 | Time IndefiniteA repository and collective timeline of our individual significant moments in time. |
The Funeral Of A President
Posted On Saturday April 28, 2007 By Dan
John Kennedy’s death and funeral I remember quite vividly. I was stationed in Washington D.C. at Bolling Air Force Base on the Potomac river as a member of the USAF Honor Guard and represented the Air Force in ceremony’s at the White House. Attending state dinners for foreign dignitary’s on a regular basis and standing next to all those important people throughout the receptions developed a certain closeness to them. I was 18 years old at the time. Of course you could never initiate conversation and always stood at attention.
John-John would place his toe next to my very spit shined shoes and giggle before getting retrieved. Jackie could be seen running and playing with the kids across the lawn. Walking in step with representatives of the other branches of service up the narrow spiral staircase to the personal living quarters and asking the president for permission to get the flags was a heart pounding event.
I was playing basketball at the base gym when the assassination was announced over the loud speaker. From that moment on, for several days, I do not recall meeting anyone in the military with anything but a very grim look on their face. No joking or the usual barracks grab ass.
Everyone got their assignments. Different squads of airmen were assembled to be at every point of arrival and departure of the slain president and family. Army, Navy, Marines, and the Coast Guard were doing the same. I remember talking to a sergeant and good friend about how emotional it was for him and others to bear the body as it exited the plane at Andrews Air force base.
I was selected to be one of four airmen to march along side the coffin as it was moved from a private service at the white house to the rotunda of the Capital building. The only sound I heard in the entire city during that trip was the loud echo of hoofs on the street from the horses that were pulling the caisson. The next day, me and many from all the Honor Guards waited for hours on the steps of the Capital for the procession to exit. We were trained to keep our eyes forward but I looked enough to the right to see John Jr’s. now famous salute to his father. Each year at anniversary, when the videos and images start appearing, I’m able to place myself back in time with both sight and sound.
Tags: assassination, emotional, guard, honor, jfk, kennedy, usaf
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Fire And Underoos
Posted On Wednesday April 25, 2007 By Carl MillerWhen I was eleven years old I used to have this little bedroom where I’d often sequester myself with only my little bed and my little toys to keep me company. It was not that I had so much to hide from. I was only eleven. But even then I had a natural tendency to recharge my energies through solitude and an eleven-year-old boy has only one place to do that with any consistency; that’s in his bedroom.
One particular night I woke up and all I could see was this odd sort of grey, wispy ceiling that seemed to have replaced the regular off-white ceiling that normally, in association with the walls and the closed door, secured me in my little room.
Then my door was flung open and my mom was there and she was saying all these words in a rush and I understood that something serious was going on. I sat up and I looked at her for a second. I understood on some level that she was telling me that the house was on fire and that we had to get out, but on another level my brain was having a hard time processing this information. It was like part of me was thinking, “Holy Fuck! I gotta get out of here,” but another part of me was rooted in place as if, perhaps, this whole concept of “fire” needed further explaining. And in what way did “fire” relate to the syntax of “the house is on”?
And then my mom was gone to get my little sister. Gloomily I got out of bed and realized suddenly that I couldn’t see anything and that it was more than just the normal state of being in the dark. It was hard to breath. I don’t recall what happened next. Maybe my dad bodily dragged me out of there, maybe I went running out of the house, I don’t know. But there I was outside in the winter wearing only a pair of underwear. Not a slightly dignified pair of boxers either. In the humiliation that is retrospect boxers would have been acceptable if slightly unrealistic. What eleven-year-old boy wears boxers? Pajamas. Christ. Why didn’t I wear pajamas? Anyway, I was out in the cold, in front of a gathering crowd of neighbors and passers by, and all I was wearing was the bottom half of a goddamned Superman Underoos ensemble.
Eventually a neighbor brought over a blanket to cover my unsightly underwear-ed body (and to keep me from freezing to death). There’d been talk of me going over to someone’s house, but I preferred to stand there with the rest of my family and watch our house burn down. I noticed rather bitterly that my sister was wearing her Strawberry Shortcake pajamas and a coat.
To this day I am never far from a pair of clothes just in case I need to flee my house because of some emergency. Also, I wear boxers. And I’ve always hated Strawberry Shortcake.
Tags: fire, underoos
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"John Lennon Was Killed"
Posted On Tuesday April 24, 2007 By Molly
In some respects, I feel sort of silly putting the death of a celebrity here. But, I suspect for a lot of people John Lennon’s death was a really significant moment in their lives.
I was born in the early 60’s, so while I was too young to remember the Beatles arrival, I do feel like they were incredibly present my whole life. My sister was seven years older than me. I remember she had a birthday party and was given Yellow Submarine, and all the girls danced to it. She used to listen to Revolver over and over again. I remember staring at the album covers. I was amazed by John. He was my favorite. He seemed unlike anyone I knew.
I found out John Lennon had died, the morning after his death. My mother woke me up for school and the first thing she said was “John Lennon was killed” and I could tell she was so sad.
I was shocked. I remembered earlier in the fall we were out in the football field practicing our baton twirling, and a plane circled overhead skywriting “Happy Birthday John and Sean” and we were all amazed.
To this day, I still get sad when I think about it. Whenever I watch one of those dumb VH1 “100 most shocking moments in rock and roll” shows where they end with the murder of John Lennon, I find myself crying. It’s shocking so many years later. I wonder how many other people cry as well.
Not that long ago I was in the supermarket with my boyfriend and “Imagine” started playing. He turned at a certain point and said “this song is making me sad” and I said “me too” and we talked about why. It makes me sad that the things John Lennon did and said so long ago are still relevant today. It makes me sad that there aren’t more people like him. There are no John Lennons of today.
Tags: 60's, imagine, john, lennon, murder, peace, sixties
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