A Glimpse of Politics

I would be remiss if I did not mention at least a little of the history I experienced during the early sixties. Most of my extended family lived in neighborhoods near Hobby Airport, which was Houston’s main airport at that time. My grandparents, Herschel and Thelma, whom we called Mommaw and Pop, lived the closest to the airport. Our church, Garden Villas Baptist Church, was directly under one of the flight paths from Hobby. I can remember our pastor having to stop several times in the middle of sermon to wait for the deafening, thundering noise of an overhead jetliner taking off to pass.

Sometimes we would go to the airport on Sunday afternoons, just to watch the planes take off and land, followed by a trip to the drug store to get an ice cream cone from the soda fountain there.

Airport security was almost non-existent back then. I remember going with my grandmother to mail a letter airmail at the airport. Thinking back on it now, I realize she must have been mailing a letter to my Aunt Kay who was married and living in Seattle, Washington at the time. Mommaw would just drive us right up to the loading dock at the airport. She would get out and leave me in the car while she climbed up the steps and walked right into the postal station there. A few minutes later she would be back, and whoosh! her letter would be flying to Seattle that afternoon.

Anyway, being near the airport, we were able to take advantage of any local excitement that might occur when visiting dignitaries would come to town. Sometimes there were even parades down Airport Blvd. I actually remember seeing John F. and Jackie Kennedy riding down Airport Blvd. perched on the back of a convertible car one afternoon. Picture the motorcade at Dallas, and you have the right idea. I don’t remember many details, of course. I was barely six. But I do remember the enormous crowds of people lining the streets as the motorcade drove by. Someone, my mother I suppose, held me up so that I could “see the President!” The Kennedy’s were riding in a convertible with the top down, and they were sitting up on the back of the trunk, so they would be up high and people could see them. I remember them waving to the crowd and my Aunt Kay trying to get a picture of them above the crowd.

I also remember when President Kennedy was killed. I was at the home of my good neighborhood friend, Phyllis, who lived down the street from us. My mom had taken a job when I was in first grade, and I would stay at Phyllis’ house after school until she came to get me. I remember her grandmother telling us the news that the President had been shot. Then later all the grownups were crying, and so I cried, too, although I wasn’t sure why. I was just in the first grade, but I knew that something terrible had happened.

I also remember having special drills at school when I was in the first grade that must have been prompted by the Cuban missile crisis. Houston, being right on the Gulf Coast, was considered a prime target for Fidel Castro. We always had regular fire drills at school, but these were different. We were taught to take cover underneath our desks and to duck and cover our heads with our arms. I remember being told we were NEVER to look at the bright light or we would go blind.

I can also remember a little of the start of the Vietnam War. I remember that my mother wouldn't let me watch the terrible news reels on the evening news for fear that they were too graphic. I can remember President Johnson on TV talking about Vietnam. I believe I had an older cousin who was in Vietnam at the time. I'm not sure of his relationship to me, but I remember a letter that came. My grandmother was telling someone about it and I overheard part of her conversation. My cousin had written home and asked his parents to send him a large hunting knife. Later, my cousin wrote again, telling his parents that that knife had saved his life in hand-to-hand combat.

The "generation gap" got a lot of press back then. My dad, who was a straight-cut as they came, couldn't stand those "long-haired hippies". Of course, I was too young to really be aware of the drug culture, but I remember hearing about it all the time. And then there was the music. My parents only listened to country and western music, but it was impossible not to be influenced by rock and roll in the sixties. Those were turbulent times, and even a young child could not help but be aware of the Civil Rights Movement, the war protests, the threat of nuclear war, the NASA space program, and all of the changes our society was experiencing. But like most of my young friends, I only experienced these things in passing glimpses. My world was safe, secure, and actually very small in terms of national turmoil and world politics. For me, the sixties were a time of innocence and fun and security.