The Day John F. Kennedy Was Shot

Elena Radley Rozenman (Colomia XIII, 1963-65)

November 22, 1963 was one of the saddest days of my life—not just because of the personal loss of JFK, but because of the loss of the optimism, joy and potential for the U.S. and the world which he symbolized and embodied—and the stark realization of the existence of forces that would not permit such a light to shine. I always remember him as someone who challenged all of us to think boldly, act courageously, and actualize our hopes for peace—regardless of the consequences.

I had joined the Peace Corps in September 1963 after I graduated college, because my brother, Larry Radley, was one of the first to answer President Kennedy’s call and join the Peace Corps in June 1961—and he was, with another volunteer, the first to be killed—in a plane crash in the Colombian mountains with PCV David Crozier and 35 Colombians. In his eulogy it was said that for hundreds of years young men had been killed waging war, but he was the first to be killed waging peace. I resolved to go to Colombia and somehow continue his work as my way of honoring his life and death.

I was in Peace Corps training at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque. We had been sent out for the week to small towns in the mountains to live with Spanish speaking families and work in the elementary schools with Educational Television because we were going to work with ETV in Colombia.

I was in a fourth grade classroom assisting a lovely young teacher. It was lunchtime and we were taking a break. All of a sudden the children came running in from the playground and said “They’ve shot the President!” The teacher scolded them for saying such a thing and they insisted the janitor heard it on the radio and it was true. We couldn’t comprehend what they were saying, but then realized we had a big TV set in the classroom and we turned it on. To our shock and horror we heard the announcements and sat there stunned while the horrible drama unfolded on the screen, and finally it was announced that the President was dead.

All of the teachers and children were crying, no one knew what to do. The principal came in and said that he was sending all the children home to be with their families and closing the school. I was driven to my family and when I got there, my “mother” greeted me with a huge embrace—she was a large heavy woman—and tears were streaming down her face. She brought me into the kitchen where there were a large table and wood-burning cook stove. On one of the walls was the picture of President Kennedy that I had earlier taken for granted, and which now caused me to finally burst out into uncontrollable crying. My mother enveloped me and I put my head on her shoulder and sobbed. Slowly the children, the father, the married children with their children, the aunts and uncles started to arrive. My mother started cooking and serving tacos and tortillas—she kept rolling out the dough on the table and cooking the tortillas on the stove for hours. Everyone congregated at our house because they knew that I was there—and for them I was a symbol of the Peace Corps and JFK. Everyone ate and cried and comforted each other. They hugged and kissed me and told me how sorry they were for all of our loss.

I quickly learned a new Spanish phrase everyone was saying to me—”Mi más sentido pésame,” which meant “My heartfelt condolences.” We talked and talked about JFK—all he had done, all he meant to them, all he had done to give everyone hope for the great possibilities of America. I finally called my home in Chicago and Mother was crying, saying that the good die young. Eventually there was a phone call from our training program calling us all back to the University. A car came with other Peace Corps trainees who had been stationed in the area. On the ride back the guys were very stoic but my friend Abby Wasserman and I were relieved to be together, and we hugged and cried during the one-hour trip to Albuquerque. When we arrived there everyone was streaming in from their different sites, crying and in shock. We could not believe what had happened. We could not believe that such a strong and powerful light had been extinguished. We could not grasp that our leader had fallen and we knew that everything, everything would be different from then on. And we knew that we were all forever changed. Our innocent faith in endless possibilities was shattered. The world would never seem like such a wonderful place again.

Contact the author at erozenman@bezeqint.net.