My family moved a lot when I was growing up. We lived in New York, Pennsylvania, Wisconsin and Missouri, but mostly in California. We lived the longest in San Diego. We lived there twice. When I was 7 (1953), my parents bought their first house (for $11,000) in a cute little tract in San Diego. All the neighbors were young couples who had a bunch of kids for us to play with. San Diego was warm, and the neighborhood was always full of kid noises. We rode bikes and skated and played two-square (or four-square) and had neighborhood barbecues and Halloween parties. One of the girls wrote plays for us, and we would perform them in her carport, and invite all of the parents to be our audience. Those were the days when most moms were home during the day, so it was safe to be outside with the other kids.
My mother was a bit of a snob. She was an educated social worker, but chose not to work. She spent most of her time cooking, knitting, sewing, and reading. She had always been politically active, but once she had children, her political activism was limited to discussing the issues of the day with like-minded friends. She was never interested in meaningless conversations just to be friendly. She would rather be alone. So, I'm not sure how this happened, but she became friendly with Beverly, the lady who lived next door. My mother had my brother and me and Beverly had one daughter and two sons. And they were both pregnant. They would sit on the driveway on folding chairs, both with their baby bumps, and talk and laugh for an hour or so most afternoons. Beverly was very funny, and while my mother rarely said funny things, she loved to laugh, and loved that Beverly made her laugh. Beverly was loud and impulsive. My mother was quiet and organized. One day, my mother answered the door to find a rather frazzled Fuller Brush man. He told her that when he rang the bell next door, the lady, without opening the door started yelling, "I'm a Jew, I'm a Jew." Everyone who knew Beverly knew to use the back door. So when someone rang the bell, she knew it was a stranger. The most frequent strangers to the neighborhood were selling some religion. Thus, her response. My mother just laughed. That was Beverly.
We left San Diego when I was 10 and returned when I was 14. We didn't live in the same neighborhood, but close enough that Beverly's kids and I went to the same junior high and high school. Richard was my age and Marcia was a year older. My mother would see Beverly periodically. She would pick my mother up (my mother never learned how to drive), and they would go on "feeling" adventures. They didn't have a lot of money, so Beverly would suggest that they go to fancy stores and feel the merchandise. It was an afternoon out for my mother, and she so enjoyed being with Beverly.
Beverly's fourth child was a boy, so Marcia was her only daughter. When Marcia got to high school, Beverly and Marcia became very close. She didn't talk about the boys much, but she always told my mother about all the things she was doing for Marcia. She made all her clothes, for which she took much pride.
In Marcia's senior year, she began dating a young man. I don't know how long that relationship existed. At some point, she decided that she wanted to end it. He was heart-broken. He begged her to continue, but she had had enough. He threatened to kill her. Beverly's husband, Dick, talked to him, but he just couldn't understand. Dick called the police to report the threat and was told that they couldn't do anything unless the guy did "something."
One day, during first period, while we were standing for the Pledge of Allegiance, I noticed that the kid who was standing next to me was breathing really hard. When we sat down I took a good look at him. Now, this kid was normally pretty light-skinned. But that morning he was ghost-white. I asked him what happened and he told me that, right in front of the school, a guy had shot a girl, and then himself, and their bodies were still out there when he passed. He said he thought the girl was Marcia.
I desperately wanted to go home. I still don't know why they didn't dismiss us. We didn't have cell phones and I really wanted to talk to my mother. Finally, school was over, and I ran home. My mother was dressing for the funeral. It was Good Friday. Jews have to bury the dead within 24 hours, as they can't desecrate the body with embalming fluid. They also don't bury the dead on the Sabbath. So that child had to be in the ground by sunset. My mother wouldn't let me go to the funeral. It's probably just as well. My mother told me that Beverly was so distraught, she was trying to climb into the hole with Marcia. I didn't have to see that. Just knowing it haunts me to this day.
Marcia died on April 5, 1963. On June 6, 1963, President Kennedy gave the commencement speech at San Diego State. On that day we were let out of school to go up to El Cajon Blvd. to watch the motorcade pass on its way to the college. The President was standing up and waving as he passed. Back then, we only saw him in black and white. I was so surprised to see that red hair. Who knew?
And we all know that just 5 months later he also was killed with a gun.
I was just 17. And, at 17, the little girl who loved to play in a safe neighborhood, lost that feeling of safety. And learned to hate guns.
This is Marcia:
When I look at that sweet young face, I get the same feeling I do when I look at Trayvon's sweet young face.
Trayvon, you were way too young.