It's Time for A Change

I remember, like many long-time friends, exactly where I was and what I was doing when John Kennedy was shot. I was twelve and in 8th grade, in Home Economics class – a freshman at Northeastern High School. We were making English muffin pizzas that day in class; something I had never even seen let alone eaten at that time in my life. The intercom on the wall crackled, and the National Anthem began to play through its tiny round speaker over the teacher’s desk in the front of the room. We were about to sit down to eat, but were required to all stand up at our chairs, face the flag and place our hands over our hearts, as was the custom of the time. Looking down at that English muffin pizza as it cooled, everything moved to slow motion from that point forward that day. Everything loomed in uncertainty and confusion. A voice came over the crackling intercom speaker that said, “The President of the United States is dead.” Our teacher burst into tears, while panic ensued among the twenty some odd Home Economics students and the English muffin pizzas cooled to cold. I recall being confused and scared.

The intercom crackled once again, and it was our school Principal – Mr. Sutton, I think – we were dismissed from class to go directly to our lockers, gather our things & go straight home. School would be closed until the following Monday. The halls were hushed as they filled with students, many in tears and frightened. As I walked, nearly ran home, the fire sirens were ringing in both of the two small towns nestled in the valley where I grew up in southeastern Pennsylvania, on the outskirts of the City of York. The streets were unusually busy with cars.

By the time I got home the TV was on and continued on throughout the rest of the week into the weekend, and throughout the funeral ceremonies. My mother was glued to that TV set. Many of the images of that time are still clear and I can recall clearly as if they just happened today. It was a frightening and confusing time, filled with the unknown and uncertainty. My father paced in the background, Camel straight in hand, rocking back and forth on his feet as he always did when something upset him. Panic loomed with the round the clock news commentary. Everything else stood still. My mother was near catatonic, never moving far from the newscast.

The decade began with the turmoil of the civil rights movement. There were marches and protests throughout the country: some peaceful, many not. Record crowds gathering in DC in August 1963 for Martin Luther King's I have a dream speech. Followed by the beginning of the series of assassinations to occur throughout the tumultuous 1960s in our country. JFK in November of 1963. Martin Luther King in April of 1968, followed closely by the assassination of Bobby Kennedy in June of 1968. With each event, the panic of my normal everyday life rocked me further from my childhood reality. If you grew up in that time – the sixties – you understand the overwhelming feeling of fear, unsettled and unsure times.

The mundane, predictable and automatic life of the 1950s grew into a world of uncertainty and constant change. With the assassinations closely followed by thousands upon thousands of young soldiers who went off to the war in Vietnam (a country I had never heard of before or had any idea where in the world it actually was), and the many who didn’t come home. So many who never came home, and the ones who did were vacant and forever changed. And the turmoil of the anti-war movement further created an increasingly unstable world. More fear, more uncertainty filled our everyday lives.

As young teen, from a small farming town in the rolling foothills on the eastern edge of the Appalachian Mountains, the uncertainty and fear of it all formed not only my perspectives and beliefs, but an underlying adjustment to insecurity and a familiarity with a constantly changing world. Everything that we grew up knowing and accepting came into question. And so, partly as a survival response (I have come to believe), I embraced change in everything; and I rejected that which was predictable, known and expected. For me, out of these changing times, uncertainty and panic grew the questioning of everything. I embraced the change in every form, to avoid that uncertainty and panic of growing up in the sixties. And I haven’t yet – curse or blessing – left that perspective behind. It is who I am, and who I will remain.

Today, I mourn the loss of Ted Kennedy. For better or worse, he dedicated his life’s work to making a difference. For better or worse in his successes and failures in life, he dedicated his life to a purpose of making this nation a better place. Ted Kennedy actually accomplished more of a difference in his 40+ years in congress through legislation than either of his brothers were able to do in their short careers/lives. Senator Ted Kennedy strongly believed in the right for everyone to have access to quality healthcare. And to that legacy, I believe that some form of universal healthcare should be passed into law. It's time for change.