Forty years ago today I was enjoying a day with friends at Florida State University in Tallahassee. I had several hours free between classes with no obligations. We had been for a drive after lunch, stopping for a while to watch a baseball game near Florida A & M University.
I had returned to the university and was on the top floor of the music building when someone rushed in and told us that the president had been shot. I had a lesson just after that, and I recall my teacher bemoaning that "this is what you get when you don't have capital punishment." Even at the time it seemed a superficial, irrelevant reaction to the event.
It was announced that President Kennedy had died. A pianist friend from Atlanta who was the accompanist for the mens's glee club asked me to turn pages during a dress rehearsal in the recital hall. The members of the chorus did not know President Kennedy had died, as the information broke after the rehearsal began. I was on the verge of tears as the choir began to sing The Song Of Democracy by Howard Hanson, set to text of Walt Whitman: "Sail! Sail on, ship of democracy. Of value is your freight." That is one of the strong musical associations I have with that awful day and that sad event. I still get goose bumps when I hear that piece performed.
Later that week the Choral Union performed the Mozart Requiem, but the musical associations which haunt me the most are the Brahms Requiem, which was played on television almost constantly, the slow drum cadence of the Army Band marching to Arlington Cemetery, and The Navy Hymn (Eternal Father, Strong To Save), played at graveside, and Army Band bugler Keith Clark playing taps.
A couple of years later, during my first year in the Army Band, I had the privilege of meeting Keith Clark who was one of the nicest, most dignified men I have met. It was also in that year that I performed early on a rainy day in Arlington Cemetery what was essentially a second funeral for President Kennedy. We stood in front of the Custis Lee Mansion, overlooking the site of what had become the final resting place of the president and the eternal flame. The president's casket had been moved during the night from the original burial site around the hill to the the memorial site. That had taken place under the strictest secrecy.
I had known that President Johnson was travelling to Hawaii to meet with Premier Ky of Viet Nam, and when we were instructed to report to the bandroom at 0500 hours and not to tell anyone I assumed we were to play a departure ceremony for President Johnson, but we were told of the ceremony in the cemetery when we arrived at the bandroom at 5:00 am. Two hours later at graveside below us, dressed all in black, were the entire Kennedy Family, Dean Rusk, Cardinal Cushing, Speaker of The House Robert McCormack, and several close friends of the Kennedy family. We waited for about half an hour in the rain, and finally President Johnson and Mrs. Johnson arrived.
I knew that Bobby Kennedy and President Johnson had clashed at the White House recently, as it had been recounted in Time Magazine. Reportedly President Johnson had said to Kennedy, "Get off my back about this Viet Nam thing or I'll ruin you politically."
Kennedy was said to have stood up to walk out, and replied, "I don't have to sit here and take this kind of shit from you."
It was with that knowledge that I observed President Johnson joining Bobby Kennedy at the foot of the grave, where the two of them stood together. Bobby had been pacing alone next to the grave, bareheaded and without umbrella while waiting for the president. The president gave Jackie a kiss on the cheek, which I know was not welcome. The personal dynamics of the occasion were complex, but the deep meaning of the ceremony was simple and profound.
The ceremony began and we played The Boys Of Wexford, an Irish traditional tune associated with Kennedy's Irish heritage, and The Navy Hymn. I was deeply moved, and the image of that graveside ceremony that dark morning in Arlington remains engraved in my memory. I had loved President Kennedy, and his assasination had shaken me deeply. In a small way that day helped me make peace with the heart break.