Snapshots

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

A book I read suggested that there are three major dates in our recent history that caused Americans to pause and take stock of themselves. These dates were the attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, the assassination of President Kennedy, November 22, 1963, and the attack on the World Trade Center, September 11, 2001. When I read that statement I was instantly drawn back into the past like there was a snapshot of November 22, 1963. I didn't remember the specific date but I certainly remembered the events of that day as they unfolded. Here is what I saw as I opened the pages of that old mental photo album.   

"Jerry Grubbs please report to the principal's office immediately!" said a voice over the intercom. The guys sitting at the table with me in the high school cafeteria roared with laughter. I had been warned that the call was coming but I was surprised that Mr. Fields was going to give me an adjustment during my lunch break.  By adjustment I'm not suggesting that the principal was a chiropractor in a prior profession. "Why couldn't he call for me during Spanish or English class? Just my luck to have my lunch time gobbled up. What was left of my meal would probably be gone when I got back to the cafeteria. If it was still sitting on the table no telling what my friends would have done to it. I resigned myself to the fact that lunch break was over for me. I pushed my chair back, rose to my feet and headed up the stairs to Mr. Fields' office that was located on the floor above the cafeteria.

Casually walking into the office I found no one there. The secretary was gone and from the open door to the principal's office, I could see that no one was there either. There was a radio tuned to a news station on the secretary's desk. As I sat waiting for someone to return, I heard on the radio that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas and was being rushed to the hospital. I decided this was headline news and I was going to be the Paul Revere who announced it to the cafeteria crowd.

Running down the stairs taking two or three steps at a time, I came into the Cafeteria and shouted that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. No one believed me until Mr. Fields came on the intercom system and confirmed the truth about what I had said. My excitement of being the first to announce this news was short lived. The principal instructed us to return to our classrooms where we would be given the details of this tragedy. A hush fell over the students and a somber mood prevailed throughout the entire school. We were shocked and saddened that such an event had occurred and we were collectively embarrassed that it had taken place in our native state of Texas.

That afternoon in my study hall class I was busy playing tic-tac-toe with Ronnie Brown. Ronnie and I had previous history together. I still carry a scar on my lip from when he smacked me in the mouth, cutting my lip on my own teeth. The fight had occurred the previous year when we were on our way to band practice. He was trying to pick a fight with my brother Bill who chose to turn and walk away from him. Furious that he couldn't agitate Bill into a fight Ronnie picked up a broken brick and hit Bill in the back. Seeing what had taken place I thought that if Ronnie wanted a piece of a Grubbs I would give him one. I plowed into him with fists flailing. If Ronnie had any lasting scars from the fight I would point them out to boast of my prowess. I later figured out that Bill had no need to fight with Ronnie. Ronnie wanted to date my brother's girlfriend Patsy Walker and Bill had no need to fight for what he already had. But the day President Kennedy was shot, Ronnie and I were passing the time playing tic-tac-toe. That's how guys are; they can be mortal enemies one day and sit together and play a game on another day.

Ronnie and I were busy with our game in study hall when my old girlfriend Karen Young started walking toward our table. "Here comes trouble," Ronnie said. I looked up and saw Karen looking at me and heading straight for our table. She and I used to sit together in study hall but we had been separated for talking too much. That was long before she decided I was too boring to go steady with. She said it was like we had become an old married couple; same disagreements, same reconciliations, same weekend dates and so on and so on plus I was always working when she wanted to do something. That is why I referred to her as my old girlfriend although she was eight days older than me. I still cared about her but a two thousand pound bull sitting on my chest wouldn't be able to get me to admit it. She and I hadn't spoken in months. She was busy parading around in Glenn Cobb's football jacket that was six sizes too big for her. The tips of her fingers barely protruded out of the coat sleeves. Besides, it wasn't even cold enough to wear a coat yet. I was a senior and Glenn was a junior. It was humiliating that a junior had stolen my girlfriend. Isn't it interesting how some of us blame others for our problems. Glenn didn't steal Karen. She just changed trains.

But now Karen was walking straight toward our table. At first I thought she was just passing by but that didn't make sense. She had avoided me completely since the last time she tried to make light conversation with me and I told her to drop dead. I wish I could say that those words popped out of my mouth before I had time to think, sort of like being startled by a mouse in your lunch sack. But that wasn't the case. My mother taught me to guard another person's feelings as I would my own and to never intentionally hurt someone using the lame excuse that I was just getting even. Getting even when it is meant to hurt someone else only exposes how small you are. I was a small person that day, I knew it and Karen suffered because of how immature I acted. You don't treat someone you really care about that way. In spite of my previous behavior and to my surprise, Karen stopped right by my chair. I thought she must be going to make a comment about the death of President Kennedy. See, by now we had been informed that it wasn't just an assassination attempt; the president had died at the hospital.

Standing next to my chair, Karen simply said, "Would you like to go to a Cowboys football game with me in Dallas next weekend?"  I hadn't been that close to her in months much less looked into those sky-blue eyes. During that time I had been very careful to not let our eyes meet in case she could read what was in my heart. At least she wasn't wearing Glenn Cobb's jacket when she came to visit. My heart raced as I thought about the implications of her question. Before my brain was fully engaged and I could think of something hurtful or sarcastic to say, my tongue revealed my heart and I said, "Sure I would like to see a Cowboys' game." "But do you want to go with me?" she asked. I hesitated. Before I could answer, Ronnie Brown said, "If he doesn't want to go, I will." I wanted to punch his lights out right there in study hall but from previous experience I knew he was a scrapper and I remembered the scar on my lip from his knuckle sandwich last year. The last thing I needed at that moment was a fist fight in study hall.

I could tell that Karen was nervous. She wetted her lips with the tip of her tongue and her eyelids blinked irregular. She was waiting for my answer. A part of me wanted to stand up and give her a hug but my pride wouldn't allow me to go down that easy. I knew it took a lot of courage for her to talk to me, especially after that last time she tried to have a conversation and I told her to drop dead. How do you tell someone with your lips that you will have to think about it but your eyes are saying, "Yes, yes, yes"? I resolved to say nothing that would wound this special person in my life. She never looked away, never took her eyes off me from the time she started speaking to me. She reminded me of an innocent lamb waiting to either be pardoned or executed. I have never forgotten that tender look on her face that day.

There is an old Indian saying that within each of us lives two wolves, a vicious one and a kind one. The one that prevails within us is the one we feed. I had tried feeding the vicious wolf and it only brought me pain. Today I would feed the kind wolf. Trying to appear calm on the outside while erupting with excitement on the inside, I couldn't afford to get too excited about the prospects of spending the weekend in Dallas with Karen. I was still grounded at home for the same reason I had been called to Principal Fields' office for an adjustment. I was grounded from everything except school, work and church. I suggested that mom ground me from church also but she just stood there with that stern look of disappointment. I knew that look and it meant "not in your wildest dreams, buckwheat."

The bell rang and study hall was over. I had been saved by the bell so I thought. The bad wolf part of me wanted to keep Karen in suspense for a while but I was honest with her. I told her that I was grounded and couldn't give her an answer until I spoke to my mother. When I explained my situation to Karen she suggested that we leave that problem up to her mom. "Answer my question. Do you want to be with me?" she asked. My eyes told her yes and I left it at that as I gathered my books and moved toward the door.

School was over and it was time for me to head to the restaurant at the Holiday Inn Motel were I worked as a dishwasher and busboy from four until midnight. The talk at every table that evening was about the assassination of the president. As I walked home after work that night, I thought of the events of the day and wondered if my world would ever be the same again. Few days are burned into my memory as vividly as the snapshot of that day when the shutter clicked; a picture was taken and stored in my mind over forty years ago. Where were you and what where you doing on November 22, 1963 when a president died in Texas?

If you are too young to remember the death of President Kennedy, you can share a remembrance of 9-11 or another snapshot of your life. My mother said that April 12, 1945 created a snapshot in her life. It was the day President Roosevelt died in Warm Springs, Georgia.