His brothers Bobby and Teddy, both, could’ve easily succeeded him; each as a two term president.

A twenty-four year long Kennedy Dynasty would’ve never opened the bipartisan, Pandora’s Box of unacceptable character flaws exhibited by JFK’s successors; inclusive of LBJ’s saber rattling and war mongering, Tricky Dicky’s Big Brother bugging, Gerald Ford’s pardoning crooks, Jimmy Carter’s meaning well blandness, Ronald Reagan’s greed fueled labor union busting and Robin Hood in reverse tactics (Reganomics), George H. W. Bush’s drug and arms dealing to prolong Carter’s misery re the Iranian hostage crisis, Bill Clinton’s sexual addiction, George W. Bush’s ineptitude which left the US vulnerable on 9/11, his shredding of the US Constitution, his blood for oil Iraq war, war crimes / torture.

In other words, from November 22, 1963 onward, it’s as if we’ve all been forced to view this historical era as some grainy, analog black and white TV transmission. A Kennedy dynasty would’ve been akin to watching a crystal clear digital color HDTV transmission.

Oh, you may’ve noticed that I did not assess Barack Obama two paragraphs above. Well, due to the legislative gridlock, his hands are tied. Ergo, unless he declares Martial Law, dons his Commander-In-Chief helmet and rolls out the tanks / leads the charge to round up and make POWs out of legislative GOPee-ers, Tea Baggers and pseudo Democrats, he’ll never elevate lowercase america from its doldrums.

And to sum that all up in words, which the late TV journalist Walter Cronkite would've used…

That’s the way it was is, Friday, November 22, 1963 2013

Schools Loaded With Bullies ‘n’ Bullets

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 2013: I’m sure most of my readers in the US have seen the car bumper stickers where proud parents boast about how their public school aged honor students are kicking ass… academically. What a wonderful way to encourage these kids, who, after all, will need to be intellectually curious and well prepared to lead our world into the future.

However, if you drive around long enough, wherever you may live in lowercase america, you’ll eventually spot a bumper sticker where butthead parents use the rear end of their cars to boast about how their kids are kicking ass… literally. More specifically: 

“My Kid Can Beat Up Your Honor Student”

I believe far more than crass capitalism (at its worst) is to blame, here. Any “entrepreneurs” who’d manufacture and huckster such vile, violence inciting products have got to be feeling nostalgic for their glory days as vicious school bullies. Little doubt, they’ve snagged their “dream” jobs; the perfect blend of savage business and sadistic pleasure.

Their bumper stickers, in part, “validate” bullies, who’ve morphed into present-day stick-figure parents; who are raising their kids to be the spitting image of themselves; raising their own offspring to raise hell. Their spawned “little ones” are spawning a nightmare that we, as a society, are finding difficult to wake up from.

Some would say that such stickers are “just” a joke and I should lighten up. But, I cannot.

Not when I, myself, was a victim of bullying.

Not when the next public school mass murder is not a matter of “if’ but “when”. By now, the mass media must’ve developed a form story; all a reporter need do is simply fill in the blanks with the date and time, school name, shooter’s name and body count.

Must we turn our schools into warzones with in-house SWAT teams and MASH units? Must administrators have teachers teach from behind bulletproof glass walls? Arm instructors with assault rifles and revise student dress codes to require bulletproof helmets and Kevlar vests?

Not when cyber-bullying routinely, negatively impacts student bodies within our nation’s public school system. While becoming a victim is not gender specific, demographically, this most frequently affects girls who are aged 10 thru 14. Victims oft wind up withdrawn, depressed and engage in substance abuse and other reckless behavior. Some become runaways; join the ranks of the milk carton portrait missing. Worst-case scenario, others are eventually driven by their tormentors to kill themselves. The stats show that, annually, 4,400 kids find suicide to be their only way out. And for every suicide, there are 100 attempts.

Let’s get into some specifics, now, with regards to a former Florida, Crystal Lake Middle School student, Rebecca Sedwick.

You can read the more detailed story and view the related vid, HERE, but, suffice to say, this tormented teen was forced to endure up to 15 female bullies led astray by two ringleader girls, ages 14 and 12; the 12-year-old was formerly Rebecca’s best friend, no less. As for the 14-year-old bully, she threatened to beat up Rebecca and told her “to drink bleach and die.”

Rebecca’s mom was left little choice but to homeschool her daughter until she could arrange a transfer to a new “safer” school. But, there could be no escape; no way out. Not when cyber-bullying is the latest rage. And, yes, RAGE is the perfect word for it. This young student’s tormentors were always laying in wait; skulking in the murky shadows of cyberspace; all plotting to ensnare their victim within their mangled, tangled WWW.

Feeling utterly devastated, by September 9, 2013, Rebecca was driven to desperation. Her tormentors’ incessant harassment caused her to jump off a tower at an abandoned concrete plant… to her death.

How did the 14-year-old bully react? Check out this anti-social social network / Facebook comment, which she is alleged to have posted.

“Yes, ik I bullied REBECCA nd she killed her self but IDGAF <3”

Oh, did you note how this commenter punctuated her seething with hatred rage with a cutesy heart symbol. Nice touch, huh? What? No smiley faces?

Imagine the gall of a bully who doesn’t feel that she’s done anything wrong and experiences zero remorse? As if what? Her bullying didn’t cause Rebecca’s death? And to top it all off she brags about it. As if what? She can get away with murder. And please note that I didn’t end that previous sentence with a question mark. Why?

Because Rebecca’s tormentors likely will get away with murder. It’s easy to see how they will get off scot-free. Here in lowercase american “society” even the Sandy Hook Elementary School mass murder was not a wake up call. Nope, the enough is enough outrage society felt after 20 innocent children got mowed down during the December holidays was short-lived. America's sorrow was not contagious on Capitol Hill where the (mostly GOP’s) heedless, headless, heartless US senators and representatives didn’t give a damn about making the required, common sense changes in gun laws to make our public schools safer. Nope, these NRA owned politicians never intended to take even the smallest baby steps toward the betterment of society.

Orlando Florida attorney David Hill says the parents of those who bullied Rebecca could be charged with contributing to the delinquency of a minor; i.e., IF the alleged daddies and mommies knew of the bullying and chose not to stop it; of course IF being the operative word. After all, ignoramuses (masquerading as parents) could always plead ignorance.

New Jersey lawyer Perry Aftab said it would be tough to convict anyone accused of causing a person to commit suicide, in part, because of our laws that protect free speech! Imagine that! Words that kill are a constitutional right?

Whatever the outcome, here’s where this case stands as of 10/30/13. Both the 14 and 12 year old, were arrested on 10/21/13 and pled not guilty to the charge of felony aggravated stalking; their arraignment is tentatively scheduled for 11/21/13.

Folks, Rebecca’s death has reopened old wounds… my own. From the fourth grade onward, bullies relentlessly picked on me. I was unable to do something as simple as walking through my public school’s hallways without being mercilessly taunted and teased. What made this unwanted attention even harder to fathom was that nearly all of these bullies were total strangers to me. Just how could anyone, who I had never even met, who I could’ve never wronged in any imaginable way, vent such hostility towards me?

Even more incredulous, one bully, who I did know by name, Jerry, delivered the daily newspaper to my home’s doorstep. He obviously didn’t see the inherently bad biz practice of bullying the son of one of his paying customers; something my dad had to sternly point out to him when he ordered my tormentor to cease and desist. You want to know the kicker to this story? So unmoved by my father’s lecture; so unwilling to back down from bullying me; this kid quit his paper route.

But bullies were not content to attack me verbally. Here are just four of many examples.

Incident One: While on the playground teeter-totter with a friend, one of these bullies, who just happened to be passing by, decided to jump on the other end. His sudden extra weight catapulted me into the air and on the way down, my sudden impact (with both the teeter-totter and ground) netted me an ugly, painful black and blue bump / contusion on my forehead.

Incident Two: In another playground incident, this time, right after I had eaten my lunch. One bully used a “full nelson hold” on me so I could not use my own arms to protect myself; so his pal could easily deliver his painful punch to my stomach; one that almost made me vomit.

Incident Three: Even summer vacation offered no escape. I vividly recall frantically pedaling my bike to escape a gang of my tormentors; only to fall and scrape my outer thigh on the rough concrete of my home’s driveway. As I picked myself up, I could hear these bullies’ guffaws and catcalls in the distance. They were obviously ecstatic over my misery; my injuries and pain.

Incident Four: The most degrading, depressing experience of all occurred one cold winter morning at the bus stop (that pick-up point being a nearby high school). While waiting inside for the arrival of bus #17, which would take me to my elementary school, bully Kenny went over to a drinking fountain, filled up his foul mouth with water, turned around and took aim. With the fists of both his hands, he next punched his cheeks to geyser that spit and water… right at me… most of it winding up on my face. Thoroughly pleased with himself, with a nasty smirk, he then walked away, laughing with glee. I walked, too. All the way home. I missed school that day; just one of countless others where I was routinely denied a nonthreatening environment to obtain my education.

So where was the support system I was suppose to have? When I reported school incidents to my unsympathetic, pathetic “teachers”; those who were purportedly there to protect and help me, what did I get? Well, when shown my injuries from the teeter-totter incident, I instantly sensed teach’s “Eh… so what?” insensitivity. She neither bothered to ask if I was feeling pain or dizziness nor did she as much as suggest that the school nurse examine me.

On another occasion, the “teacher” imparted her advice, “It takes two to make a fight.” As if what? Turn the other cheek? As if what? The totally unprovoked abuse I was receiving was half my fault? Or maybe in her mind, these incidents were, somehow, ALL my fault?

And I do remind my readers that I had done absolutely nothing to warrant any of these attacks. But I suppose my mere existence was reason enough.

When my parents wrote a note to the school principle (let’s call him by his name, Dwight), he could not muster enough common decency and compassion to discretely call me down to his private office to discuss the matter. Instead, dimwit Dwight opted to publically chew me out, point his finger right in my stunned, horrified face. He actually accused me of being a liar! At that point, I was feeling about one centimeter tall.

Dwight’s merciless tirade took place right before (the suddenly gone dead silent) school lunchroom; filled with hundreds of kids (and you guessed it) that was inclusive of my tormentors. He obviously didn’t take kindly to my folks pointing out the obvious; that he had lost control over his cesspool school (if he ever really had any control to begin with). And he was far too arrogant and ignorant to realize how he, himself, had just added HIS VERY OWN NAME to the already long list of bullies who were making my so-called life an absolute, unbearable hell.

And right on cue, Dwight had emboldened the very bullies he should’ve been chewing out. But I do suppose he was merely employing a bit of cost (d)effective time management. It was far easier to tear into one defenseless kid, me, than deal with several dozen brazen bullies. His unspoken message to my tormentors was abundantly clear, i.e., those who they victimized would be punished; not them; a fact that they endlessly reveled in. From that point onward, their taunting words would constantly remind me of how the principal had scolded me.

This totally unwarranted humiliation left me feeling despair that no kid should ever be forced to endure. The unfinished portion of my bag lunch wound up in the trash receptacle. Noon recess followed and as I ran from the school, wishing I could run much farther away than the playground, I slipped on some wet gravel, fell and scraped my ankle. The only “plus”, here, was my tormentors hadn’t been there to enjoy seeing that.

So, you can see how I can identify with a story, such as Rebecca’s. Suffice to say, the only reason I hadn’t committed suicide like she did, was my (then) naiveté re that “option”.  

So, just how did I cope? My only escape was using any and every ailment / injury as an excuse for absenting myself from Dwight’s pro-bully school. To that end, my allergies to airborne particulates played a prominent role. I mean, unless somebody took my temperature, my red and runny nose, coughing, wheezing and sneezing made it easy to fake colds.

I was only able to keep up with my studies / pass my teachers’ tests because both of my parents were teachers (Mom: English and Literature; Dad: Math and the Sciences). I suppose one could say that, for the most part, I was home schooled long before it became “fashionable”. And to make an educated guess, here, I’d say that many of my pro-bully teachers, while taking roll call, were all too happy to see the frequently empty chair behind my assigned desk.

Being the victim of childhood bullies I grew up to see our world as an unfit place to raise children. And unless that were ever to change, I will never change my decision to not father any children. And, believe me, tragedies, such as Rebecca Sedwick’s bully induced suicide, only strengthen my POV re the inhuman race.

Of course, my own personal, no kids policy still doesn’t alter the fact that lowercase america is where stick figure parents routinely dump their tyrant / terrorist spawn into our public schools. Bumper stickers, which boast, “My Kid Can Beat Up Your Honor Student” all point toward a sick society, one which can only turn out a bumper crop of bullies and endless barrages of ricocheting bullets.

Since children are the future… well… left unchecked, bullies will become “our” future elected officials. Wait a sec… will become? Did I just type that?

To get real here, the bullies have already been elected and sworn in. During the recent US Government shutdown, we all became eyewitness to the reprehensible Tea Party; a.k.a. the first wave of bully politicians (whose hero worship most likely centers on the bullies / torturers / sociopaths from the previous admin; i.e., the now X prez W Bush and XVP Dick Cheney).

As for the second wave?  Those who bullied Rebecca Sedwick, until she committed suicide, can and will be elected to high office, someday. It makes me glad that, at best, I only have about 10 to 20 years left before my demise.

As for the (in the minority) decent people who'll survive me? You have my pity.

As for those stick figure entities and their “hatched” zygotes who'll survive me? You’ve made your bed and you’ll have to lie in it. You wretched types can only have the wretched world you create.

To put that into computer parlance:

Garbage In = Garbage Out