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PERSONAL EXPERIENCE STORIES
"NOVEMBER 22nd, 1963"
by
Dave Careless
November 2023
Dave Careless
November 2023
It was a dark day in Dallas, November '63,
A day that will live on in infamy;
President Kennedy was a-ridin' high,
Good day to be livin' and a good day to die.
- Bob Dylan, “Murder Most Foul”
Considering that November 22nd this year will mark the sixtieth anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States of America, I wonder just how many subscribers and readers to Gail Hussey-Weir's “Historic Wabana” website can recall just where they were and what they were doing when that shooting occurred in Dallas, Texas. I know both Gail and myself know where we were, because we've discussed the events of that afternoon by e-mail on at least one occasion, possibly more.
Gail and I were classmates in Grade Ten at St. Boniface Regional High School on that fateful Friday afternoon sixty years ago. I remember it as if it was yesterday: the School Principal, Lester Clarke, coming into our classroom at approximately 3:00 pm and interrupting proceedings to announce that classes were cancelled for the remainder of the afternoon and that we were all to leave the school early and go home, as “President Kennedy has been shot.”
I lived on Greenwood Avenue at the time, directly opposite the school, and so was home in just two or three minutes. I can remember that my mother was baking in the kitchen, and when I showed up she was surprised and said “What are you doing here at this time in the afternoon?” I told her that “we've been sent home early, President Kennedy's been shot.” She didn't believe me at first, and I said “Well that's what Mr. Clarke said and that's why they've sent us home early.”
In a state of shock, she turned on the small green transistor radio that we had, the one that my father had bought when he first got to the island in December, 1957, so that he'd have something to listen to in his room at the Company Staff House where he was living for the best part of four months until we joined him the following March. No sooner had we turned the radio on than it was announced that JFK was officially pronounced dead. I can still remember my mother's ashen face, and her exclaiming, “Oh, my God,” as it was such a defining moment. And also, bearing in mind that the Cuban missile crisis had been just over a year ago, nobody really knew what to think or just what was going on any more.
I can vividly remember that we went down to Town Square later that cold Friday evening to do some errands at Lawton's drug store and Vicki Carbage's supermarket, and there was almost a surreal feeling in the air, as if time had somehow momentarily stood still.
Being just fifteen, I'd gotten interested in English soccer around that time, and there was a football match due to be televised on the following day, the Saturday, between England and a team selected from the Rest of the World, and I'd been eagerly looking forward to seeing it for some time, and I can remember thinking, somewhat disrespectfully I suppose, in retrospect, "I bet that's not going to be on now.” Oddly enough, and much to my delight, the game was telecast; it's been sixty years but I've got a feeling the England team won the game 2-1.
On the Sunday afternoon, November 24th, my pal Ed Mercer and myself were shooting a puck back and forth to each other on a frozen piece of our Greenwood Avenue garden when my father came to the front door and said; “Hey, you two, you'd better come in and see this; they've gone and shot Oswald now!” We went inside to see news footage, played over and over again, of night club owner and underworld figure, Jack Ruby, shoot the most infamous man in the world on that day, Lee Harvey Oswald, in cold blood and live on television! Some sixty years on, those few days remain one of the most memorable weekends in my life.
Fifty-six years to the day of the assassination, on November 22nd, 2019, my beautiful grandson Finn was born, much to my entire family's delight. At the very least, that date on the calendar now gives us something to celebrate, instead of thinking back to the infamous events of that dark November Friday afternoon of 1963.
What is the truth, and where did it go?
Ask Oswald and Ruby, they oughta know.
"Shut your mouth," said a wise old owl,
Business is business, and it's a murder most foul.
- Bob Dylan, “Murder Most Foul”
It was a dark day in Dallas, November '63,
A day that will live on in infamy;
President Kennedy was a-ridin' high,
Good day to be livin' and a good day to die.
- Bob Dylan, “Murder Most Foul”
Considering that November 22nd this year will mark the sixtieth anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States of America, I wonder just how many subscribers and readers to Gail Hussey-Weir's “Historic Wabana” website can recall just where they were and what they were doing when that shooting occurred in Dallas, Texas. I know both Gail and myself know where we were, because we've discussed the events of that afternoon by e-mail on at least one occasion, possibly more.
Gail and I were classmates in Grade Ten at St. Boniface Regional High School on that fateful Friday afternoon sixty years ago. I remember it as if it was yesterday: the School Principal, Lester Clarke, coming into our classroom at approximately 3:00 pm and interrupting proceedings to announce that classes were cancelled for the remainder of the afternoon and that we were all to leave the school early and go home, as “President Kennedy has been shot.”
I lived on Greenwood Avenue at the time, directly opposite the school, and so was home in just two or three minutes. I can remember that my mother was baking in the kitchen, and when I showed up she was surprised and said “What are you doing here at this time in the afternoon?” I told her that “we've been sent home early, President Kennedy's been shot.” She didn't believe me at first, and I said “Well that's what Mr. Clarke said and that's why they've sent us home early.”
In a state of shock, she turned on the small green transistor radio that we had, the one that my father had bought when he first got to the island in December, 1957, so that he'd have something to listen to in his room at the Company Staff House where he was living for the best part of four months until we joined him the following March. No sooner had we turned the radio on than it was announced that JFK was officially pronounced dead. I can still remember my mother's ashen face, and her exclaiming, “Oh, my God,” as it was such a defining moment. And also, bearing in mind that the Cuban missile crisis had been just over a year ago, nobody really knew what to think or just what was going on any more.
I can vividly remember that we went down to Town Square later that cold Friday evening to do some errands at Lawton's drug store and Vicki Carbage's supermarket, and there was almost a surreal feeling in the air, as if time had somehow momentarily stood still.
Being just fifteen, I'd gotten interested in English soccer around that time, and there was a football match due to be televised on the following day, the Saturday, between England and a team selected from the Rest of the World, and I'd been eagerly looking forward to seeing it for some time, and I can remember thinking, somewhat disrespectfully I suppose, in retrospect, "I bet that's not going to be on now.” Oddly enough, and much to my delight, the game was telecast; it's been sixty years but I've got a feeling the England team won the game 2-1.
On the Sunday afternoon, November 24th, my pal Ed Mercer and myself were shooting a puck back and forth to each other on a frozen piece of our Greenwood Avenue garden when my father came to the front door and said; “Hey, you two, you'd better come in and see this; they've gone and shot Oswald now!” We went inside to see news footage, played over and over again, of night club owner and underworld figure, Jack Ruby, shoot the most infamous man in the world on that day, Lee Harvey Oswald, in cold blood and live on television! Some sixty years on, those few days remain one of the most memorable weekends in my life.
Fifty-six years to the day of the assassination, on November 22nd, 2019, my beautiful grandson Finn was born, much to my entire family's delight. At the very least, that date on the calendar now gives us something to celebrate, instead of thinking back to the infamous events of that dark November Friday afternoon of 1963.
What is the truth, and where did it go?
Ask Oswald and Ruby, they oughta know.
"Shut your mouth," said a wise old owl,
Business is business, and it's a murder most foul.
- Bob Dylan, “Murder Most Foul”
In the photo below, taken c. 1959 or 60 by his father, Tom Careless, Dave Careless and his dog, Patch, are standing in their front yard on Greenwood Avenue with St. Boniface Regional High School in the left background.
