I Shot JFK Page 3

  Gunnar and I hated the mandatory school course in New Mexico history. The text was abysmal, and our teacher not only put us to sleep, but she also used to nod off in her own lectures. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and wrote it off to narcolepsy. Mom really wanted to show us that our impression of New Mexico history was wrong. The result was that our family summer trip was to Chaco Canyon and Mesa Verde (in Colorado). Touring historic ruins of the pueblo people opened our eyes to the richness of the region’s past. Gunnar got Mom’s goat saying the best part of that trip was the cherry coke he got from a drug store in Farmington. Whenever he wanted to, the usually straight guy could step out of character with edgy irreverence to make us all laugh.

  *****

  Early in the summer, Gunnar and I went to a four-week camp in Colorado. It was expensive — something every well-wishing set of parents wanted to do for their kids. Part outdoor adventure, part charm school, part get-along with strangers. I remember three homesick kids leaving the first day, forfeiting their entire payments. Gunnar was a little reticent at camp at first, but then swam with the sharks. I felt sick to my stomach the first day, but I wasn’t about to let anyone know. I slowly learned to fit in and observe how chameleon-like my peers were. Their public persona was so much different from their private one. My gut churned at their two-facedness. The same summer, the more I fit in, the more I realized my social behavior, too, was different from my private one.

  Late in the summer, our family took a picnic lunch and hiked up an arroyo in the northeast of the city at the base of the Sandia Mountains. I wanted to search for fossils and meteorites. Dry and baking in the unrelenting sun, Mom, Dad, and I were searching and digging. Scampering up an arroyo bank, Gunnar hollered, “Get out of the stream bed. Now!” We wondered why we were doing as he said. In another minute, there was a wall of water four feet high where we had been standing. Miles off were thunderstorms that fed the deluge.

  Dad quizzically looked at Gunnar with open hands. I expressed our marvel, “How did you know?”

  Gunnar made us all laugh. He took a deep breath and spoke with a stone-faced expression, “I am Cochise.” He must have thought a lot of the play he had written in fourth grade. In any case, a man for all seasons.

  *****

  By eighth grade, the sock hops at school weren’t as awkward as the previous year but still revealed the gaping chasm between male and female social skills. Gunnar and I were the exception. Mom and Dad came through again preparing us. Not only could we dance, we had also practiced the proper social courtesies. Nevertheless, Gunnar couldn’t really blame our folks for the embarrassing prolonged kiss he had with his date. Somehow their braces got caught together. Gunnar deflected ridicule by kiddingly accusing Mom and Dad of sabotaging his life.

  Dad would have none of it, “Well, son, did you enjoy it?”

  Gunnar sheepishly smiled, “I guess.”

  “Okay then, I take responsibility!” Dad brought down the house.

  *****

  It was also in eighth grade that school authorities gave us license to break the number one commandment of junior high: Don’t walk on the gym floor with anything but gym shoes. We always marveled at the high-sheen polish of that floor. We were taught never to walk on it with street shoes. To get the locker rooms, it felt like sacrilege to skirt around its courts on the edges. We even did sock hops to protect it. But, then in spring, we skated on it with steel-wheel skates in gym class! It was the equivalent of a license to steal. The rationale was to help remove the varnish for a new coat.

  That year, Dick Bills and his Sandia Mountain Boys appeared on local television station KGGM singing, “Headin’ down the trail to Albuquerque …” Glen Campbell played western music in that band. On another channel, “Wrangler Jim” appeared on KOB with his horse Cochise. Gunnar won the contest by giving Jim’s horse that name. For that, Gunnar got a deluxe 26-inch Schwinn bicycle and an appearance on the show. He was deeply affected by the play he had written in fourth grade.

  We started a new Saturday lunch ritual. Wherever we were headed in the afternoon had to be preceded by a hamburger from the new Lotaburger on San Mateo Blvd. The large-but-thin burger seemed to accentuate the taste of all the condiments. Gunnar always asked for extra mustard. I asked for extra pickles and onions.

  Gunnar continued to be obsessed with Navy jet aircraft that ran tests at nearby Kirtland AFB. He liked the look of the Cutlass. That prompted Dad to say we should buy a plane ourselves — a full-sized airplane. Mom was the first to solo the Cessna 172, then Dad. They paid for Gunnar and me to train as pilots, but we were too young to get a license. Flying opened a whole new world to us. One weekend, Dad got permission for us to fly over the New Mexico Joint Guided Missile Range, formerly White Sands Proving Ground. He had a friend over there. Technically, we were looking for part of a missile that had been lost. What a view! The nearby White Sands National Monument looked like an out-of-place snowscape. Both Gunnar and I enjoyed flying at 500 feet above the ground chasing herds of wild mustangs.

  Mom landed the plane at the airport in Alamogordo. We stayed with Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece. Aunt Cece was Mom’s twin sister who had married one of Dad’s classmates from MIT. Aunt Cece and her husband both had PhDs in physics. Uncle Walt worked at Holloman Air Force Base on guided missiles. Aunt Cece worked on the same base supporting the rocket sled. We drove out to White Sands National Monument, the 275 square miles of natural gypsum we had marveled at from the air earlier. We were initially miserable in the afternoon’s blowing sand. Magically, as the sun went down, the winds eased off, and we had a wonderful picnic of cold fried chicken, potato chips, and cantaloupe on the ever-changing dunes. Undeterred by the sweet dessert, Gunnar had to have his iced Dr. Pepper.

  One memorable, very long weekend, the whole family flew to New York City. Mom wanted to see Oklahoma!. Before we saw that, we went up the Hudson to West Point to visit a colonel Dad served with in World War II. The colonel took us to a full dress parade on the Plain, the parade field at the Academy. Set on verdant grass with fall colors in the background and perfume wafting off the cadets’ sweethearts, the stage was set for something spectacular. The perfectly postured cadets in gray dress coats and starched white trousers marched precisely in discrete units to rousing martial music. Gunnar was speechless. I was just impressed. Mom captured the moment: “The play tonight might be a letdown after this!”

  Of course, Mom was right, but she had no idea of how much that parade affected Gunnar. It was a fateful prelude to the future.

  *****

  In March, we abruptly moved onto Sandia Base, where Dad worked. We lived in generals’ quarters, which was probably appropriate because of his high civil service grade. A staff car took my dad to and from work. Mom got the same treatment. A plainclothes detail took Gunnar and me back and forth to school. Mom said, “Dad’s been promoted! Isn’t it great?” I wasn’t sure.

  Around that time, Gunnar and I overheard Dad and Glen drop the name DOVE when they were alone. They didn’t know we could hear them. By context, it was some ultra top secret project. Around that same time, my near-photographic memory recalls he repeatedly vocalized a summary to many life lessons: Things aren’t always what they seem.

  Dad had more work trips away than at any other time I could remember. Glen was coming to supper at least once a week. Out of the blue, after a month of the new routine, Mom announced that Dad had a surprise for us. Dad was busting his buttons telling us the specs of the new dual-engined Piper Apache aircraft he had bought. We now had a longer tether to get to new locales. For some reason, Glen always flew with us.

  The best part of eighth grade was anticipating high school. Gunnar and I were to attend Highland High School in southeast Albuquerque. We looked forward to being hornets, donning the navy blue and gold colors, honoring its namesake USS Hornet. Legendary Tommy McDonald had quarterbacked there as a high school All American and gone on to Oklahoma University. After that he was a wide receiver for the Philadelphia Eagles a
nd inducted into the NFL Hall of Fame. High school seemed to be the big time. However, Highland High Hornets we would never be.

  *****

  In May, a school secretary came to get Gunnar and me out of our afternoon classes. I could see Gunnar and I both had the same goose bumps on the tops of our forearms. The secretary would not explain what was going on.

  Outside the principal’s office, Glen was waiting for us with a very somber look on his face. “Guys, I have some very bad news. You know your Mom and Dad were flying the Piper Apache back to Washington on business. Well, they went missing over Texas. I’ve called your mom’s sister. She’ll be driving in tonight from Alamogordo to stay with you. I’ll be with you until then. I’m so sorry.”

  The three of us hugged. I will never forget that moment — how alone, isolated, and cold I felt. Everything was in slow motion. We trudged to Glen’s government vehicle.

  “Glen,” I protested, “this is not happening!”

  Gunnar rallied first. “Alex, we’re going to get through this.” When the situation called for it, he showed remarkable resilience.

  If he weren’t my twin, I would have coldcocked him right there. Not that his words were inappropriate or too soon, I was just angry. I accepted his arm around my back and firm squeeze on my shoulder. I was seething.

  The sound of Eddie Fisher’s hit, “Oh! My Papa,” haunted my soul. As Gunnar added, “You can make that Mama, as well.” She was equally missed.

  It did not occur to me then to ask Glen why he was not with my parents on the flight. While I was still in shock over our parents’ death, I knew with all my being that this was a watershed in our lives — a farewell to the magical times of youth. I could not guess what lay ahead, nor its proportions.

  Freshmen in High School

  Gunnar and I moved 210 miles south-southeast to Alamogordo, NM. Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece Simmer had a nice four bedroom house in the foothills of the Sacramento Mountains. Our hollow souls and empty hearts would have been filled sooner if we had gone straight into a new school year. As it was, we potentially had a whole summer to wallow in our misery.

  I held onto the anger over our parents’ sudden death, but I was also a world-class actor. As only a twin could, Gunnar could sense I was hurting and would continue to hurt. Gunnar was amazing. He worked at not appearing over solicitous, but he clearly watched out for me at every turn. He was ingenious at making up excuses to check on me. He purposely amped up the verbalizations of his positive thoughts. If there were a way to make my life better, he found it. I would kill for Gunnar.

  Our aunt and uncle were also fantastic. I think we were less of a burden since they had always wanted children and could not have them. Gunnar could read that I was about to act out just to show the world how angry I was at losing our parents. He took me for a long walk, “Alex, this hasn’t been easy for either of us, and I know how hard a time you’re having. What happened is not fair. In the second best possible world, the one we now live in, we are very lucky to have Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece. They have many of the same values as our parents. They let us interrupt their lives. They did not plan on this happening either. You and I will always remember how fortunate we are to have them. We will never be a burden to them. That would not be fair. We will be a joy to them. Do I have your word?”

  It wasn’t long before we had busier days. Gunnar became the master of cold calling. He lined up a dance card full of lawns for us to mow during the day for spending money. Meanwhile, Aunt Cece had us busy babysitting young kids many nights while their parents went out to parties.

  On weekends, we often went to our aunt and uncle’s mountain cabin in Ruidoso, NM. It was an hour’s drive away, providing a welcome change in climate in the summer. Alamogordo’s temperature could easily reach 110 degrees, with an average high of 94 degrees in June. Ruidoso’s corresponding average was a 84 degrees. The cabin was in the tall pines of the Sierra Blanca Mountains at an elevation over 7000 feet. The fresh scent of the Ponderosas and crisp clean air took me back to happier times in the Sandias with my parents.

  It did not take either Gunnar or me long to become good fishermen. Ruidoso River was too overgrown to allow much dry-fly fishing. I called it a creek because its low flow could pass as a river only in the arid Southwest. Instead of dry flies, we used earthworms we dug up along the banks and salmon eggs from jars for bait. Fishing was quite a challenge, given the number of tourists walking along the creek with their splashing dogs. Nonetheless, we managed to pull in a good number of rainbow and brown trout.

  Ever the explorer, Gunnar found a massive rock above North Loop the size of a whale. He and I had a ritual of going to “Big Rock” once a day when we were at the cabin. It was his place. He would sometimes climb up on top of it and think for hours. Whenever I couldn’t find him, that was my first guess of where he would be. I was usually right.

  In the late summer back down in the Tularosa Basin, we started meeting more teenagers returning from their vacations out of town. The skate rink and bowling alley were good places to meet new people. The town’s top spot, however, was the Red Rooster. It was a circular restaurant. Over time, it had become the high schoolers’ place to see and be seen — the old town square, only circular. Like a lighthouse, the gigantic, neon-lit red rooster sign was the beacon for teenagers to circle around in their parents’ autos, endlessly listening to the latest hits on their car radios and shouting out greetings through open car windows. “Meet me at the Rooster” was a most common phrase.

  We had very intelligent, educated people living around us in Albuquerque, but nothing like Alamogordo. The kids we were about to compete with often had one or two parents who were among the foremost scientists and engineers in the world. Operation Paper Clip had brought many preeminent German scientists to the area. A great number of their colleagues had followed. In addition, the area’s cutting edge military research and development had attracted a plethora of techies with doctorates. Without exception, these parents demanded academic excellence in their offspring.

  So it was that I had major trepidation about starting school. Once again with twin radar, Gunnar sensed the true feelings behind my bravado. “Look, Alex,” he began, “you and I have been through the toughest experience a human can encounter — the early loss of one’s parents. It hasn’t been easy for either of us, but we’re getting through it. Nothing coming at us will ever be that hard. Put that in your pocket and pull it out when you’re discouraged.”

  I was tempted to give my tough-guy response, “Gunnar, did you get that out of a fortune cookie?” I did not. Gunnar was so right and so appropriate. It was time for me get some perspective. Relative to the loss of my parents, what was meeting new people in unfamiliar surroundings? Instead of being a wise guy, I nodded and asked, “Gunnar, do you want to go shooting?”

  *****

  The first week of high school, the highest achiever in the previously administered National Mathematics Test was announced over the public address system, predictably a senior from last year who was also a son of a German rocket scientist. That evening, Gunnar announced at supper he would win that honor when he was a senior. Uncle Walt nearly popped his shirt buttons. “What a kid!” his eyes said. Aunt Cece nodded with a smile. We all knew Gunnar would do it.

  Saturday after our first week of school, we had the freshman initiation — carrying whitewash in buckets up a foothill where the 75-foot “A” was proudly displayed on a foothill. I quickly passed the test when asked what the “A” stood for. I knew it was “Alamogordo” but I went with my gut: “Sir, it’s the only word a freshman knows.”

  Being treated as low men on the totem pole at Alamogordo High was of short duration. Nobody ever messed with Gunnar. He did not try to intimidate. I think it was not only the unmistakable way he carried himself but also the indefinable way he talked. By association, every high schooler also got it that you don’t mess with his twin, namely me.

  Overall, Gunnar and I were both well received at Alamogordo High S
chool. Of course, there were some cliques, but they were surmountable. I think the essential goodness of the small town coupled with the cosmopolitan influence of Holloman AFB made the environment welcoming. Alamogordo’s population was around 25,000. For perspective, it had only a small mail-order Sears store, mostly for pick-up. Local retailers enjoined the public to shop local. Their wives shopped 90 miles away in El Paso. Holloman AFB was 10 miles away.

  Gunnar quickly realized that having a yellow-on-black Tiger letter jacket was the key to being at the top of the social heap. With that in mind and thinking of his resume for college, he mentioned going out for football to Uncle Walt. Uncle Walt thought about it, then shared, “First, you’ve missed summer tryouts. Second, don’t let sports hurt your grades. Your dad and I talked about this. We thought you’d be better served getting on the debate team. You know, you’re already a natural leader, so I’m not sure team sports can add to that. In most team sports, you have so much down time — precious time you could be devoting to something more enduring.” I suspect most PhDs also had an acquired distrust of committees they’d dealt with — teams that felt they could vote up or down on scientific facts, teams that diluted the genius of the PhDs.