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| Pres. John F Kennedy public domain |
by Larry Peterson
“The president is dead.” For those of us who can remember
those words from more than 50 years ago, they were seared into our brains like letters
sand-blasted into a granite headstone forever: clear, succinct, and
unmistakable in meaning. How could this be? Things like this did not happen,
especially in the America of 1963. But then a few days later, John-John,
in his little top coat and short pants, saluted as the caisson went by holding
his dad’s body covered by our flag. It was real all right, no doubt about it.
I had a personal
connection to John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Just like the moment when I heard of his
death, these moment(s) are also seared into my brain, and the memories of them
are as clear and vivid as if they happened ten minutes ago. The only difference
is these are MY moments with JFK. No one else ever had these moments, just me
and the 35th President of the United States. And I do not care if you believe
me or not. I just felt that I should share. Let us go back to November 5, 1960.
The most famous hotel
in the Bronx was the Concourse Plaza Hotel on the corner of 161st Street and
the Grand Concourse. Built in 1922, it was an elegant 12-story hotel three
blocks from Yankee Stadium. Many of the Yankees had stayed there, including
Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, and others. The hotel had a grand ballroom and fancy
dining rooms. On Saturday, November 5, 1960, Senator John F. Kennedy was to
deliver a campaign speech at the hotel. His fateful election to the presidency
was now only four days away.
I had an after school
job delivering groceries and stocking shelves for Harry “the Grocer”. I worked
for Harry every day after school until 6 p.m. and on Saturdays from 10 a.m.
until 6 p.m. One of my frequent delivery stops was the Concourse Plaza Hotel.
There were a number of elderly tenants that lived there year round, and they
always called Harry when they needed anything from bread to fruit to bologna to
beer to Band-Aids or whatever. I would bag up the stuff, load it into a cart,
and push it up the two hills to the hotel. I would go there at least twice a
week, sometimes more.
I had made a delivery
to a customer on the eighth floor on Friday, and she told me that Senator
Kennedy was coming in the morning to give a speech. She was very excited about
it and told me she was going to make sure she was down in the ballroom when he
arrived. She said she thought he was going to be there at 10 o’clock. I had to
start work at 10 o’clock, and I was quite disappointed that I might miss my
chance to see the Senator. Then things changed.
That Friday night I
saw my friend ‘Sticks’ (real name Tommy) and told him about JFK coming to the
hotel in the morning. He said we should just go up there about 9 a.m. and see
what happens. It made sense to me, so that is what we did. I do not remember
why but we did not get up to the hotel until about 9:30. We came up to the
hotel through the rear loading dock, which was off 162nd Street. That is where
I always came in to make deliveries, and I knew my way around the back and
basement of the hotel like the back of my hand. It was a bit strange because
there were no cars or trucks, or anything or anyone for that matter, at the
rear of the hotel. The overhead doors for truck deliveries were closed, and the
only way in was through a door up some stairs at the end of the loading dock.
‘Sticks’ hurried ahead
of me and went through the door. I was not as quick, so it took me about an
extra half minute to reach the door. By the time I did ‘Sticks’ had
disappeared. I hurriedly walked down a short corridor and made a left. I can
remember that it was quite dark. (Whew! Right now, as I write this so many
years later, the memories have become crystal clear.) I made the turn and
froze dead in my tracks. Someone else had also stopped short.
The man I had almost
walked into, and who was now looking me in the eye, was Senator Kennedy. We
were less than a foot apart. He had finished his speech and was leaving via the
rear entrance. He was with another man. That was it. No one else was there.
Just me, John F. Kennedy and some other guy. The other man simply stepped near
me and said, “Excuse us son.” I said nothing and stepped back. Senator
Kennedy smiled at me and, extending his hand, said, “Good to see you.” I reached out and shook his hand and then he and his friend walked
down some stairs and exited the door that led to 162nd Street.
The rear stairwell was
right in front of me, so I ran up a half flight to a platform and opened the
big window. I looked out, and below me and maybe 50 feet away the next
President of the United States was standing next to a limo, just talking to the
man he had left the hotel with. There were no police, no guards in the street,
no one else.
There I was, alone, staring
out the window at John F. Kennedy. He was wearing a dark blue topcoat that had
to be very expensive, and his face had a perfect tan, something you do not see
in New York City in November. His thick, sandy hair was blowing a bit, and he
ran his right hand up and across it. Then it happened. He looked up at me,
smiled (I can still see his teeth) and held up his hand. He did not wave it, he
just held it up with his fingers spread apart. He probably held it up for about
two seconds.
He was saying good-bye
to ME, a kid from the south Bronx who just happened to be there at that moment.
I held up my right hand to him and I guess I smiled. I don’t remember. Then he
got into his limo and was gone. I watched as my new friend’s car turned onto
the Grand Concourse. Talk about a “moment in time”.
“Hey, what are you
doing?” I turned and ‘Sticks’ was at the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t
see him,” he said. “Did you?”
“Yes, I did.”
That was awesome!!!
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