Memories from my college days…
I remember snowball fights on the night of the first snowfall. Coming upon the life size tyrannosaurus rex outside the Geology Building in a heavy snowfall and being scared by it. Of the winter of 1962–63 when it dropped to -40, the steam pipes froze, and we slept four of us to our beds in Ross Hall with a half inch of frost on the inside of the windows. Of walking to a basketball game because none of the cars would run; the transmissions were frozen. These were fun memories but my most memorable was the fall of 1963.
Word was out soon after we arrived for classes that the president of the United States was coming to our campus. My then boyfriend was in ROTC and their instructors were cooperating with the Secret Service to ensure the President’s safety. We were ecstatic. John F. Kennedy was young, an inspirational leader; the one we vowed to follow; we who had just earned the right to vote and took our politics very seriously.
It was a flying trip. He was to arrive at 10:30 AM, give a speech in War Memorial Field House and be on his way by 11:30. But it didn’t matter, we were thrilled. The frost held off and the campus was awash with nasturtium and calendulas. Windows were washed, trash cans hidden, yards cut, and we were ready. I don’t remember for certain, but I think our classes were cancelled for that morning. We crowded the field house and cheered when his motorcade finally delivered him to the door. The band played Hail to the Chief, and we all stood screaming and clapping. He had a speech to give on conservation, which was the theme of this trip. He kept talking about something we did not recognize and later found out was potash pronounced by a Bostonian. But he departed from his speech to tell us what a beautiful campus we had and how lucky we were to be at such a fine school. He called us one of Wyoming’s most important natural resources and promised to bring Jackie and the children to visit when they vacationed the next summer. But that was not to be.
It was the Friday before Thanksgiving break, and I was crossing Prexy’s Pasture from the Education building past frost killed flowers. I remember thinking how Kennedy had commented on the flowers and how lucky we were the frost held off until after his visit. Ross Hall lobby was unusually still with a radio voice talking over the PA instead of the usual noon chatter and bang of mailboxes. My fellow staff members behind the desk were crying.
“Pat, the President’s been shot.” I rushed to my room and turned on my radio to KOWB. The news was chilling. My boyfriend called and suggested we go to the Newman Center to pray. There was a TV there and we sat dumbfounded as the news came. He was dead.
Images from that day: Fr. Taylor leading us in prayer; I made grilled cheese sandwiches for anyone who showed up; digging out toilet paper from the supply closet when the tissue ran out. A Russian string quartet was touring and played that next week. They asked us all to stand for a moment of silence in his memory and I seem to recall they played a mournful piece in his honor. The auditorium was almost empty so many had gone home. There are many other memories but none as vivid and as deeply impressed on my mind as November 22, 1963.
