Wednesday, July 15, 2009

"Lee Harvey Oswald (1963)"

An exept from The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son
“Lee Harvey Oswald (1963)"
by W.Z Snyder
© 2006 William Snyder

It was 1963 and I was in a Sears’ department store elevator with my grandmother. The doors slid silently open. An enormous black woman filled the doorway. Her face was soaked with tears. “They killed Kennedy!” I looked up to my grandmother and she was crying too. Scanning the towering occupants of the elevator, I could see thatthey were all weeping and things seemed out of control. Although I hadn’t the slightest understanding of what was happening, I was scared to death.

My memory jump cuts to the dinner table at my grandparents’ home. We were having Jell-O. Tiny chunks of pears, peaches and bananas bounced around inside the cubes. My grandfather, who had been eating in silence, suddenly slammed his great lumberman’s fist on the table, “Goddamit! I knew they’d never let a Catholic run this country!” My Jell-O reverberated wildly in the glass bowl. On the wall behind my grandfather hung a picture of JFK and another of the blonde, blue-eyed surfer version of Jesus Christ.

My memory jump cuts again. Sitting with my my legs crossed, Indian style on the giant oval rug in front of my grandparents’ black and white television set, I watch a scene that I have already carefully observed at least a dozen times. Lee Harvey Oswald’s hands are cuffed as he rounds the corner in the underground parking structure. Dwarfed by giant gray men in cowboy hats, he wears a five o’clock shadow and looks like one if the guys who work on their cars behind my apartment building. I hate him because he is the man who killed the Catholic president. A man appears from nowhere, his broad back to the camera. I know that his name is Jack Ruby. He bum-rushes Oswald as the towering cowboy policemen stand by - useless. There is the muffled sound of gunshots. Oswald’s face looks almost funny. His eyes are shut and he looks as though he is trying very hard to whistle. This incredibly chaotic, enigmatic scene is cemented into the foundations of the husband, father, and teacher I have since become.


Guely of Sweden said...

Part of the mithology of our dear 20Th Century. Just a few days of his life written in history. I wonder if his widow has said something lately.

italgalmm said...

Great job of capturing that slice of time...

I too remember the funeral.

The coffin,The Horses,and the tears everyone around me seemed to be shedding..
Thanks for the post.

#167 Dad said...

I know Marina Oswald clained her husband didn't act alone.

Thanks for stopping by.