I remember the day that the president was shot.  Father Kramer, our principal at the time, announced on the PA System: “We have just received word that our president has been shot.”  I remember a sudden gasp from the room.  Sister John Mary brought her hand to her face.  For the first time that morning, the class became quiet.  A few minutes later, our principal was on the PA again:  “Our president is dead!”  More gasps and now there was a sudden stillness.   In not too long we had our lunch period.  Words were exchanged, but there was a reverence for our president that made us speak softly.  There was no yelling or running from place to place.  A solemnity came over us that was very unusual for high school students on their lunch break.  I remember talking to Joe Cole.  There was little to say.

I often wonder why we became so quiet.  Were we finally old enough to understand the significance of what had happened?  Or did we simply feel that there was something incredibly wrong with the idea of someone shooting our young and popular president?

One day in lab we were using Bunsen Burners to heat a solution.  Sister John Mary patiently showed us how to attach the rubber hose to the gas outlet, adjust the burner valve, turn on the gas and then light it with one of those flint starters.  I had just got mine started when one of my fellow classmates, not to be named, but I think his initials were JW, decided to light the gas at the gas outlet.  He was successful.  A blast of fire shot out in an L-shaped plume that scared everyone half to death including Sister John Mary.  I could feel the heat coming from the flame.  Our teacher quickly turned off the gas.  I don’t remember the rest of the experiment.