_______________________________ Hello everybody and welcome to
Mondays IN The Undergroundrailroad. How is everybody doing today? Today we are serving
Chocolate Eclairs and a healthy vanilla tea. Well, I'm happy to see all that have ventured down in the UGRR to say hello and check things out. If your new, I will roll out the
RED CARPET for you and make sure you have a proper welcome. Hopefully, I will jump-start your week on a positive note and just plain talk. Talk, however, may be somewhat difficult with one of the subjects that I will confront in the Undergroundrailroad today.
It is to this day one of the most difficult things for me to "talk" about. Describing where I was when
President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Today, I bring the historic emotions of that day to my beloved
Mondays IN The Undergroundrailroad. To those who were alive, I hope you will share your thoughts of the day, if you can. To those who were not alive at that time, what have you heard from those who were alive that day? What verbal history can you share in the Undergroundrailroad today?
Briefly, I located the
Arlington National Cementery website has beautiful pictures and a
New York Times reprint of the day
President Kennedy was laid to rest. You will *note* the dated language of the time:
As the caisson came slowly up the hill and the men of religion, or rather of the many religions that have found freedom in this land, went down to meet it, the United States Air Force bagpipe band played a lament - a Negro, wearing the kilt, at the big drum. I recall the "Negro, wearing the kilt" received tremendous attention of the black or "sepia" media of that time. Clearly, we had passed the color line here. It was considered an honor that an African-American was allowed to take place in such a historic funeral, during a time that segregation was the written law of the south and the unwritten law of the rest of the country.
Yes, times have changed. But then, have they really changed? Sometimes I do miss the innocence of the period and the honesty that we (African-Americans) clearly hoped for in others. But the struggle of our era had only started with the assassination of President Kennedy. Soon, very soon, there would be another murder of a prominent beloved individual. His death, his greatness, would parallel that of a United States President.
Let's enter the
Undergroundrailroad.
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Gravesite Inscription:
Let the word go forth
From this time and place
To friend and foe alike
That the torch has been passed
To a new generation of Americans.
Let every nation know
Whether it wishes us well or ill
That we shall pay any price - bear any burden
Meet any hardship - support any friend
Oppose any foe to assure the survival
And the success of liberty
Now the trumpet summons us again
Not as a call to bear arms
- though embattled we are
But a call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle
A struggle against the common enemies of man Tyranny - Poverty - Disease - and War itself
In the long history of the world
Only a few generations have been granted
The role of defending freedom
In the hour of maximum danger
I do not shrink from this responsibility
I welcome it
The Energy - the Faith - the Devotion
Which we bring to this endeavor
Will light our country
And all who serve it
And the glow from that fire
Can truly light the world
And so my fellow Americans
Ask not what your country can do for you
Ask what you can do for your country
My fellow citizens of the world - ask not
What America can do for you - but what together
We can do for the freedom of man
With a good conscience our only sure reward
With history the final judge of our deeds
Let us go forth to lead the land we love - asking His blessing
And his help - but knowing that here on earth
God's work must truly be our own.
Inaugural Address - January 20, 1961
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- November 22, 1963 I was sitting in my usual seat in music class. I loved sitting near the window always curious of the visitors entering and leaving our school. No visitors today I thought as I stared out of the window. Suddenly I noticed the door, to *my* right open. A hand waved my music teacher, Mrs. Wilkerson, out the door. I knew right away something was wrong. My beloved music class seldom had interruptions or visitors. At this point the teacher was outside in the hall for about 5 minutes and the class grew restless. Mrs. Wilkerson came back and gave us her famous "clap clap", bringing the class to attention. She then called on me to come to the front of the class and read a chapter out of our music history book. This would be the second time at that point in my life when my instincts would *not* fail me. I
*knew* SOMETHING was wrong, very wrong. But what?? What was going on? I only read two sentences being very nervous to carry out this not so unusual task. I often read a "piece" out loud in class when it was my turn. Suddenly, Mrs. Wilkerson entered the class. She had been crying and was dabbing tears. In an instance you could hear a particle of dust drop in the class.
IT WAS STUNNED SILENCE . Yes, she had our attention. We waited for her. Very slowly, very deliberate, almost as if she was imprinting history into our minds, "the President has been shot, the President is dead class." With that, she almost fainted into her chair and I ran forward to catch her. She put her arm around me as if to
need to hold on to someone at that very important moment in both of our lives. Do you want a cup of water? "No". Just play the piano Mina, play something that.... I knew what she meant. I very gently unfolded the top of the piano. I played in a very soft, very slow key, AMAZING GRACE. After playing for 5 minutes the moment overwhelmed me and I stopped playing then broke down in tears. Mrs. Wilkerson, who apparently had spoken to my mother, told me that my Mother was on her way to pick me up. In silence, I went back to my seat and clutched my coat. Life was never the same.
_________________________________________________________ Shoshana Johnson Separate But Not Equal? The National Urban League President and CEO Marc H. Morial has called upon the U.S. Army 's Acting Secretary, the Honorable Les Brownlee, to conduct an immediate inquiry into and review of the Army's decision to award Army Spec. Shoshana Johnson a 30 percent disability benefit for the injuries she received while a prisoner of war in Iraq.
In his letter to the Under Secretary, Mr. Morial notes that
Pfc. Jessica Lynch and Spec. Johnson were captured at the same time in the same attack, and that Johnson was released a week later and is still recovering from gun shot wounds to both of her ankles. "Yet," the letter states, "Pfc. Lynch is receiving an 80 percent disability benefit compared to Spec. Johnson's 30 percent." The difference in classification will mean a loss of nearly $700.00 per month for Shoshana and her daughter.
Today Shoshanna Johnson remains partially disabled, unable to stand for long periods and suffers from flashbacks from her ordeal while in captivity. The disabilities clearly has an impact on her desired career to become a professional chef.
I do believe that Shoshanna is gaining a celebrity status as a result of this unequal injustice. She has received several awards, made television appearances, poetry has been written and published about her and of course, she has that beautiful dynamic smile. Hopefully it will bring attention to her plight and bring discussion to the table when people of color are disproportionately under represented in the battlefield while taking the same risks. Without a doubt Shoshanna should be entitled to the same consideration as Jessica Lynch.
Stay strong Shoshanna!
_________________________________________________________________________ The Boondocks by Aaron McGruder
_________________________________________________________Questions of the Day 1. Where were you when President Kennedy was assassinated ? What about verbal histories from relatives or friends ?
2. Do you own any antiques? Describe a favorite antique.
3. What are you wearing today?
____________________________________________ OK, I'm OUTTA. See you next Monday 'IN' The Undergroundrailroad