\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0One event which all of the country knew we would remember forever was the assassination of President Kennedy, 40 years ago. In an Optic feature, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Quote–End Quote all participants provided a precise account of where they were when they heard the news. If reporter David Wesner had asked that question of 500 people, surely they would all have provided not only their location, but their reaction as well.<\/p>\n
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 In 1963 I was in the right place when news of the shooting in Dealey Plaza in Dallas came over the wire. That year I was an editor at the Gallup Independent.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 My story I hope is more than a recitation of where I was at the time, so stay with me a while and recall the days when newspapers were as portrayed in movies. People entering the Optic newsroom today, or even that of the much larger Albuquerque Journal, would observe that it\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s too quiet. Aside from expecting Johnny Olsen\/Clark Kent types running around, they miss the clatter.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 I have always found the clatter of the noisiest machine in the newsroom\u00e2\u20ac\u201dthe teletype machine\u00e2\u20ac\u201dintoxicating. Someone should produce a relaxation tape that features teletype noise instead of ocean breezes and bird sounds.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 The teletype machine had a keyboard and an invisible operator, or so it seemed. Part of the day was devoted to receiving national and international news, and for a short period, state news came in. Photos were transmitted through telephone lines. Today, images at most newspapers arrive via email.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 A year before, a tour of the Chicago Tribune impressed me with its 40 teletypes, each dedicated to a specific subject.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Teletype machines hummed constantly, even in sleep mode. The machine typed millions of keystrokes onto a roll of paper and at the same time punching a tape which in turn would be fed into a linotype machine to be set into hot type.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 We always knew when the UPI central office in New York or Albuquerque was ready to transmit, as there would be a couple of bells and a series of carriage returns.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 On our first day of work on the wire, the boss told us that five loud bells would signify a \u00e2\u20ac\u0153second-coming” story.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 The Independent was well into deadline and when news came that three shots had been fired during the president\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s motorcade in Dallas. That announcement didn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t shock us as much as the second bulletin, minutes later, when Merriman Smith, UPI\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s bureau chief, and a rider in the motorcade, reported that a priest had pronounced Kennedy dead. The feeling was as if the assassination had taken place right in our newsroom.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Unavoidably, there was reaction in the newsroom; some people cried openly. My biggest impression, aside from horror and sorrow over the heinous act, was that our newsroom suddenly was transformed into a crisis\/information center.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 The four telephone lines remained busy constantly as Gallup citizens called for a \u00e2\u20ac\u0153second opinion”: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I heard the president is dead. Is it really true?”
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Trying to remake the front page was challenging in light of the flood of people who entered the newsroom with questions like:
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u0153We were sent home from school. Do we need to make it up?”
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Have they caught the guy yet?”
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I got sent home from work. Do I still get paid?”
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Though I tried, when it was my turn, to answer politely and correctly, I kept thinking, how the heck should I know?”
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Redesigning Page 1 resulted in myriad emotions. A linotype operator, who had tolerated the many changes we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d been dictating to him, exploded when someone placed a friendly hand on his shoulder; two backshop employees faced off over whether the assassination deserved 144-point type (two inches high); we sent a new intern to get reaction from elected city and county officials, and she never returned, not even for her paycheck.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Mainly my preoccupation was with the effect the killing must have had on the public in general and news people in particular. Our managing editor, a man about 40, said his kidneys always turned into jelly during a crisis. That left two of us newsroom employees, both age 23, in charge of Page 1.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 I kept wondering, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153If I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m only 23 and feeling so involved, what is happening to people two and three times my age?” I wondered whether any newsroom heart attacks or strokes would ever be traced to the assassination.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Remarkably, the Independent made it to the streets only an hour late, including an extra 10 minutes of press run, for we knew we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d sell out that day. I needed a break and paced Coal Avenue, running into people I knew but had never really noticed. Suddenly we all had much in common, the same way strangers unite for any disaster. People everywhere felt the need for a hug. I was one of them.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 The following Sunday, several of us were in my apartment watching the funeral on television. It was then that we witnessed live, in black-and-white, a killing, this time as Jack Ruby fired on Lee Harvey Oswald. For all of us, it was the first time we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d seen a slaying of any kind.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Though our shock and grief were evident, the talk among us news people turned to the luck of Dallas photographer Bob Jackson to have captured the exact moment that Oswald, wincing, received a bullet in his abdomen. Millions across the world watched as the most notorious defendant since Cain, was killed.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 Looking at that photo four decades later, I continue to wonder at the senselessness of the moment in history that changed the world. Jackson surely was aware of the axiom about a picture being worth a thousand words. Because of luck, coincidence, timing and leaky police security and even some serendipity, Jackson\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s photo is worth billions of words and ranks along with Joe Rosenthal\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s photograph of U.S. Marines raising the American flag on Iwo Jima in 1945.
\n\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0\u00c2\u00a0 This column contains exactly 1000 words. Tomorrow it will be forgotten. Bob Jackson\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s photo, however, will endure.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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