“It’s November 22nd, 1963, every single day, every single year, here in Dealey Plaza,” our tour guide announced, as he drove a packed trolley bus through the intersection of Houston and Elm Streets this past Saturday afternoon (11/23/13.)
I’d gone to Dallas from LA to attend the Official JFK 50th Memorial Tribute Ceremonies, having applied for the lottery ticket selection to attend the event back in July. Once it was confirmed that I would be one of only 5,000 people in the United States so invited, I booked my flights and scored a room at the Hotel Lawrence, located just two blocks south of the Texas School Book Depository building. (I could see the depository building from my hotel room window.)
Considering myself something of a “student” of the JFK assassination, I simply had to be where the action was –in Dealey Plaza, in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 2013, to mark the once in a lifetime, 50th anniversary date of that truly awful event. I’ve been devouring everything I could get my hands on about the murder for nearly 40 years now, but reading countless books, newspaper and magazine articles, and watching dozens of films, TV shows and documentaries, will give an assassination fanatic only so much of the story.
One simply HAS to stand on the grassy knoll, behind the picket fence, and next to the 6th floor window of the Book Depository building to “experience” what it must have looked, heard, and even smelled like at 12:30 pm, Friday, November 22, 1963, when three shots were fired from on high into JFK’s motorcade.
I arrived in Dallas on Thursday (11/22) to a balmy, sticky 72 degrees. Minutes after checking into my hotel room, I hurriedly made my way to the grassy knoll. There, hundreds of spectators were gathered, taking photos from every conceivable angle, gathered in small groups to debate whether it was the CIA, Lyndon Johnson, or the Mob that really was behind the killing of President Kennedy. Having arrived too late for a ticket for the 6th Floor Museum Tour (the attraction housed on the 6th floor of the former Book Depository building,) I spent some time instead in the museum’s gift shop. I thought I’d read a good number of JFK Assassination books in my life previously, but once I entered that gift shop, I realized I’d barely even scratched the surface. There were countless titles there I’d never even heard of. Strapped a bit for cash, I treated myself to just one: “Dallas and the Jack Ruby Trial.”
I had to wake up extra early on Friday, November 22nd, since everyone who had “won” a lottery ticket to attend the official city memorial event had to first go to the American Airlines Center, a few miles north of Dealey Plaza, to obtain a precious “gold wristband.” I only had from 7-10 am that morning to secure the precious band—I hadn’t rented a car, and planned to take a taxi to the location. When I learned that Dallas Police had cordoned off all nearby street access to within blocks of Dealey Plaza, including my hotel building, I realized that a cab could not physically pick me up. I was going to have to walk.
I went outside to the sidewalk, and froze. Literally. Overnight, Dallas had been hit with a major cold front. It was now about 32 degrees outside – with wind chill factor, I heard it was more like 25. Committed to getting my wristband if it was the last thing I’d ever do, I went back up to my hotel room, put on my hooded sweatshirt, heavy coat, gloves, scarf, and extra thick socks (accoutrements I happen to own since my son lives in Alaska.) Returning to the sidewalk via elevator, I encountered an older woman. “Are you going to the event?” I asked. “Yes,” she replied. “How are you planning to get your wristband?” I asked again. “My brother is going to drive me,” she answered.
Then, with big, lost puppy eyes, I begged, “Please take me with you!”
I was incredibly fortunate to hook up with this woman, Kay, her older brother, Gary (both from Orange County) and Gary’s daughter, Heidi, from Seattle, for the remainder of the day. Since Gary had a car, and was fearless when it came to streets barricaded by police, Dallas’ maze of incongruent one-way streets, and sub-zero temperatures, the four of us managed to get our precious wrist bands without too much trouble.
The official memorial was slated to start at noon, and I’d planned to get to the site—on the grassy park of Dealey Plaza, between Elm and Commerce Streets, about 11 am. But my newfound “family” insisted we get there early to score a good spot. We arrived back at Dealey Plaza at 9 am, and proceeded to freeze our tushies off for the next three hours, waiting for the event to begin.
Rumors swirled through the bitter cold crowd that Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, or maybe even Caroline Kennedy were going to make a special guest appearance. (That would have explained the extraordinary and overwhelming presence of the Dallas Police, the FBI, Homeland Security, and FEMA vehicles on the neighboring streets.) If you watched the ceremonies on TV, I heard they were quite good, touching and heartfelt. If you were on site, however, your attention would have been more focused on the complete loss of feeling in your lower extremities than in anything the (mostly boring) guest speakers had to say. There was no “magic moment” during the event. No stirring speech that made people emotional or even nostalgic.
The only crying I saw anyone do was a little, 12 year old girl, when she realized she had just one glove.
Jim Schutze, in an article entitled “JFK’s Long Wake” from the 11/21/13 edition of the Dallas Observer, said, “What we will really see in Dealey Plaza on November 22, 2013, will be the last gathering of the true grievers.” I believe he was right in that assessment. That is who we were.
Saturday, Nov. 23, was still bitter cold, but at least I didn’t need to be outdoors—much. I took the JFK Trolley Tour of Downtown Dallas, a private bus ride that is simply a “must” for anyone serious about their pursuit of JFK trivia. As the tour guide/driver played old audio recordings of famous JFK speeches, cheering crowds, gunshot blasts, and historic TV newscasts from 11/22/63, he also pointed out the highlights of the tour:
• Oswald's rooming house
• The exact site where Oswald shot police officer J.D. Tippet
• The Texas Theatre, where Oswald was arrested
• The site of Jack Ruby’s Carousel Club
• The ramp that Jack Ruby walked down to shoot Oswald
The tour lasted only an hour, but I was in JFK “heaven” the whole time.
A few hours later, I scored a hard to get ticket to the 6th Floor Museum tour. What is normally considered a 60-minute experience lasted me over three hours. I read every panel of information that accompanied the oversized photos of JFK during the course of his entire political career, assassination, and funeral.
Under glass, the museum houses photographic cameras used by eyewitnesses to the assassination event; replicas of Abraham Zapruder’s movie camera and Oswald’s rifle; and even a miniature model recreation of Dealey Plaza itself, complete with long white lines, replicating bullet trajectories, strung from the 6th floor of the depository building to Kennedy’s limousine on Elm Street below.
But NOTHING can touch the emotions that I felt standing next to the “killer’s perch” — the glass encased area in front of the infamous sixth floor window itself, surrounded by boxes of books. I stood mesmerized by the sight—just imagining Lee Harvey Oswald frantically squeezing off three trigger pulls from that window. The window summed everything up for me: Six seconds in the life of a lunatic who would change the course of America, world history, and the lives of every single one of the brave 5,000 who simply HAD to attend the memorial event, even during a sub-arctic blast.
With a few tears in my eyes, and chills running down my spine, I realized, while staring through that sixth floor window, that this was the moment I’d really come to Dallas for. I truly was, in fact, one of the "True Grievers."
About the Author: Dan Harary is the president/founder of the Asbury PR Agency of Beverly Hills. He has been fascinated by the JFK Assassination since conspiracy theorist Robert Groden presented the Zapruder film at the college Dan attended, Boston University, in 1975.
