Friday, November 2, 1962
Tallahassee, Florida
He had insisted they all come to the living room, the television news already making the announcement that the president was to make a brief speech. With word of a settlement of the Cuba crisis, Russo was like so many others, seeming to hang on any official word from the government, no matter how insignificant. But when Kennedy himself was talking, most Americans had learned that, these days, you took it seriously.
They sat on the sofa, Becky sitting on her mother’s knee, Danny down to one end. As scheduled, the programming was interrupted, the announcer introducing the president.
“My Fellow Citizens,
I want to take this opportunity to report on the conclusions this government has reached on the basis of yesterday’s photographs, which will be made available tomorrow. The Soviet missiles bases in Cuba are being dismantled and missiles and related equipment are being crated and fixed installations at these sites are being destroyed. The United States intends to follow closely the completion of this work through a variety of means, including aerial surveillance until such time as an equally satisfactory international means of verification can be made…”
Russo kept his eyes on the television, was grateful the others did as well, grateful they were taking this seriously. Kennedy concluded his remarks … “we will continue to keep the American people informed on this vital matter. Thank you.” Russo glanced at Danny, the boy looking back at him.
“Pretty cool, huh, Pop?”
“What’s cool about it?”
“I mean, he told the Russians to get out of Cuba, and they did.”
Through the eyes of a child, Russo thought.
“I’m sure it was more complicated than that, Dan-o. The Russians didn’t just bow down to Kennedy without something pretty serious staring them in the face … staring us all in the face. You saw all those army trucks passing through here, heading south. I heard the Air Force bases all over Florida were packed full of aircraft and men. I think the Russians came to understand that Kennedy wasn’t fooling around. I guess we’ll never know just how close we came to a real war.”
Beside him, Margaret said, “Do you think it was that serious? Did we almost go to war?”
Russo stood, turned off the television, paced slowly, faced her.
“I think it’s a good thing we don’t know just how close we came. That’s when the president earns his pay. For the rest of us … I guess it’s an act of faith, faith that good people are doing the right things, working hard to keep things from blowing up.”
Saturday, November 3, 1962
Tallahassee, Florida
True to his word, Kennedy had released photographs, a clearly visible demonstration of the results of the showdown over Cuba. Russo had studied the photos as they came across the television screen, had marveled at the missiles lying in plain view on the decks of Russian freighters, missile launch sites reduced to rubble across Cuba.
He pushed the lawn mower over the uneven ground, a spray of grass clippings launched to one side. This had become Danny’s job, the boy old enough the manage the mower, but today, Russo had let the boy off the hook. A week in the classroom had worn on him, his students as curious as he was as to just what was happening in Cuba. With the weekend, he welcomed the distraction, the mindless labor of mowing the lawn, the roar of the mower drowning out the chatter in his brain.
He swung the mower around, pushed back the other direction, could see his neighbor, Jerry, pushing a mower of his own. Russo tried to ignore the man, in no mood for any kind of neighborly chat, since, with Jerry, that always seemed to involve some form of politics. To his dismay, Jerry stopped mowing, made a beeline for Russo’s yard. He obliged, shut down the mower, waited, Jerry coated with sweat and grass clippings.
“Hello, Professor. So, what do you think about your president now? Looks like he finally did something right.”
Russo wiped his brow with a dirty hand, said, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it looks like he told the damned Russians where to get off, and they ran off like mice. I knew it. That’s all there is to it. Show those Commie bastards just how many missiles we’ve got, and they’ll turn tail. Problem is, it ain’t over. You can bet the Commies are figuring out right now where else they’ll hit us. Sneaky bastards. They’re probably planting missiles all over Mexico or on a bunch of islands in the Pacific. We can’t keep watch over everyplace, you know. I just hope Kennedy has the backbone to keep a sharp watch. If it was up to me, I’d have taken those people out all at once, no fooling around. Those convoys … the troops we brought down here … waste of manpower. All we needed was one good-sized hydrogen bomb, and Cuba would have been a sandbar. Then we could have dared the Commies to launch a missile at us, and when they did, we’d reduce that whole country to a dust pile. But nah. Kennedy doesn’t have the guts. But you mark my words. The Commies ain’t done yet. This was just chapter one.”
“I really need to get back to my lawn. Good talking to you, Jerry.”
He gave a hard pull on the cord, started the mower, Jerry still talking to himself. Russo backed the mower, then began the routine again. But the chatter in his head wouldn’t leave him alone.
My God, he thought. Let’s have a war, just to show the Russians who’s boss? Let’s obliterate mankind … damn him. Is this how people see things? Jerry can’t be the only one. He’s got his fallout shelter, so he’s not afraid of a little thing like nuclear holocaust. How many idiots like him did Kennedy have to wrestle with in Washington? I’d like to believe there is no one like Jerry running things anywhere outside this neighborhood, certainly not anywhere we’ve got nuclear warheads. Maybe that’s what terrifies me the most. It’s not the Russians, though they might be scary enough. It’s how to deal with the Russians, how to confront them, how to stand up face-to-face with them. It sure seems like Kennedy did that pretty well when it came to Cuba. Kennedy got his back up, said you can’t have your damned missiles in Cuba, and instead of starting a war over it, Khrushchev pulled away. Thank God for sane men.
A car moved past slowly, a friendly wave, a familiar face, someone from the college. He spun the mower around again, his careful geometry, dodged a small tree, a breath of breeze blowing grass clippings over his bare legs. He saw Jerry again, back at his own mower, frowning purpose on the man’s face. I never thought I’d know anyone who seems to lust for war. Ignore him. That’s all you can do. Be grateful instead that your children can live what seems to be a normal life, without the constant reminder of the terror that hangs over us all.
Monday, November 5, 1962
Tallahassee, Florida
He waited in the driveway, had watched the bus coming up the street, depositing children at various stops. He knew the waiting wasn’t necessary, that Danny was more than old enough to lead his little sister into the house. Whether or not he’d admit it to his son, he simply enjoyed watching them come home.
The bus pulled up in front of the house now, the squealing brakes, the large folding door swinging open. Like clockwork, both children were down, moving toward him up the driveway. Danny seemed slightly annoyed, a glance back toward his friends on the bus.
“You don’t have to wait for us, Pop. It’s okay.”
“I know. It’s just something I like to do. How about you, little Miss? You happy Daddy meets you at the bus?”
The girl grabbed his hand, waited for him to lead the way up to the house.
“I’m ready now, Daddy.”
He laughed, led the way, kept pace with her short strides.
“So, anything exciting happen in school today?”
Danny didn’t speak, an ominous sign, but Becky said, “I thought everything was okay now with the Russians. You said there wasn’t going to be a war.”
He stopped, looked down at her.
“That’s right.”
“Well, that’s not what the principal said. Before we went to lunch, they made us do duck and cover again.”