1969, The Summer That Was ~ #MondayBlogs

Late in the summer of 1969 my parents put me on a plane to Miami where I was going to spend some time at my Grandma’s place — she lived in a residential hotel in South Miami Beach. I was terrified of the plane ride (first time ever) but excited about my “grown-up independence”. One of the other grandmothers living in that hotel also had arranged for her teenage granddaughter to visit from NY around the same time so I even had a prearranged buddy to hang out with. And hang out we did.

So long as we let our grandmothers know where we were going and were back by their specified times, it was an adventure spent on the beach, shopping on Lincoln Road, going to the movies and so many things WITHOUT adult supervision, Woo-Hoo! (Although I did find out in later years that my grandmother had her spies, lol.)

The hotel was literally across the street from the beach and we spent almost every day soaking up the sun. I remember that there was an absolutely hunky lifeguard who guarded that particular section of the beach; my friend Carol was absolutely gaa-gaa over him and believe me it was obvious. So much so that even when a Hurricane pelted the Florida Keys and Miami Beach had heavy winds and rain spurts, we still spent as much time across the street as possible. Because of the huge waves and reports of sharks close to shore we had to promise our grandmothers we would not go in the water above our knees.

We were good to our word, but we didn’t count on waves that covered us up to our necks and we certainly weren’t prepared for Carol to be on the edge of a sand-bar and shelf (where the ground literally just drops away). So when Carol got sucked suddenly into the waters and swallowed mouthfuls of salty ocean, she needed help. I was there and the lifeguard wasn’t responding, so I jumped in and pulled her back to shore. After she coughed up what she had swallowed and caught her breath she was, thank goodness, well enough to be furious and approached the lifeguard who had never moved. She literally croaked instead of yelling. He admitted he saw what happened but just assumed she was trying to get his attention! Then he told her she had been nothing but a nuisance for days. I was furious when I heard that.

“Of course she was trying to get your attention, you jerk. She almost drowned. I could have drowned trying to save her. All because you are so full of yourself!”

I think he finally realized how serious the incident was. BTW, neither Carol nor I had ever pretended to be in need of his lifesaving skills before. There was NO reason whatsoever to assume we were pretending and to ignore his responsibilities. Finally Carol and I went back to the hotel, she was in tears; our grandmothers were seated on the porch and Carol blurted out what had happened. When Carol’s grandmother got angry, really angry, I was thankful that neither of us had disobeyed any rules to bear the brunt of her ire. It wasn’t long before her grandmother went down to the beach and we never saw that lifeguard on-duty anywhere on the beach after that.

I never forgot the close call we had and years later as a first responder (with the Auxiliary Police and later as an EMT on a volunteer ambulance) I never doubted someone’s cries for help. Oh there were some that weren’t sincere but my attitude was that I would prefer to cluck my tongue over the abuse later rather than ignore someone who might really be in need.

It is on that note that I want to express my appreciation for all of our nation’s first responders who give of themselves every day to protect and save lives. We have some of the finest Law Enforcement, Fire Department and Emergency Medical Services members out there.

It is with special remembrance and gratitude that I send hugs and a piece of my heart to the Dallas Police Department and share with them the pain they suffer. News reports related how they sheltered and helped strangers on the street while in the direct line of fire, their courage and heroism will not be forgotten.

Rest in Peace

Senior Cpl Lorne Ahrens
Sgt Michael Smith
Officer Brent Thompson
Officer Michael Krol
Officer Patrick Zamarripa

"I refuse to see hate live, while love dies."
~ Officer Bryan Woodard, Dallas PD

J.F.K.

It’s a bit of irony that some of us seem to have difficulty remembering what we ate for breakfast and yet there are monumental events that we recollect with total clarity – even if it was 50 years ago.

I remember the exact moment I learned that President John F. Kennedy was dead, killed by an assassin’s bullet in Texas.

I was walking home from school along the Bronx streets where I lived. I was nine years old and in fifth grade. The faculty at my grade school never treated us like adults and apparently believed that any “difficult words” needed to come from our parents so even though it was obvious that some of the teachers were upset, the students weren't told anything.

I noticed small clusters of people talking in whispers, some crying, during my three block walk and I had no idea why. In front of a building just a few doors from where I lived I saw the woman whose children my sister babysat; she was very upset.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She blurted out, “The president is dead. He was shot.” And she cried.

In my sheltered child’s mind I couldn't comprehend the magnitude of her statement. My first thoughts were, I’m embarrassed to admit, about my school class president and I had just seen him.

“No he’s not.” I was terribly confused as I answered her.

She yelled at me out of upset. “President Kennedy is dead!”

I stood there in shock as she ran away from me after sighting her children.

I don’t know how many thoughts ran through my mind as I ran the rest of the way home and up three flights of stairs. How could President Kennedy be dead? He was our American President, he had people protecting him. He couldn't die, who would take care of our country? What was going to happen now?

My mom was waiting in the doorway as I reached the landing. She saw my face and knew that I had heard the news and she held me and told me what had transpired in Dallas. I didn't want to believe it but she told me that it was true. And I cried.

I knew my sister was going to be upset when she got home from school, I knew that she would know. In high school the teachers tell you these things. And while I sat and waited for my sister so that we could console each other, and while I watched the news reports on the black and white TV in the living room, I just remembered…

I remembered a day a few years earlier when my sister told me that our next American President was campaigning a few blocks away. She had volunteered to hand out signs and she took me with her to see that great man in person. And we both shook his hand and I remember him being so nice when he asked my name.

The world was supposed to be a safe place. I grew up believing that my dad could fix anything that broke and my mom could make anyone feel better. That day the world changed. 
Yes, I had heard folks talk of important events that had taken place before… I had heard about WW2, the concentration camps, Pearl Harbor, the Depression and other frightening calamities. My parents even told me how they got married the day that FDR died.

To a young child it was just words. Now the nation was in mourning, it was something that I saw and I heard for myself.

November 22, 1963 was the end of innocence.