Remembering
Another November
Copyright 2005 by Suzy Wurtz
In the book Assassination Vacation,
Sarah Vowell obsessively visits the historical sites connected with the
assassinations of Presidents Lincoln, Garfield, and McKinley. My own
assassination vacation occurred last summer in Dallas as I stood looking out the
window on the sixth floor of the former Texas School Book Depository. It was the
same place where Lee Harvey Oswald stood as he shot President Kennedy in
November 22, 1963. On the street below in Dealey Plaza, someone had painted a
red “X” on the roadway.
It took my breath away.
That November day in my second grade class is still clear to
me. The principal, Sister Bridgetta, came over the intercom and said, “Boys and
girls, the president has been shot. Let’s say the Our Father together.” Later in
the afternoon, she came back and said simply, “Boys and girls, the president it
dead.” We prayed for his departed soul, his family, and for our nation. Later at
home, my 8-year-old eyes filled with tears as we watched the television reports.
More than 40 years later, I was in Texas to attend a
conference of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists in the Dallas suburb
of Grapevine. A special field trip took the 130 columnists and their families
to the Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza, a permanent educational exhibit that
chronicles the “life, times, death, and legacy of President John F. Kennedy
within the context of U.S. history.” The columnists also got a sneak preview of
a new temporary display on the 7th floor called “Covering Chaos,” an
exhibition of the reporters who covered the Kennedy assassination.
In the 21st century, we forget how much
communication technology has changed. In 1963, a reporter (or often a
policeman, for that matter) had to find a pay phone to call in a story or get an
assignment. Cell phones and fax machines were years away. A visiting school
child reportedly asked, “Why didn’t they just call 911?”
The columnists received a special treat when former Dallas
homicide detective Jim Leavelle spoke to us. The name may not ring a bell, but
Jim Leavelle is the big man in the white hat who was handcuffed to Kennedy
assassin Lee Harvey Oswald when Oswald was shot by Jack Ruby. The shooting, two
days after the assassination, was caught on live television. Bob Jackson’s
Pulitzer prize winning photograph witnesses the exact moment of the shooting for
history. That famous photo of Leavelle, Oswald, and Ruby appeared in newspapers
around the world.
The 84-year-old Leavelle took us back to those days in 1963.
As a homicide detective, Leavelle had Oswald in his office after Oswald had shot
and killed Dallas patrolman J.D. Tippit. Leavelle was quite surprised when
another officer came into his office and told him that Oswald was the suspect in
the presidential assassination that had happened a few hours earlier. Oswald was
charged with both murders that day.
There had been death threats to Oswald after he had been
identified as the assassination suspect, and when the police decided to transfer
him from the city jail to the county jail, Leavelle was handcuffed to Oswald.
Considering the events of the past days, Leavelle realized his job was
dangerous. He said to Oswald before the transfer, “If anyone shoots at you, I
hope he’s as good a shot as you were.”
Jack Ruby’s bullet, fired from close range, severed Oswald’s
main artery, glanced off a rib and remained lodged in Oswald’s body. “Had it
not hit that rib, it would have hit me,” Leavelle said.
During many years of looking at that famous photograph, I
always thought that Leavelle’s face was just registering surprise. But Leavelle
said he was trying to push Oswald out of the line of fire. Tough to maneuver
when you’re handcuffed to the guy.
Leavelle, who interviewed both killers, said that Oswald and
Ruby each wanted to be heroes. They both ended up with fame, but not as heroes.
Listening to Leavelle, I realized that he and other police officers were some of
the many unsung heroes of that day.
As someone who lived during that moment of history, the
experience was compelling and overwhelming. Forty-two years later, I grieved
again, but this time as an adult. Before I left the building, I left a comment
in the guest book.
I wrote that I wished there was a place at the museum where a
person could cry alone.
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