I was spending a junior year abroad, studying at the University of Bordeaux in France, when President Kennedy was shot in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Extracts of two letters I wrote home following the assassination are transcribed below. One was written on November 23 and the other on December 2. Both extracts are verbatim, with added comments in italics. Also, French words are in italics.
Also, see the related post to The Green Pen (“He was our president, too”) and the version published in the San Francisco Chronicle on November 22, 2013.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Nov. 23, 1963
Dearest family,
Well, now I can say that for the first time in my life I’ve really been stunned. I only wich it could have been for a happier reason. It happened last night during the vin d’honneur and dinner given us by the French equivalent of ASUCLA – the AGEB (Association Général des Etudiants de Bordeaux).
About 8:40, everyone was finishing up dinner and getting ready to go to the big ball taking place in another part of the building – Ceil was talking with Bob, Taffy, Anne, and a couple of others; Anne-Marie (a French girl sitting across from me) was talking with Phil and Pat; I was finishing my third patisserie and talking French to May (a French girl next to me), who was talking English to me. One of the officers of the AG (I guess he was an officer) came in and announced that he had some very sad news to tell us (right away I thought somebody had died) concerning our country (the first image that came to mind was the President – just a passing thought, nothing really serious): the President had been shot in the temple while in Dallas and the doctors had little hope for his life.
Everybody went back to talking, but the conversation topic had changed. This was an impossible concept to grasp, especially since it came at a happy gathering, far away from home (underscore in the original), and from such an indirect source in a foreign language. A few moments later silence fell over the room as our indirect source returned and announced gravely that President Kennedy was reported to have died.
We were all stunned at first. I was so struck that I was blind to what was going on around me. I felt May’s hand grip my arm in compassion. When I could again take note of what was happening in the room, the first person I happened to see was Susan – who was crying. This sort of thing being an entirely new experience to me, I thought her crying was rather strange – until I noticed, as I slowly regained my awareness, that she was by no means alone. Many were crying silently (but tearfully), even some guys; a few were sobbing against the wall or someone’s shoulder; no one was talking, except for, here and there, a few mournful queries. For instance, as we were silently leaving a few minutes later, Martha grabbed my arm and sobbed out, “Oh, Michael, what the hell is going to happen to this damn world now!?” I wonder.
Pete, who was presiding as our “leader” for the evening, sadly dismissed us, saying we’d be better off if we left. May grabbed me and pulled me out of there prescribing a walk to clear my head. We walked arm-in-arm for about half an hour, in which time I was doing most of the talking – pouring out what I felt about the whole thing: wondering why, worrying about what Martha said, commiserating with his family, eulogizing him.
We found Bob and Taffy, Mary and Lynn, Ann-Marie, and a couple of others at a café. We all went across the street together to look at the news report on television at another café. I winced when I saw that Jackie was right next to him in the car – I hadn’t known that. I came the closest to crying myself when they showed film clips of him with his family, playing with his children. They showed a clip of a speech he gave once that went something like (roughly paraphrased), “We must pay any price, fight any foe, face any danger…” – well, he did.
We walked and talked some more. We sat for a while in Place de Quinconces and remarked how empty it looked now, for that is where the fair was a few weeks ago. All of a sudden a rocket flashed across the sky – I guess it was a rocket, it was too big and bright for a shooting star. It made me think of the flight of the Valkyries whenever a sailor died at sea. We thought maybe it came from a boat down at the river, so we walked to the other end of the Place, crossed the street, and sat down in the parking lot overlooking the dock and the river.
(I am struck now, 50 years later, by my observation then about the “rocket” and the thought about the Valkyries taking flight when a sailor would die at sea. Now I would be awed by the sight, interpreting it as a certain sign of his spirit leaving this Earth.)
We talked a while longer until May realized it was 11:00 and she had a 9:00 class in the morning. So we walked back to the Place Gambetta from where she was going to take a cab home. When we got there, a man stopped us (I guess he heard us talking English) and asked where Dallas was. We told him, after which he asked of people in Texas were against Kennedy. I told him that it wasn’t especially Texas – it could have been anywhere.
In conclusion, I hope this Johnson has better luck than the last one. (Incidentally, the papers were already out on the streets with the news.)
I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short – I don’t feel much like writing in detail about the great time I had at the Loire Valley. As soon as Dave comes back from lunch, we’re going into town to get a paper. I’m not interested in all the gory, sensationalist details, but I would like to know who was behind it and why.
…..
Well, there were other things I wanted to say, but I don’t feel like it right now – about May, and the Kerr reception tomorrow night, and the student-teacher strike next week. Save it for next time. Dave is here, so we’ll go into town now.
Say hello to everyone from me in beautiful France – the weather is really great; not a cloud in the sky the past couple of days.
Love, Mike
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
December 2, 1963
Dear family,
Dad, I can’t thank you enough for your letter and that article which, by the way, paralleled my own thoughts somewhat. I, too, have been questioning the meaning of the word “civilization” and wondering about just how far we are removed from the caves. If feeling somewhat ashamed at calling myself a member of a “civilized” society is feeling responsible for what has happened, not only in this instance but any similar act, then I guess I’m following, at least as far as being responsible for my fellow man’s actions, the existentialism of Sartre. It seems that Seidenbaum feels this way, too, in his “article.”
(Art Seidenbaum was the author of that Los Angeles Times article my Dad had sent. I wish I still had it so I could know more about what I was referring to here!)
It took several days to finally overcome the shock and deep feeling of mourning that I felt sufficiently to study; everyone else in our group was similarly affected to varying degrees. I spent Saturday afternoon (I wrote the letter in the morning) again walking all over town trying to clear my head, this time with Sue. We looked all over trying to find a NY Times, but they’d been sold out as soon as they’d come in, and we missed them. Saturday night I tried studying, but couldn’t, so I went to bed early. Sunday I couldn’t do more than a couple of hours of reading. In the afternoon I wrote a long letter to Nicky about the whole thing.
(Nicky was my French pen pal Nicole, whom I had begun corresponding with the year before, even before I knew I would be coming to France. I was going to visit her family in a few weeks at Christmas time, and finally get to meet her in person!)
Sunday night, at the reception for President Kerr (UC President Clark Kerr) and the visiting regents, when the subject finally came up, as indeed it had to, Dr. Kerr gave us a long, almost fatherly discourse about his thoughts on the future. One thing he believed ws that the key group now in U.S. politics would be the moderates, as indeed it must, he says, to keep the extremists of both sides in check. (Things never change!)
Up until this time my only emotions were those of mourning and sadness and wonderings about the future, but Sunday after the reception, while a few of us were walking to a show to try and get our minds off our troubles, we met Jarrett and Pet, who had some news for us which introduced to me some new emotions – anger and a feeling of hopelessness. Somebody had killed Oswald. I’d had no feelings of hatred or anger or vengeance whatsoever against Oswald – he didn’t matter at all. What mattered was that Kennedy was dead, and I would have felt the same if he had died a natural death or an accidental death where no one would be to blame. But I did feel all those things towards Oswald’s murderer (I didn’t know then who did it – but that made no difference when I found out), for the reason I stated before: Oswald personally had no importance whatever, therefore his murder was senseless, it had no meaning; so I felt anger and hatred for not Ruby personally, but for the group he represented – those “who become violent, senselessly, when frustrated, denied, confused” – a group which, I’m sorry and ashamed to say, is comprised of practically the entire human race. HOORAY for CIVILIZATION!! (uppercase in the original)
Quite a bit o philosophical thinking and introspection has arisen out of this tragedy. Bob and Dave were up until all hours that first Saturday night discussing metaphysics, something which Bob is deeply concerned about. Dave and I were up until the same hours Monday night discussing and wondering about such things as: needed reforms in American government, the importance of politics, what is it to be happy and is knowledge really necessary to achieve true happiness whatever it is, metaphysics, the possible future, etc. All I can say is Dave is pretty pessimistic about the whole thing.
…
I find it truly amazing how much the whole world can mourn and pay homage to one man, especially one who had only been known to the whole world for less than 3 years. It’s quite a reflection on what this one man did in the name of humanity. A couple of African students came into our Center the day after it happened and told us that they hadn’t thought of him as President of the United States, but rather looked up to him as president of the world. Nicky wrote me a couple of warm and wonderful letters expressing the great grief and sorrow of her, her family, and all the French people. Her family, cried openly watching the funeral procession on TV via Telstar. I wish you could see the letters.
He has replace, at least in one respect, Joan of Arc in the hearts of the French people – the name of a public place or street or something (I’m not sure) has been changed from “Jeanne d’Arc” to “John Kennedy,” a new lycée in Lyon will be named the same. I’m sure things like this are happening all over the world. Aside from France, all I know about are Cape Canaveral and that park in West Berlin.
I’m glad there weren’t any classes this last week, due to the student-teacher strike, because I wouldn’t have felt like attending anyway, and I was able to catch up on some studying.
…
Well, I guess that’s about it for now. The weather here is still pretty good, and I’m just getting over a little cold.
Love, Mike
No comments:
Post a Comment