IF ONLY IT HAD RAINED…

 

From Linda Lee Greene Author/Artist

 

Today, Wednesday, November 22, 2023, is a day fit only for the intrepid here in Central Ohio. Blustery and gray and hung over from yesterday’s rain—the day mirrors my mood. “If only it had been such a day in Dallas sixty years ago!” the nagging voice whirls like dirvishes unchecked in my brain. “If only it had rained or at least threatened to rain and President John F. Kennedy had been in a closed car rather than the open one…his beautiful head would have been shielded from Lee Harvey Oswald’s killer bullet.”

          In my long life I have lived through my wedding day; the birth of my son; the birth of my daughter; my divorce; the death of both of my parents and of my brother and of my sister; the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr and of Bobby Kennedy; the Vietnam War; 9/11; Covid 19, January 6^th; and more surgeries than I can count on both hands; but no hours loom as starkly in my memory as those that opened at mid-day of Friday, November 22, 1963, the day my fellow Americans and I were struck dumb by the news that John F. Kennedy, our president, had been assassinated.   

          Basking in the unseasonably bright and warm day in Forest Hills, Queens, New York, my co-worker and I strolled leisurely from our lunch at a nearby café to our workplace in the credit department located on an upper floor of the towering Uni-Card building. We approached the crowd of our loitering co-workers on the broad sidewalk fronting the building and joined in the pitter-patter and joking so typical of New Yorkers at their leisure. The lively drumbeat of chatter stopped abruptly when a man rushed out of the broad entrance of the building, his hand clutching a long white ribbon of tickertape that trailed in his wake, and his voice shouting, “THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT! THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT!” In the blink of an eye, a second man ran from the building. It was his duty to tell us that the president was dead, that the city was shutting down as was the case across the country, and that we were dismissed and advised to get to our homes as quickly and as efficiently as possible.

The one detail missing from my memory is the means by which I made it to the one-bedroom apartment in Flushing, Queens, New York, in which my bridegroom and I had taken up residence only three months before. Perched on the floor of our living room, our noses only inches from our small black and white television, my husband and I watched nearly motionless, other than bathroom and kitchen breaks, the unfolding drama of the several days comprising JFK’s assassination: the tragic motorcade, the chaotic manhunt, Oswald’s frenzied apprehension, and then, the man in the scruffy fedora crashing through the mad crowd, raising his gun-wielding hand and shooting Oswald dead…right there on the TV screen…right before our stunned eyes. And then there was Jackie’s blood-stained pink suit, the new president’s swearing in, the flag-draped coffin, the funeral procession with the riderless horse, the little son stepping forward and saluting his fallen father.

          To my mind, that condensed national event was unmatched in modern history—until now…until this now when Americans are more mixed up and at odds in mind and heart than at any other time since the country’s Civil War. As we gather at our Thanksgiving tables tomorrow, let us clasp one another’s hands and send out fervent entreaties for healing of the wounded USA.©

                                                                        

#11/22/1963, #ForestHillsNY, #JohnFKennedy, #JFK, #POTUS, #Assassination, #LeeHarveyOswald, #BloodStainedPinkSuit, #JackieKennedyOnassis, #VietNamWar, #9/11, #Covid-19, #January6th, #CivilWar, #LindaLeeGreene, #AuthorArtist

 

 

IF ONLY.....

"Our deep spiritual confidence that this nation will survive the perils of today - which may well be with us for decades to come - compels us to invest in our nation's future, to consider and meet our obligations to our children and the numberless generations that will follow."  --Special message to the Congress on Conservation (69), March 1, 1962, Public Papers of the Presidents: John F. Kennedy, 1962.

                                                                                  

From Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

Today, Monday, November 22, 2021, is a freezing-cold and bright day, littered on every surface with fallen leaves rather than drenched in rain or blanketed by snow, but still it is a day fit only for polar bears here in Central Ohio, USA. The deep chill has mirrored my mood from the moment of my rising from my bed ‘til now. “If only it had been a frigid day in Dallas fifty-eight years ago!” the nagging voice has whirled like dervishes unchecked in my brain. “If only it had rained or snowed in Dealey Plaza that morning, and President John F. Kennedy had been in a closed car rather than the open one…his beautiful head would have been shielded from Lee Harvey Oswald’s killer bullet.”

            In my many years, I have lived through an oversized share of epochal periods of history, both in my personal and communal life, not the least is the loss of three of my closest friends in the last fifteen months—but no hours loom as starkly in my memory as those that opened at mid-day of Friday, November 22, 1963, the day my fellow Americans and I were struck dumb by the news that John F. Kennedy, our president, had been assassinated.   

            Basking in the unseasonably bright and warm day in Forest Hills, Queens, New York, my co-worker and I strolled leisurely from our lunch at a nearby café to our work place in the credit department located on an upper floor of the towering Uni-Card building. We approached the crowd of loitering co-workers on the broad sidewalk fronting the building and then joined in the pitter-patter and joking so typical of New Yorkers at their ease. The lively drumbeat of chatter stopped abruptly when a man rushed out of the broad entrance of the building, his hand clutching a long white ribbon of tickertape that trailed in his wake, and his voice shouting, “THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT! THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT!” In the blink of an eye, a second man ran from the building. It was his duty to tell us that the president was dead—that the city was closing down as was the case across the country, and that we were dismissed to get to our homes as quickly and as efficiently as possible.

The one detail missing from my memory is the means by which I made it to the one-bedroom apartment in Flushing, Queens, New York, in which my bridegroom and I had taken up residence only three months before. Perched on the floor of our living room, our noses only inches from our small black and white television, my husband and I watched nearly motionless, other than bathroom and kitchen breaks, the unfolding drama of the several days comprising JFK’s assassination: the tragic motorcade, the chaotic manhunt, Oswald’s frenzied apprehension, and then, the man in the scruffy fedora crashing through the mad crowd, raising his gun-yielding arm and shooting Oswald dead…right there on the TV screen…right before our stunned eyes! And then the blood-smeared pink suit, the vice-president’s swearing in, the flag-draped casket, the funeral procession with the riderless horse, the little son stepping forward and saluting his dead father.©

***

                                                                       

Multi-award-winning author, Linda Lee Greene announces the release of her new book, GARDEN OF THE SPIRITS OF THE POTS: A Spiritual Odyssey. In this novella, ex-pat American Nicholas Plato relocates to Sydney, Australia to escape devastating losses. Strange encounters in Australia’s outback with an indigenous potter reveal to Nicholas his true purpose in life. It is available in eBook and/or paperback. Just click the following blue link and it will take you straight to the page on Amazon on which readers can purchase the book. https://www.amazon.com/GARDEN-SPIRITS-POTS-SPIRITUAL-ODYSSEY-ebook/dp/B09JM7YL6F/

#11/22/1963, #JohnFKennedy, #JFK, #POTUS, #assassination, #LeeHarveyOswald, #bloodstainedpinksuit, #Dallas,  #DealeyPlaza, #GardenoftheSpiritsofthePots, #LindaLeeGreene

IF ONLY......

 

 From Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

Yesterday, Sunday, November 22, 2020, was a day fit only for hellcats here in Central Ohio. Blustery, wet, gray—the day mirrored my mood from rising to retiring. “If only it had been such a day in Dallas fifty-seven years ago!” the nagging voice whirled like dervishes unchecked in my brain. “If only it had rained and President John F. Kennedy had been in a closed car rather than the open one…his beautiful head would have been shielded from Lee Harvey Oswald’s killer bullet.”

            In my long life I have lived through my wedding day; the birth of my son; the birth of my daughter; my children’s various illnesses; my divorce; the death of both of my parents and of my brother and of my sister; the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr and of Bobby Kennedy; the Vietnam War and violent domestic protests against it; 9/11; more surgeries than I can count on both hands; but no hours loom as starkly in my memory as those that opened at mid-day of Friday, November 22, 1963, the day my fellow Americans and I were struck dumb by the news that John F. Kennedy, our president, had been assassinated.   

            Basking in the unseasonably bright and warm day in Forest Hills, Queens, New York, my co-worker and I strolled leisurely from our lunch at a nearby café to our work in the credit department located on an upper floor of the towering Uni-Card building. We approached the crowd of loitering co-workers on the broad sidewalk fronting the building and then joined in the pitter-patter and joking so typical of New Yorkers at their ease. The lively drumbeat of chatter stopped abruptly when a man rushed out of the broad entrance of the building, his hand clutching a long white ribbon of tickertape that trailed in his wake, and his voice shouting, “THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT! THE PRESIDENT WAS SHOT!” In the blink of an eye, a second man ran from the building. It was his duty to tell us that the president was dead, that the city was closing down as was the case across the country, and that we were dismissed to get to our homes as quickly and as efficiently as possible. The one detail missing from my memory is the means by which I made it to the one-bedroom apartment in Flushing, Queens, New York, in which my bridegroom and I had taken up residence only three months before. Perched on the floor of our living room, our noses only inches from our small black and white television, my husband and I watched nearly motionless, other than bathroom and kitchen breaks, the unfolding drama of the several days comprising JFK’s assassination: the tragic motorcade, the chaotic manhunt, Oswald’s frenzied apprehension, and then, the man in the scruffy fedora crashing through the mad crowd, raising his gun-yielding arm and shooting Oswald dead…right there on the TV screen…right before our stunned eyes—the blood-smeared pink suit, the vice-president’s swearing in, the flag-draped casket, the funeral procession with the riderless horse, the little son stepping forward and saluting his dead father.

            To my mind, that condensed period was unmatched in modern history, until now…this now when 250,000 Americans, doubtless most of whom have died needlessly of Covid-19 in a period of nine months; when we watched another assassination on our TV screens…right before our stunned eyes; when our streets erupted in protests; when a pitiless, remorseless, brutal, sitting President of the United States is trying his hardest to destroy our democracy. If only noon of January 20, 2021 were tomorrow.©

#11/22/1963, #John F. Kennedy, #JFK, #assassination, #Lee Harvey Oswald, #bloodstainedpinksuit, #Covid-19, #George Floyd, #1/20/2021, #Joe Biden, #POTUS

Books by Linda Lee Greene are available for purchase on Amazon.com.   

FIGHT LIKE A GLADIATOR!

 

 

By Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

It was late July of 1991. I steered my car into an open parking space near the front door of the funeral home, and then stepped out into the balmy Columbus night. As I approached the sprawling building, I saw my parents standing side by side at the edge of the half-moon court that opened onto the entrance. They were turned toward the parking lot, perhaps because they saw my car, or maybe because they were reluctant to face the situation that awaited them inside the place. We were there for the memorial of my father’s older brother—my father’s favorite brother. Upon their retirement three years before, my parents had relocated to Hawthorne, a little town in northcentral Florida. It had been several months since I had seen them, for the reason that both my mother and I had been ill and unable to travel. My father was largely unchanged. But my mother was almost unrecognizable. In all my 46 years, my mother was tall, erect, and put together in her appealingly unpolished way. This person appeared a half foot shorter, undone, and convex, as if the upper portion of her body were curled in on itself, as if to protect itself from an evil force. My heart sank to my toes. I knew intuitively that my mother was dying. Two weeks later, the diagnosis confirmed it.

            My mother was settling in to her retirement so beautifully—living in her Florida paradise for which she had worked like a dog, for which she had scrimped and saved and sacrificed and planned year after year. She had reined in a life in Ohio that had long been too big for her and the trimmed-down Florida version was so much more manageable and enjoyable. Due to the fact that they were underfoot 24/7, she and my father were finally coming to terms with unspoken issues of their 48 year-marriage. And then came the unspeakable tragedy: just as she had made of herself the person for which she had always striven, had created her best life in important ways, had fought her illness like a gladiator, eleven months after her diagnosis, she died.

            “What an awful mockery death makes of life, of an individual’s significance! Death renders a person’s accomplishments, beliefs, and attachments as transitory, hollow, pointless!” These were the thoughts that flooded my mind. I still have to fight against them, at times.

March 6, 2020, the day I began to quarantine because of coronavirus, set in motion for me a period similar to that slice of time in which my mother faded away—but now, it is my country that faces the threat. If nothing else, coronavirus has brought to light America’s glaring deficiencies, but still, in her best days, America set the standard in the world for greatness, and for a long while she lived up to it—not fully and certainly imperfectly, but she has always struggled for excellence when given a fair chance by her leaders—and/or, when forced into it by arbitrary circumstances. America has earned the opportunity and the right to finish her work, and not to go down in a blaze of horrible mockery of her efforts.

There is an underlying strength and bravery to America of the kind that formed my mother’s core. Actually, it was the other way around. America shaped my mother—the America of the Great Depression; the construction of the Empire State Building and its ilk; World War II; the founding of the United Nations; the Nuremberg trials; the formation of NATO; the Korean Conflict; the Bay of Pigs; the John F. Kennedy assassination; Civil Rights; the Martin Luther King, Jr and Robert F. Kennedy assassinations; the Moon Landing; the Vietnam War; Women’s Rights, the fall of the Berlin Wall, and more, so much more, and so often it was two steps forward and one step back. All of it honed my mother to the ethic of, “Getting up every morning and going to work until she just couldn’t make it anymore.”        

Forces are trying to kill the United States of America. Forces have always tried to kill the United States of America—but she has fought them off. Come together again, my fellow Americans! Come together with me and fight for America like gladiators!©

Books by Linda Lee Greene are available for purchase at Amazon.com.