Senator Kennedy and labor leaders
my Father '59 (open collar)
Joe Carvalko (photo credit)
November 22, 1963, at 12:38 CST, I was in a 307 th Bomb Wing, SAC, maintenance squadron standing in front of a Plexiglas scheduling board that listed my name next to the time of arrive of the B-47 I had been assigned to unload unspent ammunition. In the next instant sirens sounded and the NCO-in-charge of scheduling erased every name on the board and canceled all assignments. At about the same time, the flight line erupted into an organized roar, as fifty planes fully armed with A-bombs, taxied, lights flashing, engines revving--and then strangely sat in line, like hungry buzzards ready for take-off. A few minutes later our commander announced that the President had been shot. The planes returned to their alert pads, but kept the engines running in case a war might be our next bombshell. We huddled around a radio, no one spoke. JFK had died. By late afternoon the engines were finally shut down, the sunset and the flight line fell still. At about six, we were dismissed. It was Friday night and each of us headed to a black and white TV to mourn.