I finished my noon chow, and was walking back across the drill field towards the school, and smoking a cigarette, when Doug Holmes came running across the field toward me.

“Hey man, they just shot the president!”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“No! Seriously! Com’on! Cronkite’s on the TV in the staff lounge, but if we hustle, we can get to the doorway and watch it from out in the hall.”

We double-timed it to T-1 Admin Building and crowded into the hallway and stood there, glued to the television. Walter Cronkite was on and said, “An attempt has been made, as perhaps you now know, on the life of President Kennedy. He was wounded, in an automobile driving from Dallas airport to downtown Dallas along with Governor Connelly of Texas. They’ve been taken to Parkground Hospital there, where their condition is as yet un…”

“NOW HEAR THIS. NOW HEAR THIS. ALL STUDENTS, STAFF AND PERSONNEL NOT ON GUARD DUTY REPORT TO T-1 AUDITORIUM ON THE DOUBLE.” The intercom announcement stirred us all to life, and, since we were already inside building T-1, we sauntered down the hallway toward the auditorium.

The next hour was spent listening to instructions from the Naval School of Music Commanding Officer. He was interrupted several times by relayed reports on the President’s condition. Then they finally got a television set up in the auditorium, and we all sat in stunned silence as Walter Cronkite made the following announcement:

“From Dallas, Texas, the flash apparently official: President Kennedy died at one PM, Central Standard Time; two o’clock, Eastern Standard time.”

The CO then went on: “All classes are canceled until further notice. All rehearsals and lessons are hereby canceled until further notice. All practice rooms shall remain secured until further notice. All leave and liberty is hereby canceled until further notice. Those students and staff currently on leave are being contacted to return to base by the soonest available transportation. Following this assembly, all students will report to their barracks for further instructions. All staff shall remain here for further instruction.

“We do not know the details of the attack on the President, and must assume, until told otherwise by higher authority, that the United States is under attack by a foreign power. There is a Marine contingent on their way here from Quantico, with firearms and ammunition. All gate guards shall carry side arms, and all perimeter watches shall carry shoulder weapons. All roving patrol watches shall be armed with side arms, shoulder weapons and grenades. All watches shall be doubled up, and duty rotation shall be four on, eight off. Barracks duty officers shall oversee the clearing and transfer of weapons between watches. That is all.”

He then turned on his heel and strode out. Someone had the presence of mind to shout, “ATTENTION ON DECK!” and we all stood at attention until he left. Following Commander McDonald’s departure, all of us Basic Course Students filed out, and walked up the hill to our respective barracks, to await further instruction.

For the next several days, everything is a blur in my memory. In looking back I suppose I was in shock, and was simply “operating on auto-pilot,” following all the routines that had been drilled into me over the previous seven months since my enlistment. I remember little bits and pieces – vignettes, if you will – of things that happened. I don’t remember them sequentially – I can’t say for certain which little instances took place in what order. I have been told that is the same thing that happens to troops in combat, and I can see how that could be.

At some point, I spoke to my wife by telephone, and she said that she, her mother, and her grandmother were going to go to the Capitol to see the President lying in State in the rotunda. I remember watching the swearing in of President Johnson on television in the barracks lounge. The television, normally turned off at "10 PM Lights Out" stayed on the entire time from that afternoon until we all were loaded onto busses to go form the cordon that lined the streets along the funeral parade route from the Capitol to Arlington Cemetery.

Because President Kennedy had been in the Navy, there was a special contingent of sailors from the School assigned for flag bearing and sentry duty in the Capitol. I was not among them; they were selected on the basis of height. All of them were between 6 feet and 6 feet 2 inches tall, to present as uniform an appearance as possible, and to match the height of the Army Sentries and flag bearers, who were all selected from the School of Music and the soldiers assigned to guard the Tomb of The Unknowns.

I spent most of my time in that period either sleeping or walking up and down the perimeter with an M-1 rifle. I carried two clips of ammunition: one in the rifle, and one in an ammunition belt that was transferred from person to person along with the weapon. At that time, Anacostia Freeway (Interstate 295) was under construction, and we had no fence along the entire frontage of the expressway. It was an area of bare ground, about two hundred feet wide, from the back of our barracks buildings and chow hall to the houses and stores that made up Anacostia.

The portion of Anacostia that fronted along the road cut at that time was a very poor ghetto neighborhood. Throughout the previous six months, we’d had a serious problem with civilians sneaking across the perimeter to steal food from the chow hall. Most of us had, at one time or another helped some of those civilians get the food out, as it was clear they were only trying to survive. That was of course, officially forbidden, but everyone from the Commanding Officer on down, tended to look the other way. Of course, with the assassination of the President, all that stopped. We were specifically directed to challenge anyone whom we saw attempting to cross the open ground, and to fire if they did not immediately halt and surrender.

One night, I was on the Mid-watch with Gene Dovenbarger. I think it was Saturday, but couldn’t say for certain. As I said before, it is all a blur in my mind. It was bitter cold out; the temperature was below twenty degrees Fahrenheit, and there was a strong wind out of the southeast. Because it was so cold, even though the watches were supposed to be doubled up, the Commanding officer relented, and stated that we should take turn and about, spending no more than hour outside at a stretch. I was wearing both my sets of undress blue wool trousers, and two pairs of dungarees beneath that, and my legs still got so cold that my knees were stiff by the time half an hour was up. I found out later, that was one of the coldest Novembers on record. I wasn’t wearing a watch, but I remember at about three AM, I saw a man crawling across the open ground towards our base. I chambered a round, and put the safety on, and shouted for him to stop. He continued toward me, at about the same steady pace. I yelled a second and a third time, but he still continued toward me, my warnings unheeded. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but I steeled myself to that possibility. I dropped to one knee and placed the firearm against my shoulder, preparing to take aim, when the roving patrol jeep got there, and shone a spotlight on him. It was not a man at all; it was a very large , beautiful German shepherd. The roving patrol Officer, Mu-1 Blalock, fired a single round from his pistol into the dirt about fifty feet away from us, and the animal turned tail and ran. I heaved a big sigh of relief, and cleared my weapon. Blalock had me climb into the jeep and ride back to the Officer of the Deck Duty Station, because he said he needed me as a witness about his firing his weapon. He dropped his partner off to relieve me on the perimeter.

On the day of the funeral, they loaded us all onto busses and took us to a staging area at the corner of Ninth and Independence. We then formed up and marched to the Capitol by voice cadence. At the Capitol, they had us do a left flank, and march down Pennsylvania Ave. Every tenth pace, one man dropped off to the left, and turned facing the street at parade rest.

I was at the corner of Tenth, in front of the building with the brass doors and the art deco lamps that run up each side of it. I suppose after having been stationed in Washington D.C. for over six months I should have known what that building was, but to be honest, any time I had off during the day and could do sight-seeing, I spent in the Smithsonian Institution, looking at things like patent models. I know now that it is the Department of Justice Building, which has since been renamed in honor of President John F. Kennedy.

I don’t know how long we stood there, but eventually, the funeral parade passed by us, and as they approached, we snapped to attention, and held a salute until the entire parade entourage had passed by. Standing there, I felt an overwhelming sense that I was a part of history, and I was proud to be there. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but wish it hadn’t happened at all. It was a very emotional and trying thing.

As soon as the last parade vehicle passed, we were told to “double-time” it back to the staging area to re-board the busses. As each bus filled, it was police escorted at a fairly rapid pace southward, toward the Fourteenth Street Bridge. They had us once again disembark from the busses, this time at the Watergate Amphitheater, where we were again rapidly formed and marched to line the street along the route crossing the Potomac River. We had a bit of time to look around as we waited, and because we were not surrounded by civilians, as we had been in the middle of town. We are allowed to stand at ease for a short period of time and it was while we were at ease, I was able to look around. I was struck by the incongruity of men wearing suits and black trench coats perched in some of the trees where they would have a commanding view of the parade for security purposes.

I was on the east side of the street, the third person on land on the Virginia side of the Potomac. From my position, I could just barely hear the bugler when he played taps. I remember standing there saluting, facing the cemetery, listening to Taps, and the tears just streaming down my face. I had a passing thought that I was going to be embarrassed when I faced front again, to salute the dignitaries as they passed back into the city. But when the time came, and I was staring straight across the street at an Air Force Corporal, I realized his face was wet, too.

Later, when the special issues of Life and Time Magazines came out, I bought copies, and searched through the photographs, but never saw any of either the men in the trees, or myself where I was actually identifiable.

Somewhere I have a form letter on flimsy paper (what used to be called "carbon copy paper") sent to my wife. The letter reads, in part, "This is to thank you for your husband's participation in the ceremonies in honor of the 35th President of The United States." It is signed by the commanding officer of the Navy School of Music. 

Other than that, the only proof I have that I lived through that unhappy period is an indelible scar on my memory. 

April, 2013