Friday, December 27, 2013

My Hunt for Emily Dickinson

(This was originally posted in April of 2010, but a comment about it from Jenny the Pirate arrived just a few days ago and inspired me to re-post the saga below.)



(Please click on the photos to enlarge them.)


There are a few photographs of long-dead celebrities that are so rare, people will pay close to a million dollars for them. If you come across a previously unknown image of, say, Abraham Lincoln, Edgar Allan Poe, John Brown, John Wilkes Booth, Jesse James, to name a few, you have discovered a real treasure.

One of these iconic images would be a new portrait of Emily Dickinson. That’s what a professor at the University of North Carolina, Philip F. Gura, thought he had found on an E-Bay auction that he won on April 12, 2000. It was an albumen photograph (the bottom row above).

Later Gura wrote a delightful description of his torturous six-month search to validate the image. It’s called “How I Met and Dated Miss Emily Dickinson: An Adventure on eBay.”

Read it on http://www.common-place.org/vol-04/no-02/gura/

Gura wrote about Emily Dickinson: “Even though she lived when the new invention of photography was changing the ways people thought about themselves, there is only one known photographic likeness of her, taken by William C. North. It was made between December 1846 and March 1847, and shows a thin teenager suffering from what her family took as the first symptoms of tuberculosis.

“A second photograph of Dickinson has long been the Holy Grail of artifacts for scholars in my field…”

Gura paid $481 to win the albumen photograph with “Emily Dickinson” written on the back. As soon as it arrived from the eBay seller, the professor set about trying to validate it. He soon had calls from The New York Times and the New Yorker, who were vying to be the first with the news of his discovery.

Then NPR and many papers around the world were knocking at his door. After much trouble, Gura finally found a forensic anthropologist who was able to measure and compare various anatomical landmarks on the two faces (the original verified dag above left and the new-found albumen photo in the third row). This seems so much quicker and easier on TV shows like CSI and Bones!

Meanwhile two historians of costume analyzed the sitter’s clothing and determined that the albumen photo was a copy of an original daguerreotype taken sometime between 1848 and 1853.

In the one verified image of Emily — the daguerreotype at the upper left-- she is either sixteen or 17 years old. It was taken at Mt. Holyoke and is in the possession of Amherst College.

After all his research, Prof. Gura still doesn’t have a positive "yes" answer. But he believes that it is indeed Emily and quotes one reporter: “Although the forensic analysis of Gura’s photo strongly suggests the woman is ED, no one can say for sure. By the same token, no one apparently can say that the woman is NOT Dickinson.”

Something that was not reported by international media, (but is reported here exclusively on A Rolling Crone), is that I had a very similar experience to Philip Gura’s. But it happened exactly four months earlier. On Jan. 13, 2000, I purchased on eBay a 1/6 plate daguerreotype of a young woman who looked strikingly like Emily Dickinson. The famous verified Emily image is on the left above, on the right is my dag, which I purchased for $127.50 from a seller in the Berkshires of Massachusetts.

The eBay auction had the title “Fine Dag – Lovely Woman – Emily Dickinson???”

But the seller was not making any claims that he couldn’t prove: “Purchased some time ago from an estate auctioned [sic] near Amherst, Mass. A fine daguerreotype…an intriguing and attractive young woman. …Some say she is, some say she looks like, Emily Dickinson. And some say not. Draw your own conclusion (there is one surviving dag of this noted Amherst author.) A fine daguerreotype either way.”

I studied the small photo on eBay and tried to compare it to the one verified dag. Like Philip Gura some months later, I waited in suspense for it to arrive. I imagined the excitement, the glory, the press attention if it proved to be an actual second image of the Belle of Amherst.

You must admit, looking at the two dags side by side, that the resemblance is striking. Even the style of dress and hair and the pose itself. (Emily is near a book and holding what I think is a flower in the official dag. In my image the woman has an adorable beaded bag hanging from her arm. They even seem to be wearing the same kind of dark bracelet, which may or may not be a mourning bracelet made of human hair.)

But I didn’t have to consult forensic anthropologists and costume historians to validate my image when it came. I took one look at the actual dag that lay in my hand and I realized she couldn’t be the real Emily, because, judging from the one true photograph, Emily had dark brown eyes and the woman in MY image had pale blue eyes.

I should have known this, because Emily once wrote to an admirer (who asked for a portrait) this description of herself: “I…am small, like the Wren, and my Hair is bold, like the Chestnut Bur-and my Eyes, like the Sherry in the Glass, that the guest leaves – would this do just as well?”

So mine is not a priceless iconic image, and the world’s press is not about to come calling — as it did four months later when Professor Gura discovered his image of ED on eBay. But I like ”my” Emily anyway and would never part with her, because this woman was a contemporary, perhaps a neighbor — perhaps even a relative -- of the real Emily. She certainly has a remarkable resemblance to the mysterious and secretive Belle of Amherst, who wore white and refused to come out of her room in the last years of her life, talking to visitors through a closed door.

And then after her death, her sister Lavina discovered the 1800 poems hidden away in her drawer. The first volume was published four years after Emily diedin 1886 at the age of 55.

3 comments:

Robin Paulson said...
Joan, Not that this will rock your world, but I played Lavinia in a biographical play in Hollywood about Emily Dickenson. I wish I could remember the name of it, but I had fun doing a New England accent and researching Emily and Vinnie.
Jenny the Pirate said...
Sorry to be late to the party but a dear friend sent me a link to this post, as she knows The Belle of Amherst is my favorite poet. Amazing story ... now, am I to conclude that the yellowed photo of an older Emily is Mr. Gura's find, and that it is not a verified photo of Emily? Well shut the front door. To me it looks exactly like her, and I love that picture, even have it pictured on my blog with a link to Emily's page on Find A Grave. But the young Emily photo is one I love to stare at and study, and have done many times. Thanks for an intriguing post and a great blog, Joan. I've enjoyed "visiting" with you today.
by Joan Gage said...
Dear Jenny--Yes I think the yellowed photo of an older Emily on this post--which is Mr. Gura's find--is in fact the "real" Emily. Sadly mine is not, because of the difference in eye color (not that any dag is in color--but you can see how pale are the eyes of the woman on the right.)

But I thank you for your kind words about my blog post and hope you'll visit often.

Joan

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Bad Santas Hit New York City




Last Saturday we were in New York, staying down at the bottom of Fifth Avenue, a stone’s throw from Washington Square Arch, which looked magical with its sparkling Christmas tree as snow began to fall.  I went out early for coffee and the papers, and as I approached a Starbucks several blocks to the east, I passed a half dozen young people, three men and three women, all dressed as Santa Claus.  Salvation Army bell ringers? I wondered.  Department store salespeople?

Inside the Starbucks I saw more Santas, but didn’t ask anyone why, because I didn’t want to reveal myself as an out-of-towner.  But when I read the papers it became clear.  Even though I’ve lived for nearly 20 years in the City (a while ago), I knew nothing about SantaCon which happened on Saturday, an event that was causing lots of controversy among New Yorkers.

An op-ed piece by Jason Gilbert in The New York Times last Thursday had the title “Bring Drunken Santas Under Control”.  It began “On Saturday, a festive, besotted mob of 20- and 30-somethings, decked out in various measures of Santa Claus dress and undress, will descend on the bars of lower New York City and rain down Christmas cheer like spoiled eggnog.  This obnoxious event is SantaCon.”

I learned that tens of thousands of people gather in Manhattan every year on SantaCon for a day-long pub crawl to designated bars, many of the Santas eventually ending up in Brooklyn or passed out on a bench somewhere.  They gather about ten a.m. near Tompkins Park on the lower East Side to get their secret instructions on the bar crawl route.  Many bars in Manhattan last Saturday had signs in the window like this one: “Alcohol Soaked Father Christmas themed flash mob not welcome here.  Take your body fluids and public intoxication elsewhere.”   Some signs were more succinct: “No Santas allowed.”

The Long Island Rail Road, Metro North and New Jersey Transit all announced that no alcohol consumption would be allowed on their trains for 24 hours, starting at noon on Saturday.

Aware of the growing dislike of SantaCon, the organizers, who refused to give their names to the press, warned participants by internet to tone down their antics this year and remember that unwanted sexual advances on passing females are wrong: “Dirty ol’ Santa or Ho Ho Ho, just remember No Means No.”

The anonymous organizers of the event pointed out to The New York Times that for every bar that doesn’t want Santas, there are many that do.  Every establishment on the tour has pledged to donate a percentage of the day’s profits to Toys for Tots, and last year the event raised $45,000. (Participants are encouraged to donate $10 each.) They also said that this year there will be many “helper elves’ assigned to guide Santas who stagger off the designated route.

The first recorded SantaCon in the U.S. United States was in San Francisco in 1994, conceived as a subversive expression of anti-commercialism.  Now SantaCon has forgotten about being anti-commercialism. It takes place in more than 300 cities in 44 countries. The biggest gathering is in New York City, which had an estimated 30,000 bad Santas last year.



Around noon I boarded a subway in the East Village to travel to the Upper East Side, because I knew there was little chance of getting a taxi amid the Christmas rush and the snowy weather.  I got out at Union Station to transfer to the Lexington line and stared in wonder at all the Santas around me (most of them headed downtown.)  There were not just Santas, but elves and reindeer.  A group of Santas across the way periodically shouted out “Ho! Ho! Ho!” in unison like cheerleaders, but I didn’t see any signs of misbehavior—perhaps because it was still early in the day.  Along with rotund Santas of the male variety, I saw a number of chic-looking female elves in fetching red and white miniskirts and peaked caps.




Perhaps because I didn’t see the Santas later in the day, when their Christmas spirits had overpowered their good sense, my first encounter with SantaCon has left me less outraged than The New York Times and more inclined to agree with the police commissioner, Raymond W. Kelly, who told the press, “This is an event that we support.  It’s what makes New York New York.”

Friday, December 13, 2013

Confessions of a Christmas Tree Nut



(This is a re-post from the past, but this year I've already got my four trees --described below--  up at home in Massachusetts, thanks entirely to the patience,  talents and assistance of family members.  Right now, I'm in Manhattan, about to take the subway with daughter Eleni and granddaughter Amalia to Rockefeller Center to see the ultimate Christmas tree... then the Radio City Christmas show.  Can't wait!  As to the annual Christmas card and letter--I haven't even started!)

Right now I should be addressing Christmas cards but I'm in the grip of my seasonal craziness which involves decorating...lots...of...trees.

I also decorate doors and chandeliers and kitchen shelves and the grand piano and of course the mantel piece, but what I do most is trees.  Each with a theme.  In every room.  Well, not EVERY room because my husband has started to crack down on that--especially in his office, despite the lovely all white (sprayed snow and icicles and pine cones) tree I did one year.  It shed.

I think this is a genetic thing inherited from my mother.  At Christmas time she decorated so much that you couldn't find a flat surface available to set down your cup of eggnog.

So far I've only put up, um, four.  And I'm going to show them to you now.

On the day after Thanksgiving came the Real Tree, which goes in the living room.  I realize that's much too early and it will soon be very dry, but daughter Eleni and her brand new husband Emilio, with some other elves, insisted on dragging it home and putting on the lights as soon as the turkey was digested and the cranberry sauce was gone.  I usually pick a color scheme, and this year went with silver and white, with the only color coming from some crazy peacock ornaments I got from Pier One (which has great ornaments!  Have you seen the under-the-sea collection?  Squid and fish and lobsters and crayfish and mermaids.  Now there's a theme I haven't tried.)

With the peacocks, I also used lots of white butterflies (from the Dollar Store) and white birds and angel wings, so I guess the theme of the wonderful-smelling Real Tree this year would be wings.

In the dining room I always put a wire tree to show off my antique ornaments.  And I put a wire from the tree to the window latch so that it (hopefully) can't get knocked over.  You can see that we don't have snow yet in Massachusetts, unlike Minnesota, but we will soon.


Some of these ornaments are reproductions, but most are the real thing.  My grandmother had a whole tree decorated with blown-glass birds with those spun glass tails and often a metal clip to hold it on the tree.  I still have a few of hers.  I really love the fragile teapots once sold at every Woolworth's for pennies. They cost a lot more now.  The blown-glass ornaments usually say "West Germany" on the metal cap.  The  glass ornaments that were once screw-in lights were made in Japan between 1930 and 1950 and are a lot less likely to break.

In the library I always put my Shoe Tree, which started when the Metropolitan Museum in New York first started selling ornaments based on shoes in their collections.  

This became a kind of mania and now I can't afford to buy the newest ones from the Museum, but I've added lots of cunning real (baby-sized) shoes, and people keep giving me more.  My favorites on this tree are the Chinese baby shoes that look like cats and the fur-lined baby moccasins and the tiny Adidas sneakers.
On the porch I've put the  Kitchen Tree, or Cookie & Candy Tree.  This was inspired by some friends who live in a tiny apartment and decorate their tree only with cookies and candy and pretzels and candy canes.  Then, when Christmas is over, they put it all outside for the birds and other New York fauna to enjoy.
As you can see, I've cheated quite a bit--adding ornaments that look like kitchen utensils and non-edible gingerbread men and peppermints.  An authentic Kitchen Tree should have chains of real popcorn and cranberries (which we did back when I had children small enough to enjoy stringing them.)

Last year  Trader Joe's sold little gingerbread men with holes already punched in their heads so I could string them on the tree, but this year the gingerbread men are frosted but the holes are missing, so I just  stabbed them with the wire hooks and it worked fine (and any that broke, I ate, of course. They taste better frosted.)
That's four trees so far and counting--I still haven't started decorating the tree in my studio that holds my stash of ornaments from Mexico and India, but that will come soon, and I haven't  shown you my Santa Claus collection and the miniature town in the bay window in the kitchen and the many creches we have from around the world....But let's face it, I have to get back to those Christmas cards.



Thursday, December 5, 2013

Amalia Does the Holidays


Amalia traveled from Manhattan to Yiaya and Papou’s home in Massachusetts for Thanksgiving, knowing that she’d have to cram some Christmas into the four-day weekend, because this year she and Mommy and Papi would be spending Christmas and New Year’s in Nicaragua with Abuela and family.

 The first thing Amalia did when she got there was to play with the Santa’s village that Yiayia Nene had set up in the kitchen window. 


The next thing was to bake pies with Yiayia.  Amalia had specified that she wanted to make an orange pie and a pink pie.  Yiayia interpreted that as a Pumpkin pie and a Cheesecake Raspberry Swirl pie.  Amalia decorated with candy corn. 

On Thanksgiving Day Amalia helped make whipped cream and kept a critical eye on the cooking of the bird.  It looked pretty big to her—but this year, unlike last year, she weighed more than the turkey.


When it was time for Thanksgiving dinner, Amalia ate the grapes that garnished the bird as she posed for family photos.


When Papi handed her a drumstick, she attacked it with the gusto of Henry the Eighth, to the surprise of Yiayia Nene.

When she saw how fetching Tia Marina looked wearing the Turkey hat, Amalia elected to try it on herself.


After dinner she was reunited with the Christmas Mouse that sings “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”.



She made a new friend—the Elf on the Shelf.  She named him David. 



Later Papi read her the book about the Elf.  First rule is you can’t touch him or he’ll lose his magic.  And if he squeals to Santa about your bad behavior, you may get banished to the naughty list.



Saturday was faux Christmas.  Papi brought home a tree and Mommy and Tia Marina put the lights on. 




Meanwhile Amalia read “The Night Before Christmas” to the Christmas mouse.



And she opened a whole lot of presents.  Here she's asking "What's next?"


That day everybody got a piece of the (faux) New Year’s pita to find who had the lucky coin in their piece --to insure a year of good luck.   It was in Papou’s piece but he gave the coin to Amalia.


That night Amalia made gingerbread cookies with Yiayia for decorating the next day.  Amalia absolutely loves baking and shrieks with joy when the pies or cookies come out of the oven.



The next day, Sunday, Mommy’s friends came over and Amalia got to play and decorate cookies with their daughters, Natasha and Sophie.




She admired the decorated tree with Tia Marina.


Then she said good-bye and got in the car to drive back to her casita in Manhattan.  The traffic was terrible and the trip took five hours.  Amalia said she “wanted to go back to their house where there are people.”  Then she threw up all over her car seat.


She can hardly wait for her Christmas in Nicaragua, where Santa will find her, thanks to Google maps and information from David the Elf.

Monday, November 25, 2013

One Grandma's Sneaky Shortcuts for Thanksgiving

(This is a slightly revised and updated version of last year's Thanksgivng post--Apologies to those who have seen it before!)


Just heading back from New York--to launch into my annual pie baking panic before the kids fly in and we sit down to a Thanksgiving table set for 12, including two-year-old granddaughter Amalia. (Below a photo from her first Thanksgiving--two years ago.  This year, now that she's 27 months,  she's made me promise that we'll bake an "orange pie" together, which I take to mean a pumpkin pie.)  (Pies pictured above are from LAST Thanksgiving, when I was more organized.)  Amalia and I have already made turkey sugar cookies in Manhattan from the tube of dough bought at the supermarket with a turkey pictured in the center.  All you do is cut slices off the dough and put them on a cookie sheet and bake. Welcome to Thanksgiving for dummies.

Amali's first Thanksgiving, 2011
For 42 years I’ve been streamlining the procedure drastically every year because I’m lazy, and my Greek relatives still don’t realize that my special cornbread stuffing comes out of a package (slightly doctored up.)  They spend days making their Greek stuffing, which includes chestnuts, hamburger and a lot of other things.  Amalia's honorary Grandma, "Yiayia" Eleni Nikolaides, will be making it for our table this year.  Of course everyone prefers the Greek stuffing, but I still make my cornbread stuffing, because it’s “tradition.”  

Every Thanksgiving I try a different apple pie recipe in the hopes of finding the prize-winning pie that will bring tears (of joy, not sorrow)  to my family’s eyes.  This year, because I'm back at Weight Watchers' meetings, I'm doing apple pie with a lattice crust and the low-cal Apple Pie Filling I got off Weight Watcher's web site.  You can serve it with no-cal frozen whipped topping (which has no ingredients that ever came near a cow) or, for the more reckless, with vanilla ice cream.

For those who say "calories be damned",  a fabulous Chocolate-Kahlua pie has somehow become a staple of our Thanksgiving. It, too, can be made way ahead. When I make a pumpkin pie—which is really fast and easy…(just take the recipe off the pumpkin can)—I decorate the top with a circle of candy corn left from Halloween. Or Cinnamon Praline Pecans.This year I'm trying a recipe for "Maple Pumpkin Pie with Cinnamon-Maple Whipped Cream" that I cut out of the local paper.  Don't tell Weight Watchers.

 Nowadays magazines and ads on TV make much of the young wife and mother terrified by the complexities of roasting a turkey and serving Thanksgiving dinner to a crowd. I think the whole thing has been vastly over-complicated by the media.So I’m going to share some sneaky shortcuts for a super-easy Thanksgiving.

The Turkey—don’t stuff it!
 A turkey roasted with the stuffing inside takes much longer and then you have all those risks of food poisoning if you leave the turkey and stuffing un-refrigerated long after taking it out of the oven. Stuffing baked in the turkey comes out soggy. I prepare my stuffing on top of the stove.The directions are on the back of the Pepperidge Farm Corn Bread Stuffing package—Melt 6 TBSP butter in a saucepan, add a cup of chopped celery and a cup of chopped onions, cook for 3 minutes. (Then I throw in sliced mushrooms and maybe this year chopped apples and cook some more. You could also add chopped chestnuts or pecans and crumbled bacon or sausage.) When everything is softened, you throw in 2 1/2 cups water or broth (if you’re not going for vegetarian) and add the stuffing mix, stir and you’re all done.

As for the turkey—I always get a fresh turkey, even though it costs more, so as not to have to defrost it for days and then find it still frozen.  I get mine from a local butcher called Sir Loin's who guarantees that it was free range and had a happy childhood. I cut an onion and a couple oranges in half and put them in the cavity before putting the turkey in the oven.  For the last 15 minutes I baste it with Maple Bourbon Glaze which also gives a nice color. (Don’t forget, the turkey needs to sit for a half hour to soak up the juices.)

Green Bean Casserole and Candied Sweet Potatoes with Marshmallows: I don’t make them. I came to realize that nobody eats them. What I do make is: Parmesan Potato Casserole which is mashed potatoes in a casserole dish with a lot of butter and cheese, cream and eggs stirred in and then you bake it with some cheese and parsley on top. I cook Wild Rice mix straight out of the Uncle Ben box. Artichoke hearts alla Polita with peas and dill. Corn and red pepper casserole.  Stuffed mushrooms as an appetizer.

Gravy—open a can.
 I’ve tried about a million “No fail turkey gravy” recipes over the years and I manage to fail every time. What I do is open a couple cans of store-bought turkey gravy, chop up some of the neck and liver of the turkey (which have cooked in the roasting pan alongside the turkey), add a nice splash of some liquor—like sherry—or you can throw in some of the pan juices. Who’s going to know that it came out of a can?
Orange-cranberry relish—you can make this up to a month ahead. Everybody loves it and it makes even the driest turkey taste better. Pick over and grind in the blender a one pound bag of cranberries. Grind up a couple oranges—pulp and rind. Mix together with two cups sugar or more. Chill in the refrigerator--the longer it sits the better it tastes. I always make a double recipe.
When the kids were small I would have them cut with scissors a jagged edge for hollowed-out orange halves to make little baskets to hold the cranberry relish—I’d put the baskets surrounding the turkey. Or nowadays I surround the turkey on its platter with green and purple bunches of grapes.

Placecards and menus—Making the placecards or favors is a great way to keep children busy and out of your hair. I used to have mine make favors/place cards that were turkeys fashioned out of (store bought) popcorn balls with a ladyfinger for the head and neck, three toothpick legs to stand, red or orange cellophane tied around the popcorn ball and gathered for a tail.—The three-legged turkey was then stuck in a large flat cookie, where the name would be written using those cake-decorating tubes.  Other creative folks make turkeys out of chocolate cupcakes and candy corn. 
Pie dough—Pillsbury refrigerated. I don’t have the magic touch for “from scratch” pie crust that grandmas always brag about, and I’ve never had any complaints. When I do some clever crimping around the edge, the pie crust looks completely homemade and tastes fine.

The centerpiece is always the same—I have a basket shaped like a cornucopia, filled with various fruits, nuts and some fall flowers that have survived in the garden. Couldn’t be easier. Candles in candleholders.  Also I've acquired a bunch of rubber turkey finger puppets which Amalia has already commandeered. Nowadays lots of craft and party stores are selling activity books and placemats for the the children's table.   And yes, everyone has to tell what they're thankful for. I always print out on the computer a small decorative menu for each plate so people know what they’re eating. What they won’t know is how easy it was, unless you tell them.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The Kennedy Assassination, the Media and My Generation





Everyone who was older than, say, five, on November 22, 1963 has a story that begins, “On the day that Kennedy was shot, I…”   Those too young to remember it have filed away Kennedy’s murder in their minds along with other national tragedies: the assassination of President Lincoln, the Hindenburg disaster, Pearl Harbor, the sinking of the Titanic, the San Francisco earthquake.

But the Kennedy assassination was different.  And the effect of that weekend in 1963 on the baby boomer generation is still being measured.

When President Lincoln was assassinated, some Americans in the far West didn’t learn the news until months later.  In 1963, Americans turned en masse for the first time to their television for breaking news of a national tragedy, and that news was very slow in coming—it seemed like hours of agonized waiting before the official announcement was made that the President was indeed dead, (although the back of his head had been blown off by the second shot, and his wife and his bodyguard knew instantly there was no hope.)

The entire nation gathered in front of their television sets, sat down, and didn’t move from Friday through Sunday as they watched the drama play out in real time, from the shots in Dallas, through the shooting of Oswald by Jack Ruby, through the funeral procession, with the rider-less horse and three-year-old John John saluting his father’s casket.

Imagine if the Kennedy shooting happened today—hundreds of people in Dallas would have captured it on video via their cell phones—not just Abraham Zapruder, with his 8 millimeter Bell & Howell movie camera and the shaky 486 frames of film that would ultimately ruin his life.  The nation did not see the entire 26.6 seconds of the Zapruder film until 1975, and Life Magazine, which bought the rights to it for $150,000, did not show frame #313— Kennedy’s head exploding—out of deference to the family and its readers and because Zapruder insisted it be withheld.

Today (remember the Boston Marathon bombing?) the entire event would be on Facebook and Twitter from dozens of different angles, with all the gore, along with all kinds of crazy theories and misinformation—within seconds of the gunfire.

There was nothing instantaneous about the news in those days.   Here’s my Nov. 22, 1963 story:  Two months earlier I had moved to Manhattan from California to enter Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism.  Among the 80 grad students who sat in front of their heavy manual typewriters at desks in the J School’s newsroom was Nick Gage, the man I would marry seven years later, but on that Friday I had a date with another young man, who worked for The New York Times, to attend a ball given by the Newswomen’s Club of New York to collect my Anne O’Hare McCormick scholarship, which would help pay for my tuition.

I had left the newsroom early and gone to my dorm room in Johnson Hall to start getting ready, when I heard on the radio “Shots have been fired in the vicinity of the President in Dallas.” 

Like many of my fellow J School students I immediately went back to the school, hoping to get more information from the teletype machines in the newsroom—the only way to get breaking news in those days before it was read over the radio.  The teletype machines, standing about three feet high, would clatter into life as news bulletins from the Associated Press, UPI and Reuters (they each had a different machine) would be typed on a continuous roll of paper.

We stood around, grim-faced, waiting to learn Kennedy’s fate, tearing off bulletins as they came through (I still have a couple, one of them pictured above.) Not until 2:33 p.m. Eastern Standard Time did the teletype machine make it official.  The president was dead.

We all took this as a personal loss.  Nick, who has been my husband now for 43 years, had met President Kennedy only three months earlier at the White House, when Kennedy presented him with the top Hearst Award for college journalism—which was how Nick managed to afford grad school.

After the official news, we were all depressed and at a loss for what to do next. Everything had been cancelled.  Earlier I had tried to call my date at The New York Times to tell him the ball was cancelled and got screamed at by the man who answered the phone, who yelled, “My god, woman.  Don’t you know what has happened?  Hang up!”

Finally, as a group, we walked over to a movie theater on Broadway and sat silently through a film.  It was “The Haunting of Hill House” starring Julie Harris.

We all went out to the West End Bar after that, and Nick and I spent the rest of the weekend together, devouring the newspapers as succeeding editions came out. Unlike the rest of the nation, we did not have access to a television set (although there must have been one at the J-School.)  Nowadays, the students sit down to their computers.  The manual typewriters and teletype machines are long gone.

Over the years, when anyone asks us, “How did you two meet?” we take turns telling the story, beginning, “It was the day President Kennedy was shot.”

Three weekends ago, Nick and I were in San Francisco, attending the Elios Foundation’s Hellenic Charity Ball when we started chatting with California Congressman John Garamendi and his wife Patti, who have been married even longer than we have.  Turns out that they met the same day we did. 

They were both attending the University of California at Berkeley (where I had graduated five months earlier.)  He was on the California Golden Bears football team (and an All-America offensive guard), but the game scheduled for that night was cancelled, so John walked over to visit a girl he knew in a sorority house, and she introduced him to a pretty blonde named Patricia. 

Like so many of our generation, John and Patti had been inspired by Kennedy’s creation of the Peace Corps. They spent their two-year honeymoon serving in the Peace Corps in Ethiopia, teaching local school children that if they could work together, they could achieve anything (including building a bridge). John has devoted his life to legislature creating a pathway to the middle class for poor Americans.  Patti has served as the Associate Director of the Peace Corps and arranges the distribution of American food and aid to famine and refugee centers in war zones and developing countries.


Everyone in my generation has a story about how Kennedy’s life and death affected them, and in many cases, the ripple effect is still being felt.  For my generation, it was the first time the nation pulled together and mourned together as a family, while the now-outdated medium of television made us participants in the drama.