I was born in May of 1961. As of the events of The Grown-Ups, I was exactly 2 1/2 years old (and Roberta was not yet born). My first memory is of Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald.
I know this hardly seems believable. In fact, my mother didn’t believe me for years, until one day I described the memory to her in detail: Where I was, where she was, how the apartment was laid out, what I said. And it was all dead-on; she had to admit I really did remember it.
I don’t remember anything else that year. In fact, my first series of connected memories are of the summer of 1964, when we stayed at a cottage in Monroe, NY. I remember a lot about that summer; the beds in the cottage, my older brother’s birthday party, finger-painting, an outfit I loved. But between November 24, 1963, when Ruby shot Oswald, and maybe May of 1964 when I turned 3, there’s nothing. And before November 24, there’s nothing.
But there’s a gunshot right in between.
Here’s what I remember: Somebody shot somebody on TV, and that was different. That was not what you see on TV. It was not fiction. It was not “a show.” It was real. And “this is real” struck me so deeply within that it awakened memory storage. I jumped up and ran into the kitchen and said “Mommy, somebody shot somebody on TV” and Mom ran in to look. I don’t know what she was feeling that day, whether she mournful or focused on her two toddlers or what. Mom’s a politically aware person, follows the news, and always votes Democratic, so I imagine she felt the events of that week quite deeply.
Now, this particular first memory is an oddity for me. A story you can tell people. But watching The Grown-Ups, it was something more. I have to tell you, I had forgotten that Oswald was murdered on the 24th, I had it in my head as the 23rd, so when everyone was gathered in the hotel kitchen watching the news, I thought we were about to see it, and my heart was pounding out of my chest. And then later, they did show it, with Betty watching, and I felt shaky.
Somewhere inside me, that memory is not just an odd story. Somewhere inside me, I am still afraid.
22 Responses to “My earliest memory”
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Wow that is amazing that you remember something from such a young age. That really had quite an impact on you. I can't even remember my first memory but it seems to revolve around Bert and Ernie
, nowhere near as deepl
If not my earliest memory (I was 6), Ruby killing Oswald may be my earliest vivid memory. In my case, it was my mother who was watching. She yelled "I think they shot him!" and we all rushed into the room to see what had happened.
(I also remember the solar eclipse depicted in Seven Two Three. I have a strong memory of watching on television as they warned not to look directly at it, describing those same odd boxes that Miss Farrell had the children using.)
You're right about the lingering fear. Even now if there's an interruption on television with a Special Bulletin, I get that same wave of dread, sure something horrible has happened.
My dad remembers hearing my grandmother say "They got him!" when it happened – he was 8.
I have some memories from pre-school when I was 3, and then I have these memories I've acquired from watching home movies that I couldn't possibly remember, but if /feels/ like I do!
About the earliest memory I have is of my maternal grandfather, when I was about three. I remember him sitting in an easy chair and sticking a rubber-tipped dart onto his bald head and laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world (him, not me).
As for Ruby killing Oswald, I was nine when that happened and Bob Jackson's Pulitzer Prize winning photo frightened me for years! It is such a graphic, horrible moment, which he captured perfectly.
Ever since 11-22-63, I have been a student of the events of that awful weekend. I doubt the the truth about the case will ever be fully known, but that shouldn't stop us from at least trying to figure out all we can.
And, if you will permit me a "plug": For anyone who is also interested in studying the case, a good place to start is with Len Osanic's weekly podcast, "Black Op Radio". Over the years, he has interviewed authors, experts and researchers on the topic and you can listen each Thursday night, here: http://www.blackopradio.com/
# 1 – "I can’t even remember my first memory but it seems to revolve around Bert and Ernie."
Bert shot Ernie?!?
YIKES!!!
Oh, Deb. I don't know whether to thank you or apologize.
This is the kind of thing I knew we'd run into, with Matt & Co addressing the assassination in an episode: the early memories of viewers like you. What you describe is what people now refer to as trauma.
Your mother's inability to remember you as part of that picture, I think, says something about the immediacy of her own response to it. Could the event have been bigger to her than the fact that you were the one who had to watch it happen?
My own earliest memory is much happier: I'm about the same age as you, Deb, and my terrific Grandma (the woman really was a goddess) is with me and my sister in the big kitchen of her old house, helping us get dressed. It is snowing outside, and I can't believe how much she's making me put on. I want to fall, just to see if I'll bounce.
Like you, my mother didn't believe I had any memory of this kitchen until I described that day to her in detail: the flatware drawers on the left side, the cabinets for dry goods and pots & pans on the right, yellow walls and the scent of something baking wrapping against me in those layers of stuff. The blue light of winter, Grandma in her sweater, skirt and apron, pins in her hair.
And no TV in sight.
But back to you … a two-year-old watching a shooting on live television? My God, Deb. That's awful. I want to go back and find the two-year-old you, and just hug her.
Wow.
I knew this was your story; I've heard it many times. And I knew this was in Drafts, but hadn't read it, because I knew the story. But I didn't know the episode affected you so deeply.
I think she probably did remember me there, but didn't believe I could possibly remember it myself.
Honestly, neither did I until I saw The Grown-Ups. It opened up a little can of worms.
I understand that heart pounding reaction to a memory of something that was traumatic at the time being brought up again, Deborah. I had the same reaction to a memory of something that happened when I was between 12 months and 18 months old. I did not know the memory was there until my sister started describing an incident that happen in our family when I was between those ages. As with you, my heart started pounding and fear raced through my body. I suspect that at that age witnessing an act violence sears the memory of it into brain. When that memory is tapped into later- instant PTS reaction. I'd give you a hug today if I ran into you because I know you need it now as must as you did at age two.
My second earliest memory is focused on JFK's funeral. It was six weeks past my third birthday. What I remember is my mother sitting on the edge of the couch and weeping. I am trying to console her and am in turn frightened because she doesn't stop crying. On the screen I remember little John John Kennedy in shorts. I am confused and frightened because he is little like me and it is winter time. My mother explains to me that the flag being pulled by the horses has his daddy underneath it. That frightened and confused me even more.
How awful that you had to witness Oswald's murder all by yourself.
I really don't think anyone understood the impact television was having on us. It was such an unstable time, and everyone was so frightened. It really did make the time very frightening for all of us who were small.
I was born in 1959. My first "independent" memory (one that couldn't possibly have been someone 'telling' me what I remembered) was JFK's assassination. My mom told me he had been killed. Later that day, they showed one of his speeches on TV and I told Mom "I think he got better!". She then explained video tape to me.
I don't remember if I actually "saw" Ruby shoot Oswald live, or if I just saw that pic over and over.
I was born on April 30, 1961, and by the time of the JFK assassination (age 2 1/2) I believe my parents and older siblings (all 7 of them) pretty much kept me busy enough elsewhere to keep me unaware of the tragedy. Later I do remember seeing the photo of Oswald's shooting, in the LIFE magazine and (as a child might) I giggled at the (to me) strange expression on Oswald's face, not realizing what horrible thing was happening.
The first time I really became aware of the world outside my childhood bubble was when the Beatles came on Ed Sullivan a few months later. With my sisters squealing in delight, this became a happy cornerstone in my memories, and Deborah, I wish it could have been yours too.
However, I do remember clearly the Martin Luther King an d JFK assassinations as by 1968
…as by 1968 I was very aware of news events.
What an interesting post. I too have encountered older family members who've questioned my ability to remember places, people, and events in and outside the family.
Some of my earliest memories are undoubtedly from about the age of two onward and my mother once said she should have been more careful about leaving me in front of the television or letting me wander around unsupervised when I was a kid. : ) Yes, it's true that one of my earliest memories is watching Happy Days then running around the house imitating the Fonz!
Although I'm too young to have memories of the Kennedy assassination, when I was in grade school Kennedy was always my favorite president to write reports on and I remember being just absolutely floored to find out that my parents could remember that day so well. (They were 13 and 16 years old at the time.) When my parents would tell me about their memories of that day and how they and their friends and family and neighbors reacted to and dealt with such a terrible event; it seemed like they had some special access to a time machine. Since my mom was Catholic, she always described the looks on the nuns faces when they lead her class into church almost immediately on hearing that the president was pronounced dead. She said that they didn't go home that day and parents came to join the kids in prayer instead.
I'm only 29 but one day younger people will ask me about Challenger, or Columbia, or 9/11 and I hope that listening to the memories of some one who has some kind of memories and/or first hand experience of a major event (unfortunately it's always the major disasters, death and destruction that stick in the psychic craw…) will allow them a chance to make a connection to history. More importantly it's such an effective way for children to make that connection in a safe way to other people and the emotional content of what such events really mean beyond any political blahdeblah or attempts at revisionism or making something so horrific seem like it really wasn't that bad just because it hurts too much to think about it otherwise.
In the same way that my parents sharing their memories allowed me to realized that what goes on in the world, even if it is something that happened far away and to strangers, still effects others enough that they will remember decades down the line.
What's that again about those who forget history?
I was 16 years old then. Out playing with my friends in the streets of South Philadelphia – doing nothing…living a teenager's life in the city – playing half-ball (http://www.streetplay.com/thegames/halfball.htm) followed by an invigorating game of "Kick The Can" (http://www.streetplay.com/rulesheets/kickthecan/).
During the Kick-The-Can game, the Mother of one of my best Friends, Dickie Ledger, opened the front door of her row house on the 2300 block of Moore Street, and yelled at us: "Come in! Oswald's being moved – and something is going to happen!"
This was REALLY unusual, and the sense of forboding in her voice caused us all to run into her living room aand get transfixed on her black and white TV. And sure enough, I witnessed the Oswald shooting live. Was stunned. I had never seen anybody murdered before – for real.
Now how the hell Mrs. (Dorothy) Ledger, a (wonderful) housewife, living on Moore St., in South Philly, knew that "…something is going to happen" at that moment on November 24, 1963 – is still one of the biggest mysteries of my life. I have thought of this many times over the past 46 years – and can still not explain the premonition that Mrs. Ledger had that called all the children in from their play to witness one of the most amazing live events in history…. It's still incredible to me.
In November 1963, I was 13 going on 14. We were at church when Oswald was shot, so we learned of it by way of the car radio on the way home after services that morning. Hence we were forewarned before we saw the video replayed over and over on television. Those November days are forever etched in my memory.
I clearly remember when I was 2 1/2, going door-to-door with my mother dropping off Stevenson pamphlets for the 1952 Presidential campaign.
My first vivid TV public events memory is the Army McCarthy hearings, March to June 1954. Whenever I hear Joseph Welch's voice or Joe McCarthy's voice to this day, the whole thing unwinds in my mind's eye like a newsreel and I can also see the expressions on the faces of my mother and several aunts as they watched intently (all together in my aunt's living room that had the only television set in the neighborhood).
The startled Dallas police detective in the photo, Jim Leavelle, who is 89 years old.
In this 2006 MSNBC item, he recalls his connection to two shocking and historic Sundays … http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16096411/
I was ten. I had put up a picture of Jack Kennedy on the door to my room during the 1960 election and was told by my mother to take it down. Oswald's public assassination seemed more like an execution to me, surrounded, held and hand-cuffed by Dallas policemen in white hats. It was shockingly real, and confusing, I had never seen real violence, this felt like a western diorama, the police being cowboys and Oswald, the dead Indian. History was unfolding on the television in a way that it had never had. We always ate in front of the television. (on TV Trays. but not always tv dinners) TV was never the same after 11/22/63, what had been a safe world of cartoons, news, jingles and Ozzie and Harriet, was turned upside down by Oswald and Ruby soon followed by Vietnam and Kent State. Death, lies and televison. The bloody curtain was pulled back forever.
Back to SmilerG's comments about never knowing the truth. That we are unable to know the true history of this day is the ongoing tragedy of November 22 1963, and why the assasintion is impossible for many to put it to rest. (And why the Kennedy assassination can't be compared to other public tragedies that have occured since.) The lies are easier to find than the truth. (Once JFK's dead body left Dallas without an autopsy, legally that removed the evidence of the assassination. A trial would have been an enormous legal and political problem. Oswald's death seems inevitable.)
My earliest memory is Christmas Day 1952. I was not quite 1 – yes I know, supposedly too young to 'remember' anything but I do. Probably because what I remember is being at my grandmother's house Christmas night (it was dark out) and being fascinated by the big lights on a HUGE (to me) tree. My mother set me down and went in to greet other relatives. What can I say, I was their first and they didn't have experience with toddlers and trees and ornaments and lights etc.
Anyway, Gram not only had those big red, green, blue and orangey-yellow light bulbs glowing among the tinsel, she had BUBBLE-LIGHTS! And they were bubbling away. So I toddled over and sat my self down under the tree next to the stairs, reached up to grab a bubble light for a closer look and WHOOSH!! pulled the whole thing down on top of me.
I dunno, I still love those bubble lights.
I was 17 days shy of being born when Kennedy was shot, but my mom had contractions for several hours on 11/22/63. Of course they were glued to the t.v. set all weekend, but nobody was paying attention when Oswald was shot except my brother, who was 8. He yelled "Hey! He just shot that guy!" My brother reports hearing my mother say the F word for the first, and probably only, time in his life. He says she said "What the fuck is going on!?" She denied it, LOL, but it made QUITE the impression on my brother, so I'm going with his version.
Certainly not my first memory, but the first one that would mean anything to any of you, is sitting on top of a building with my family and watching MLK Jr's funeral procession.
I suppose my earliest memory is of my grandfather and I going to pick up my mother at work. I was 2, and he made a little nest for me in the back of his VW bus, and he carried me into the hospital where she worked, and bought me crackers out of a machine.
Wow, what a coincidence to see this post. Just today we visited the 6th Floor Museum (TX School Book Depository) in downtown Dallas. Both my husband and I grew up near here, but had never been down there. I was 4 years old and my husband a newborn (yes, I'm a cradlerobber) when Kennedy was shot. The magnitude didn't register until I was in my 20s in a Brussels Belgium cab and was asked where I was from. "Ah, Dallas! Kennedy!" And this was the heyday of the Dallas Southfork mania (horrible, horrible show as you may know).
Here's the really freaky part though. After I was grown, I found out that Oswald's widow Marina moved to my little town, remarried and changed her 2 girls' last names. They were 2 and 4 years younger but it was a very small school. There were apparently a few in town who were aware (police chief, etc.), but no one must have talked about it, because none of us kids ever knew. I think that was the smartest, kindest way to preserve the childhood of those kids who didn't have any part in this tragedy.
Mary, whoah. That's wild.