I was in Mrs. Hannahs’ third grade class when a kid named Greg Sopp told me that Kennedy had been shot. I simply didn’t believe him. Shortly afterwords, all the kids at Barrington Road Elementary School got let out of class to go home. I remember vividly running the three and half blocks home just as fast as my eight-year-old legs could carry me, because I knew perfectly well that there was only one possible explanation: World War III had broken out and Soviet missiles were in the air, with one no doubt aimed at Columbus, Ohio. I was trying to think of how I was going to survive the ensuing nuclear radiation when I got home, and my mother informed me that President Kennedy had indeed been assassinated that day in Dallas. I vividly remember what a sad weekend that was for the entire country, however for a few short seconds I was profoundly relieved that I was not going to die that day.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
November 22, 1963
I was in Mrs. Hannahs’ third grade class when a kid named Greg Sopp told me that Kennedy had been shot. I simply didn’t believe him. Shortly afterwords, all the kids at Barrington Road Elementary School got let out of class to go home. I remember vividly running the three and half blocks home just as fast as my eight-year-old legs could carry me, because I knew perfectly well that there was only one possible explanation: World War III had broken out and Soviet missiles were in the air, with one no doubt aimed at Columbus, Ohio. I was trying to think of how I was going to survive the ensuing nuclear radiation when I got home, and my mother informed me that President Kennedy had indeed been assassinated that day in Dallas. I vividly remember what a sad weekend that was for the entire country, however for a few short seconds I was profoundly relieved that I was not going to die that day.
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