Then, Everthing Changed

There was a festive air in the classroom. There were a couple of reasons for this. One was that Thanksgiving was only a few days away. Turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie all from my Mom’s kitchen. Afterward, the women would talk in the kitchen while the men gathered in the living room, drinking, smoking and swapping stories. I would head outside and throw my new football I had just gotten for my eighth birthday only 5 days before. I would pretend I was quarterback for Dallas’ new football team called the “Cowboys”. I would do this when I wasn’t pretending to be John Lennon playing guitar in the new band called the “Beatles”.

The other reason for the festive air was the presence of a television at the front of the class. We had a television at home and I guess I knew the school probably had televisions as well but I never imagined that they could put one on wheels and roll it into our classroom. That was really neato to me. And to top it all off, Mrs. Glass had just left us alone when she was called into the hall by another teacher. She had been gone for what seemed like forever to us. We began to talk excitedly about the television and what was going to be on it. We were getting to see the President. He was coming to town and we were going to see him talk.

Then, everything changed.

Mrs. Glass returned to the classroom. It was like a sprinkler system had just doused the class with ice water. She had obviously been crying. We watched as she told us to get ready for the bell. We would be going to our next class instead of watching TV today. The janitor came in and unplugged the set and rolled it out of the room. The bell rang and we went into the hallways. Students were talking as teachers stood by their doors. Normally we couldn’t talk much between classes in the hall but even the teachers were doing that right now. Students were whispering something had happened to the President. It wasn’t long before we found out what.

Then, everything changed.

It was April. Spring was breaking and school was near to being done for another year. The Cowboys were done. Getting better but they still couldn’t win the big one. The Beatles had changed but I still liked some of their music. We lived in San Antonio now. We had just left Rome, New York and I was still trying to make new friends. It was tougher than it had been to this point. I was going to be a teenager this year. Dad was climbing the corporate ladder but our family was barely holding together in the storm of his drinking. There was turmoil in me that I didn’t understand. I hid in my music and guitar playing.

And then a man said these words:

“And then I got to Memphis. And some began to say the threats, or talk about the threats that were out. What would happen to me from some of our sick white brothers? Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

Then he went back to his hotel room in Memphis. At 6pm on April 3^rd he was gunned down on the balcony of that hotel room. Turmoil broke out in America. There were riots in a hundred cities. He would not have approved.

Then, everything changed.

It was June that same year. Still in San Antonio, still in turmoil inside. Now, my Mom had a job too. It was the first time I could remember being home without my Mom here. I was still asleep for it was summer vacation. The phone was ringing. I finally realized I better answer it since Mom wasn’t here.

“John, turn on the TV.” It was Mom. “They shot Bobby last night.”

“What?” I mumbled, still trying to clear the sleep from my brain.

“They shot Bobby Kennedy last night. Turn on the TV and watch. I have to go.”

“Okay.” I said and hung up the princess phone.

I went into the living room and turned on the TV. There was the news. He had been killed in a hotel in California. Shot in the head like the two before him, like his brother. Now, I was just numb. My world was constantly changing. Large and small, left and right. Everybody was yelling to be listened to and killing the ones that mattered. I didn’t want the larger world in my life – but there it was again. Intruding on my turf, forcing itself into my field of vision like a sudden accident at an intersection.

Life rolled on irrespective of these deaths and my wishes and dreams. A war in a far away place made a lot of people angry and act in strange ways. They somehow equated the war with their drugs and music. They found ways to explain the inexplicable and began to teach us all a new way of thinking. I didn’t care for any of it, but I desperately tried to fit in. I needed to belong somewhere and these were more willing to accept me than my Dad. But, after a time, even these found me uncool and rejected me. I continued to play my guitar and hide from the hurricane in my home.

Then, everything changed.

Finally, it was all too much. My heroes were dead or changed. The Beatles had broken up. The war was going badly and patriotism was dead. I had a few friends but my guitar was still my best. Dad was out of control. He had to be stopped. I owned a car now. Time to go. Out of the hurricane and into the typhoon.

The symphony that was our lives degenerated into a madness of demonic sounds and entreaties, designed to confuse us and suck the hope out of us. Perhaps that is what the man meant when he sang these words:

“And the three men I admire the most, the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost,

They caught the last train for the coast.

The day

The music

died.