In the spring of 1963, my husband received transfer papers
from Riverdale, North Dakota, to Patrick Air Force Base in Melbourne,
Florida. Destination: Cape Canaveral. He would be there for a brief assignment
linked to his future job on Cape.
We left North Dakota in forty-degree-below-zero weather. I packed winter clothing for Kaycee, 2, and
Jim, 14 months. We drove all day and
reached Sioux City at dusk. The
temperature was a little warm, just above zero.
After the weekend at my home, we left early Monday morning for
Florida. Somewhere during the second
day, it became very clear as we rolled down all the car windows that we were
going to have to make a trip to a store.
We just couldn’t remove any more clothes. The temperature was now in the seventies, and
the kids were in winter underwear and sweaters, Doctor Denton flannel pajamas
for the night. We found a variety store
and some light clothes to hold us over until the moving truck arrived. We found a house to rent just down the
causeway from the airbase across from the ocean.
When we arrived in Florida, there were large cannons placed
strategically along the coast. It was
just after the Bay of Pigs. These guns
were aimed at Cuba. It was very
disturbing.
My husband, Art, was stationed at Patrick AFB for three
months and then was sent to the Cape.
The transfer meant another move.
We bought a newly built ranch and made our final move to Merritt
Island. We were a half mile from the
main security gate.
The Corps of Engineers were starting the construction of the
Vertical Assembly building. This would
be where the spaceships would be launched into space. There were already other missiles being
launched on different sites. The Titan, a solid fuel missile was launched
right over our house, as were other types of missiles. The Polaris
missiles were launched from submarines.
Once these missiles were airborne, you could see them for miles. If the Titan
slipped or rolled on take-off, it had to be blown up. I only saw one destroyed. The Titan
missile, being solid fuel, exploded with chunks of fuel going in all
directions. It looked like a hundred fireworks
lit at one time. Every color imaginable
radiated out in every direction, trails of burning fuel like large angry spider’s
legs, creeping across the sky in all directions. As the fuel burned out, large plumes of smoke
replaced the vivid color with puffy gray limp strands of smoke that floated
away.
On November 21st, President Kennedy flew into
Tampa, Florida, under heavy security.
His destination was Cape Canaveral.
He was to view an ocean launch of a Polaris
missile along the coast of Canaveral.
The Russian “fishing” trollers were all stationed on international
borders with big satellite dishes high on the decks of the would-be fishing
boats. President Kennedy on Air Force One flew low over our house
coming and going. His mission had been
safely completed.
November 22nd started as a very normal day. It was soon to change. The children ate their lunch at noon. I cleaned them up and settled them down for their
naps. The television was on, and I
started cleaning up the kitchen.
Suddenly there was a break in the programing. A very disturbing picture came on the
air. Walter Cronkite, with a quivering voice
and tears in his eyes, came on with a very serious voice, announcing that
President Kennedy had been shot while riding in a parade in Dallas, Texas. Cronkite continued to say that the President
was being rushed to the hospital. I
gasped and started to cry. I must have
sounded distressed because Kaycee came running from the bedroom, thinking
something had happened to me. I calmed
her down and put her back in her bed for her nap. Kaycee was only two, but she does remember
the whole event.
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