October is a month of reflection and contemplation for me. In 1962 when I was 11 years old, a world event left an indelible brand on my young brain that I always remember this time of year.
John F. Kennedy was in the White House then, and after the failed Bay of Pigs Invasion of Cuba in 1961, Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev decided to honor Cuba’s request to deploy nuclear missiles on the island which is just 90 miles from the beaches of South Florida. High-flying American U-2 spy planes photographed the installation of facilities that could launch short and intermediate range missiles with nuclear warheads and hit targets anywhere in the continental U.S. This evidence triggered a cold war chess game that could have changed the fate of the world.
The Internet was the stuff of science fiction in those days, so our family watched the drama unfold on the CBS Nightly News with Walter Cronkite.
I was in the fifth grade that year. We rode the school bus each morning, but since our community was only a few miles from the grammar school, my friends and I usually walked home on afternoons when the weather was agreeable.
Mostly we prattled about football, girls, and squirrel hunting, but during the 13 days of the Cuban Missile Crisis, our conversations were more somber, if we talked at all. The fear was palatable. We could see it in the eyes of grownups and the kids.
At first, the prevailing attitude was we should go over there and spank those “Ruskies” like a disobedient beagle, but as the story unfolded and the implications became clearer, we began to understand this situation was much bigger and scarier than we had first thought. There was even talk about the end of time.
One evening as we walked in silence, I could hear the sound of drums echoing in the distance. The high school band practiced as if the world would not end at least until after the Friday night game with arch rival Cordova. That rata-tap-tapping sound echoing over the hills and through the hollows made me feel hopeful.
Families began putting back canned goods, water and other necessities. One of the wealthier families in Dora started constructing a bomb shelter so that their family could survive a Soviet attack.
Each evening when the news came on, our eyes latched onto the black and white TV screen as if it were a magnet. Even though things were tense, I do not remember my folks having much to say about the crisis around the kids. I am not sure if they feared they would spook us or if they could not find the words. I wondered if they spoke in hushed tones after we went to bed about how we would survive if worse came to worst.
That was the longest two weeks I can ever remember. The news of an impending agreement between the U.S. and the Soviets lifted our spirits.
That October was an unforgettable time in my life. It was the time I understood how dangerous the world could be. It was humbling to realize that a misplayed pawn in the high-stakes chess match could have ended much differently.
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Rick Watson is a columnist and author. His latest book Life Goes On is available on Amazon.com. You can contact him via email at rick@homefolkmedia.com.
