Thanksgiving 1963 Memories.
I just came back from my home in Marietta, Ga., retrieving my car, when JFK was assassinated.
My friends who did not go home for Thanksgiving and I drove to Seaside Heights Beach just to
ponder what this assassination along with his proposed assiginatee meant. The beach was lonely, nobody but us.
Either that day or the next a Norwegian ship shipwrecked nearby. I think we helped with that but vaguely remember
it. The only thing I remember was
helping pulling 3 or 4 men in bright orange or red suits onto whatever we were
on.
What was so enchanting about it was looking through the morning
for and suddenly dimly spotting them and seeing them materialized out of the fog.
And later that day the same men and more in their bright colored jump suits joining us for Thanksgiving Dinner in the NAS LAKEHURST chow hall. They kept to themselves. All was quiet. No happy Thanksgiving Jubilation. I suppose JFK's assignation brought us all down.
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