We Heard the Shots in Dealey Plaza (November/December 2003 | Volume: 54, Issue: 6)

We Heard the Shots in Dealey Plaza

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Authors: Sid Davis

Historic Era: Era 9: Postwar United States (1945 to early 1970s)

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November/December 2003 | Volume 54, Issue 6

“I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of the president of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States. So help me God.” It was 2:38 PM Central Standard Time, Friday, November 22, 1963, when Lyndon Johnson, right hand raised, repeated those words in a stuffy, cramped compartment aboard USAF 26000, Air Force One, in Dallas, Texas. Nearby, President John F. Kennedy’s body lay in a bronze casket. His widow stood next to Johnson. Less than three hours earlier, Vice President Johnson and President Kennedy had been cheerfully campaigning in downtown Dallas.

The 46-year-old Kennedy and his glamorous wife, Jacqueline, were in the rear seat of an open limousine; the Texas governor, John Connally, and his wife Nellie, sat in front. On orders from President Kennedy, the plastic bubble-top from the dark blue Lincoln Continental and Secret Service agents had been forbidden to ride on the car, as they usually did. The President wanted the crowds to see him and Jackie. The vice-presidential limousine carrying the Johnsons followed directly behind. I was about seven car lengths behind the presidential limousine aboard Press Bus Number One, among a score of White House correspondents who regularly accompanied the president on the road. I represented the Westinghouse Broadcasting Company. Suddenly, at 12:30, three rifle shots burst out. We heard the shots aboard our press bus. Some thought they were motorcycle backfires, but Bob Pierpoint, of CBS News, insisted it was gunfire. The commotion in the crowd, police officers running with pistols drawn, parents shielding their children revealed the worst. Something terrible had happened.

The presidential limousine put on speed until our bus could not keep up. The driver took us to the Dallas Trade Mart, where several thousand people were waiting to hear the President’s luncheon speech. I raced for a phone and filed a report saying that the presidential motorcade had been fired on. Then I ran into the street, waving my Olivetti portable typewriter to flag a car. A white Cadillac swerved over and screeched to a halt. A black gentleman looked out at me. He had heard the news. “You a reporter?,” he asked. “I’ll get you to the hospital.” We took off like a rocket. Merriman Smith, “Smitty,” of United Press International, the famous dean of the White House Press Corps, Charles Roberts of Newsweek, and I attended the briefing at 1:33 PM at Portland Memorial Hospital, where Assistant White House Press Secretary Malcolm (“Mac”) Kilduff told us the president was dead. Mac had met with Johnson in the emergency room a few minutes earlier, asking permission to announce Kennedy’s death. Johnson said to wait until he had left the hospital: “We don’t know whether it’s a communist conspiracy or not. I’d better get out of here and back to the plane.”

As soon as Johnson departed, Mac dashed to the crowded nurses’ training room where we reporters were waiting. Red-eyed and choked