Miami Memories: Moments in Time

We are each touched by another.

There are "moments in time" that connect each of us to something deeper.  With the nation revealing its feelings on the JFK assassination, the media has reminded me of our connectedness with one another.

Mother checked me out of high school that day at noon, so we could drive to Wichita from Miami, Oklahoma, our home, to visit my Aunt Della who was in the hospital and her mother, my grandmother.  The white Ford station wagon with red vinyl interior and a mud flap on the back was nearly packed. My little sister was sitting in the car with the seat belt buckled ready to travel when the phone rang. I ran inside to answer, but mother had reached the phone first and sat transfixed.  Suddenly, her finger was pointing and her voice rang like a bell, "Turn on the TV, Clara Searle says that President Kennedy has been shot in Dallas."

Leaving Jonya in the car, we stood motionless in front of the TV watching the breaking news.  Then I hurriedly called Neva Essex at Miami High School and told her the news.  Mother called dad at the club and told him to listen to KGLC for the updates, then we started our drive to Wichita.  We'd just driven through Chetopa, Ks when KGLC announced that President Kennedy had died. Our hearts throbbed, and before the tears could flow Mother pulled the station wagon off the side of the road.  Then we cried.  In between tears we watched as other cars pulled off the side of the road that day.  It seemed like time really did stand still, and no one could move.

Mother was shaken deeply, and asked me to drive for awhile.  With my learner's permit I proudly traded place with her ignoring the mud as I walked around the car.  When my foot pressed the pedal mud flew in all directions, and the car settled deep into the mud.   At last two men, farmers I thought, walked over to help.  They, too, were crying, and for a moment I realized that something deeper than I could imagine was occurring in our lives.  With their brute strength and coaching I drove the wagon out of the mud and began a long heartfelt journey to Wichita.

We drove first to Grandma's house, where they were still watching the television for news that day.  By evening we were at the hospital, a Catholic hospital were Aunt Della was being treated.  She was so pale and sick, we were worried that with the news of her President being shot, that she would not recover.  Jonya and I sat quietly outside the room, watching and listening as the nuns, nurses, doctors and orderlies seem to move in slow motion, stopping and crying on each other's shoulders.  

We were home by Sunday evening and into our school routine.  I, honestly, have no recall of being at school that next week or even talking with classmates about the assassination.  My memories are clouded by another phone call from from Grandpa one week after Pres. Kennedy was shot.  This time my father answered the early morning call, I hadn't even left for school. Once again I stood watching my father this time, quietly begin to shake and cry as he held the phone in his hand.  

When the phone was placed in the cradle and the house was quiet, my father stood and gently patted me on the shoulder, then turned to mother and said, "Mom died last night, in her sleep."  I watched my father hug my mother and the two of them cried so hard that their bodies seem to melt into one ragged form.

We drove through Chetopa that day on our way to Wichita, and I remarked, "That's where we were when we heard that the President had died," but no one in the car said anything back to me.  Aunt Della was still in the hospital, when this somber and trembling family of four walked into her room.  I could tell she knew, she knew that something bad had happened again.  I know Dad tried to find an easy way to say the words, as he fiddled with keys and change in his pockets.  His hands left his pockets and reached out to take Della's hands,  "Sis, mom died in her sleep last night."  We cried.

Reading the stories of others in the papers, and listening to the news broadcasts for the last two weeks has reminded me of that day and that week in my life.  It may have been the first time I saw grown men cry from their hearts;  it may have been the first time I realized, as a teenager, how much alike we all were, and how deeply connected we were to that tragic moment.

Sadly, in the yeas following November 1963 our nation, like our family, would be stilled by other moments in time.  And we would cry.  

  

  

HerStory: Susan Basolo Kennedy

She would have been sixty-six this month, I know because she was one month older than I was, and we had both started school when we were five.  The difference is that she was a genius, whose focus on golf and her schooling out-shined all of us who played along side her.  She matured long before most of her classmates and golf companions, while I lagged behind in maturity and confidence.  She was left handed and played golf right handed, making me think I should have learned to play golf left handed so I'd be strong like she was.

I was fifty before I realized how positively she impacted my life, and that was long after she beat me in every golf tournament in which we ever played.  My Oklahoma Jr. Golf years and tournaments aligned with Susan's every entry. We both began our junior state tournaments in 1959 at Southern Hills, and ended our junior years at Southern Hills.  I held my own as an eleven year old in the nine hole division, but by age fourteen the pressure was on, and the skill level skyrocketed.  I was no match for her fury and focus.  She rolled over most of us in the those years.

Champion Susan Basolo

Yet, in reflection I think she was my mother's nemesis, not mine.  Mother coached me and believed in me and more than once said, "Letty, this year I just know you will beat Susan." I would leave my mother exasperated when I'd yell back, "Mom, she's the best golfer in the state.  I'm not like her." 

I admired Susan, and feared her.  I never once thought I could beat her, although I'm sure I'm dreamed of victory. I knew her talents, her strengths, and her vision. She was truly "one" with the game of golf; I was one with "emotional" upheavals which were most detrimental to a steady game of golf. Even as a teenager I studied people and asked myself, "How can she do that? What gives her the focus that I don't have?..."  Indirectly, I learned and would one day apply to my life, the meaning of words, such as, tenacity and perseverance, by observing her actions on the golf course and throughout her college career.

Studying psychology in college one day at LSU I experienced an epiphany   IQ. Susan had a very high IQ, and I knew one day would reach her goal to become a doctor.  Years passed and two golfers began making headlines...Annika Sorenstam and Tiger Woods.  It was in their eyes that I once again saw Susan Basolo...beady focus, relaxed determination, confidence, refined skills that took them to the top, and I guessed a high IQ.  

An old newspaper clipping from the Tulsa Tribune Sports Writer, Bill Harper, stated that Susan's golf pro at Muskogee Country Club was Gordon Jones, who also taught LPGA early member Beth Stone.  Harper described Jones as "psychological type teacher."  Susan said at the time, "He's the type teacher that makes you believe that you can beat anybody."  

Mack Boswell wrote often of Susan's exploits on the golf course.  "Susan Basolo, 15 year old Muskogee girl who has been making an impressive record in women's golf competition this year, captured the fourth annual Mabel Hotz Jr. Girls Golf tournament in Miami,Oklahoma shooting an 82. Susan, who weighs 105 and stands 5-2 1/2" has made an impressive record in other meets this year.  She won second place in the state high school invitational meet in Norman.  (Yes, Oklahoma enjoyed a decade of high school girls golf before dropping it in 1964.)  She was third in a big LPGA tournament at Muskogee, and was consolation runner-up in the state women's tournament in Duncan." She went on to win the Oklahoma Jr. Girls tournament in 1964, 1965.

The newspaper dubbed her "the small blaster from Muskogee."  Small in size only, she graduated Phi Beta Kappa from OU, graduated from medical school and went on to be a successful dermatologist.  I played against her one more time in 1988 when we both attempted to qualify for the USGA Mid-Am.  She qualified, I was an alternate, but I overcame a barrier that day.  I knew that I, too, had something inside of me that day...conviction.  When I set my sights to accomplish a goal I could do it.  Thank you Susan for showing me what conviction, confidence, and focus looked like.  I'm just sorry that I never had a chance to tell you this.

Susan Basolo Kennedy died July 9, 2013 at her home in Tucson, Az.  She would have been 66 on Nov. 10, 2013.