Saturday night, October 27, 1962
Tallahassee, Florida
The TV was his tonight, the hour he commanded for himself, watching The Jackie Gleason Show. It bothered him not at all that Margaret didn’t care for Gleason, the rotund comedian who presented a larger-than-life image as a man about town, all the while making great fun of the stuffed shirts he portrayed. She was occupied with a joy of her own, playing Candyland with Becky on the kitchen table. The Saturday night was typical for Danny as well, the boy sequestered in his room, engaged in something only a boy understands.
Russo sat back on the sofa, coffee cup to one side, the opening credits appearing, the familiar theme music, and now, an abrupt change.
“We interrupt this program for a special bulletin from CBS News.”
“Oh, good God,” he said aloud. “What now?”
“We now join a press conference by the United States secretary of defense, Robert McNamara.”
He felt Margaret come in from the kitchen, a quick glance in her direction, worry on her face. She stood beside him, and he wrapped one arm around her legs, an instinct he had become used to. She said, “What is it?”
“Don’t know. There’s McNamara.”
“My fellow Americans. I bring you an unfortunate piece of news. Earlier today, over the island nation of Cuba, an American reconnaissance plane was targeted and shot down by a Soviet surface-to-air missile. It is with great regret that I announce that the pilot did not survive…”
His arm squeezed her tighter, the words from the television flowing over both of them, fear for the future, for what might happen next, reassuring words from McNamara that weren’t all that reassuring. Just as quickly as the bulletin had begun, it was over, the screen suddenly filled with the image of Jackie Gleason. He felt her hand on his shoulder, her voice barely audible.
“What does it mean?”
He stood, moved to the television, switched it off.
“The Russians shot down one of our planes. He didn’t say what kind, but I guess it doesn’t matter. They shot it down with a missile.”
Margaret sat now, pulled him down closer. “I guess that proves what Kennedy’s been saying all along, that they have missiles down there.”
“Two different things. An antiaircraft missile, surface to air, that’s not the nuclear kind. But I believe Kennedy, that there are still the more dangerous kind aimed this way. Dammit, Margie, this is … I’m really scared about this. We’re sending planes over Cuba to keep an eye on them, and they don’t like it. So, they shoot them down. If it wasn’t for our planes, we might never have spotted their missiles, so I guess we have to keep doing that. But now … I don’t know what the hell the Russians think they’re accomplishing, other than to scare hell out of Americans. Earlier today, the news talked about a letter from Khrushchev, that if he’s to pull out of Cuba, he’s demanding we remove our own missiles from Turkey. Hell, I didn’t even know we had missiles in Turkey.”
“Is that all there is to it? Why doesn’t Kennedy just say yes and agree to that? Why do we need missiles way over there anyway?”
Russo sat back, tried to feel comfortable on the soft couch.
“I don’t know. I guess … we’re not supposed to know.”
“Do you think Kennedy will do what’s right?”
“Jesus, Margie, no one wants a war. At least, I don’t think so. We have to trust the president that he’s handling this the best way it can be handled.”
“Maybe we should have put in a fallout shelter after all.”
“Oh, hell. I’m not going to panic like Jerry and assume that if there’s a war, my family will be just fine as long as I have my rifle.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder, said, “No, I know. It’s just terrifying. I hate that the children are living under this kind of shadow.”
Russo glanced toward Danny’s room, said, “It’s the world they’re inheriting, the world we’re giving them. Years from now, I guess this will be a normal thing, unless we blow ourselves up. Just so they don’t depend on all that duck and cover nonsense. That’s even more stupid than Jerry’s fallout shelter.”
There was a clatter of noise from the back of the house, Danny appearing now, a quizzical glance at the television.
“How come no Jackie Gleason, Pop?”
“I wasn’t in the mood, Dan-o. What’s up?”
“You know that new game you bought me, Tactics II? I’ve been playing it for a couple weeks now. Pretty much got it figured out. I think I can make my own game boards too, different countries and borders and all of that. You should play it, Pop. Two armies, the Russians are red and the Americans are blue, and you’ve got all their infantry and armor divisions, paratroopers, the whole works. They got mountain troops to go through the mountains, amphibious troops to hit the beaches. It’s great, Pop. I wish you’d play it with me. I bet I can beat you.”
Russo held Margaret’s hand, a tight squeeze, said to her, “When it comes down to it, maybe that’s what will become normal to them. What seems so terrifying to us, to him … it’s just a board game.”