And told me you were gone, gone over the rise

Everybody has a “Where were you when…” moment, and if we live long enough, we’ll have many of them.

My first happened 47 years ago today. I was sitting in my second grade class at Westmoreland Elementary in Trucksville, PA. Suddenly another teacher came to our door and walked up and whispered something to our teacher (whose name has escaped me). One of the other kids in class, Brian Hoover, was able to overhear what was said. He came to the back of the classroom and said, “somebody shot the president.”

Our teacher then told us the news in a quivering voice.

This really was unthinkable, and the first shot, literally, that kicked off the 60s. Of course, 7-year-olds cannot fully comprehend the magnitude of something like this.

I certainly didn’t know that this would be the beginning of a most-tumultuous rest of the decade: Vietnam, race riots, more assassinations. These were unsettling times for a for a grade-school kid in the 60s; there were images every day on the nightly news that seemed bewildering to me.

Thankfully, my next “Where were you moment…” came just a few months later when The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan for the first time.

I was sitting in a darkened living room with my brother and parents, watching in awe while the rest of family seemed somewhat disgusted. Even my brother, who I think thought they were just a teeny-bopper fad.

I, of course, was enthralled, and I think it allowed some normalcy to enter my world in light of other unsettling things at the moment.

Even if my mom and dad thought the Beatles were anything but normal.