“A mind is a terrible thing to waste.”

 

That was a phrase from an old Public Service Announcement.  The spot showed a young black male and while sitting in a chair he slowly vanishes. Within in the message were two things, one was to ask for donations to the American Negro College Fund, the other was to tell anyone that’d listen that your mind is a resource and must be developed.

When I watched the advertisement on TV it felt as if the narrator was speaking directly to me. I am neither male nor black but the words pierced deep into my soul. It rings true for me today as it did that first day because years ago I almost threw mine away. Let me go back to 1963.

When we first moved to California from Minnesota, I was tested for placement. Putting it bluntly, I did rather poorly and was placed with the slow kids. I was told my math and science skills were weak. I could have told them if they’d asked me. A major event the year before had high-jacked my education.

On November 22, 1963, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. Many today forget how this incident impacted people’s lives. I mention this infamous date because it affected my education both in short and long term consequences.

I was in fifth grade and attended St. Luke’s Elementary, a large K-8 school run by the parish. On that day our teacher, Mrs. Miller, had arranged for us to have a television set in class to watch President Kennedy and his lovely wife Jackie arrive in Dallas. Mrs. Miller intended we watch the President’s plane arrive, then see the motorcade tour the streets of Dallas and ultimately listen to his speech at the Trade Mart business convention. It was an historic event and perfect for our Social Studies class.

On this day of days, we were the only students in school to watch the live coverage. Our class took lunch early that day so we’d be back in our seats by 12:45 PM and see the coverage from the very beginning.

I could barely sit still and the class was filled with excited chatter while two 8^th grade boys rolled in the TV set. The television took a moment to warm up. At first the screen was blurry and the sound choppy.

Mrs. Miller with nervous laughter ordered the boys, “Don’t just stand there fiddle with the rabbit ears.”

  One of the boys twisted and turned the antenna that sat on top of the set. Finally, the CBS logo came into view. The boy turned the volume up and we heard the top of the hour chime from the television. The boys breathed a sigh of relief and stood in the back of class to watch with us.

Walter Cronkite appeared, welcomed us and said it was a beautiful clear day in Dallas. He narrated the morning events. There were clips of the President’s plane arriving earlier, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy stepping down the ramp and shaking hands with dignitaries. Mrs. Kennedy, Jackie, held a bouquet of roses.

Mr. Cronkite described what to expect from the coverage the rest of the day. He then told us that the President had stopped the motorcade to shake hands with several nuns standing along the curb. That made us proud to think the President stopped for nuns.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity behind Mr. Cronkite. He was handed a long piece of paper and turned his back to the camera to speak with someone.

The screen went dark and a placard saying “We’ll Be Right Back” replaced the darkness. Some of us kids stood up to see the TV better. There was a lot of whispers and chatter in our room.

Skinny Robert, who sat next to me, lowered his head and asked, “What is going on?” I couldn’t answer him.

Moments later, Walter Cronkite returned and in a somber voice said the President had been shot and was being driven to the hospital.

I held my breath. Mrs. Miller began to cry.

I stared at Skinny Robert. He whispered, “Did he say the President was shot?”

Donna Schultz turned back with a sneer and said, “It’s not real. It’s TV.”

Finally, Walter Cronkite was handed another piece of paper and said the President was pronounced dead from gunshot wounds. Walter removed his glasses and wiped tears from his eyes.

My teacher, Mrs. Miller looked at us and began to wail. “Don’t you understand? This is our President,” she said through racking sobs. Then, she ran out of the classroom.

I froze in my chair. When I looked around Skinny Robert and Donna Schultz were stone still. Glancing furtively around the room, I saw Becky King cry into her hands. I wanted to reach out, comfort her, put my arms around her but to move away from my chair seemed far more dangerous than anything I’d ever experienced.

The PA system crackled and screeched. The noise startled me and I jumped. The speaker hung on the wall in the space above the chalkboard. Every morning we’d hear Vice Principle Sister Mary Rose lead us in the pledge of allegiance through the system. We’d never heard the PA system in the afternoon before. An announcement was coming and I suddenly felt cold.

This time Monsignor Andrews voice was heard speaking in a low and formal voice. He said, “Good afternoon children, I have some bitter news. Our President was shot and has died.” He asked us to stand and led us in prayer. Then they told us to collect our books and sent all of us home.

America mourned for the next few days glued to the television to glean information as to what happened. People who didn’t own televisions sets watched in department store windows or went to local bars that had a set.

Everything that could be shown on television was. Vice President Johnson was sworn in, thousands of mourners walked past the coffin in the East Room round the clock for the next 24 hours, churches of every religious affiliation held prayer sessions, and schools, restaurants, and businesses were closed for the entire weekend. News anchors did their best to reveal bit by bit any information on who shot the President.

 That Monday the State Funeral was held and we watched from 10 AM until 4 PM.

On Tuesday we went back to school. We heard Mrs. Miller was ill. Our class had a series of substitute teachers for the remaining two weeks of school before Christmas break. When school resumed in January, we heard Mrs. Miller had been committed to a sanitarium and would never come back. It was the first time I heard the words ‘nervous breakdown’.

As it was the middle of the school year, finding a new teacher was almost impossible. We became a rudderless ship without a steady hand at the helm.

There were many days they couldn’t find any substitute teacher for our class and we were sent to the lunchroom to sit at the tables and study. The lunch ladies and custodians were charged with keeping an eye on us.

Finally in March, Miss Mueller was hired. Miss Mueller realized we were way behind on assignments and promised she’d do her best to catch us up. But we only had three months to the end of the school year. By this time, I was so done with school, it made me ill to go to class. I didn’t want to be there one more minute. The last thing I wanted was to buckle down and learn real subjects like math. Gross.  And so I skated by and wasted my mind.

There was one more element that added to my lackluster 5^th grade, my mother was finishing her last semester for her Bachelor’s degree in English Literature. Like any senior in college she was excited to be on the last lap and more interested in parties and fun. Her college student and teacher friends came to our house often.

I don’t remember a quiet time for studying or homework. When I complained to my mother, she snapped I was old and stuffy just like my father.

That August we moved to California. After being tested, I was considered borderline remedial, somewhere between a C- and D+. No one bothered to find out how I got so behind, my grades in 3^rd and 4^th grade were above average. It was the second half of the 5^th grade that I wasted.

They told my mother I was a slow learner. She passed this on to her friends and relatives. I’m sure she was concerned for my intelligence, but often people talk of others as a way to deflect attention from their defects. It’s like a slight of hand trick. It’s a way of saying, “Don’t look at me look at what is over here.”  Politicians, magicians, and shoplifters do it all the time. Yes, shoplifters, which brings me to Tina.

I don’t know why I got so swept up by Tina. She wasn’t one of the popular kids in school. She was in the smart kids group with Cath, Kathy and Chuck O.

Being around Tina felt fun, exciting. She was how I met Patrick and experienced my first kiss. I felt interesting around her, like people were watching me, like I was important just standing next to her.

She would be the catalyst to the next time I came close to wasting my mind.

Next episode: Shoplifting at Del Amo Shopping Center