By Margaret Connor
It began for me with the assassination of President Kennedy (JFK) on November 22, 1963. I had then lived in the U.S. for just one year and was still adjusting to a new world. I watched the entire saga live on television, including the actual shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald by Jack Ruby, while wondering if it was for real or simply a drama of some sort. The news shocked the world, and Ireland, in particular, felt the loss of their brave son. My family there reached out to me for U.S. media coverage. For this, I collected and posted articles from the San Francisco Chronicle and other relevant clippings from news sources, hoping to satisfy their curiosity. I remained glued to the television for days, watching the entire drama unfold. I especially recall the swearing-in of President Lyndon Johnson with Jackie Kennedy, in her blood-stained pink suit, standing next to him. The memorial services touched me deeply, especially the “Funeral Drill” at the gravesite performed by the twenty-six Irish Army Cadets sent from Ireland. My memory flashed back to June of that year when the then-president joined in a song with schoolboys during his visit to Wexford, his ancestral home in Ireland[1]. I was so proud of President Kennedy, his Irish Catholic background, handsome appearance and charm, and beautiful wife and family. JFK inspired a new generation with hope and optimism while showing dynamic leadership in science and politics for a better world.
Tragedy struck once again the following April with the assassination of the civil rights leader, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. A charismatic leader and eloquent speaker, Dr. King was instrumental in this social movement, advocating nonviolent resistance to segregation and discrimination then entrenched in America. I watched him live on television as he delivered his iconic speech, “I Have a Dream,” from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D. C. with shivers in my spine. I wanted to be there to support his cause for racial equality. His movement reminded me of the troubles in Northern Ireland, where Catholics marched for equality in education, jobs, and housing. Both movements were similar, one overcoming religious discrimination and the other overcoming racial inequality. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was a leader of all people, choosing courage and determination in his fight for human rights.
A few years later in June 1968, the world was shocked again by the assassination of Senator Robert F. Kennedy (RFK), brother of the late president. A prominent figure in the fight for civil rights and social justice, RFK offered a message of aspiration and unity for his nation. Sadly, his goals were not realized as he met his fate while campaigning for the Democratic presidential nomination. At that time, I was visiting Ireland, where I watched the proceedings on television. Once again, Irish people were appalled by another American assassination of a prominent leader. They asked me, “What kind of a country do you live in, forever shooting each other?” for which I had no answer. I felt sorry for RFK’s children as I watched the memorial Mass held at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York. From there, I viewed with sadness the train journey transporting RFK’s remains for burial next to the gravesite of his brother, President Kennedy, at Arlington National Cemetery. RFK’s passing left a lasting void in the political landscape.
The extensive media coverage of American leadership sparked my interest in the country’s politics. As a legal immigrant with a green card, I eagerly awaited my five-year tenure to qualify for U.S. citizenship. As an Irish national, I qualified for dual citizenship in America, which allowed me to live and work in both countries. Once qualified, I used my two passports for business and travel. Most importantly, I could vote in American elections and, hopefully, make a difference. Though I identified with the Democratic Party, curiosity led me to the 1964 Republican National Convention at the Cow Palace in San Francisco, an iconic indoor arena and concert venue. Arriving at the main entrance with a couple of pals, we somehow managed to gain access. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, anticipation, and party unity inside the hall as we mingled through the crowds. Certain attendees were dressed in red, white, and blue clothing, with many sporting campaign paraphernalia and hats supporting their preferred candidates. Prominent figures took the stage, delivering speeches of vision for the country and highlighting accomplishments while criticizing their political opponents. Though unfamiliar with certain speakers and their party roles, their deliveries were an education for me. In that year, the two main contenders for the presidential nomination were Senator Barry Goldwater of Arizona and Governor Nelson Rockefeller of New York, with Goldwater representing the conservative wing of the party and Rockefeller depicting a moderate stance. Their opposing platforms underscored the broader issues of the party’s divide. However, the highlight for me was not the politics but the exposure. Browsing through the decorated hall, I took note of the patriotic decorations, banners, and posters displaying the party’s slogans, colors, and symbols while simultaneously realizing the unfolding of history.
While living in the Bay Area in the 1960s, I found myself surrounded by social unrest, civil rights struggles, and political discord fumed by the Vietnam War. From 1955 to 1975, this war caused widespread discontent and unrest, shaping the nation’s collective consciousness. Without a formal declaration of war, the U.S. intervened militarily, intending to prevent the spread of communism.
Simultaneously, the introduction of the Draft that randomly selected young American men led to protests and opposition to the fairness and morality of the war. Being in the Bay Area brought me in close contact with American military personnel recruited for their tour of duty. For months, I corresponded with one navy officer, Bob, enjoying his letters from the Gulf of Tonkin. He appeared to have much time for personal reading as he highlighted and recommended his favorite books. Returning from his tour of duty, he presented me with a pair of ivory earrings, a gift from his Asian journey. For me, Bob was one example of a recruit who supported America’s involvement in the Vietnam War. As more young men were sent to fight in a distant and seemingly unwinnable conflict, anti-war movements escalated with demonstrations and civil disobedience throughout the country
Amidst the turmoil the anti-war and civil rights protests created was the Free-Speech Movement (FSM). Originating on the Berkeley University campus, students sought to challenge the restrictions imposed on their civil liberties. The Berkeley campus, known for its progressive atmosphere, became a focal point for students’ unrest. Though I lived close to Berkeley then, I chose to watch the protests and the sit-ins on television. Hundreds of arrests resulted. The names Sproul Hall, Mario Salvio, SDS, SNCC and CORE were ever present in the media. I was pleased that the FSM ultimately succeeded with its cause by advocating the right to free speech while promoting activism throughout the country.
In those same years of the 60s, a vibrant counterculture movement emerged in the Haight Ashbury district of San Francisco. This movement was preceded by the 50s Beat Generation of Allen Ginsberg and fellow artists who fostered intellectual rebellion and non-conformity around the book and coffee shops in San Francisco. Among those, City Lights bookshop in North Beach gained notoriety as a favorite hangout. I frequented that bookshop searching for used books while hoping to encounter some beatniks paving the way for transformation. Inspired by example, a new generation flocked to the Haight seeking social change regarding communal living, artistic expression, and spiritual exploration. With increasing waves of young people, the Haight became a haven for free-spirited souls seeking peace, unity, and an escape. Known as “Hippies,” they experimented with drugs for psychedelic trips as an expansion of human consciousness. I recall the stench of drugs as I explored the Haight in its heyday, trying to understand the counterculture movement. Along the way, I stopped at a clothing store to purchase a psychedelic dress since the movement had influenced the fashion industry. Though short-lived, I proudly wore this dress at parties, dancing to psychedelic lighting and trendy music that peaked in 1967, the Summer of Love.
The social, cultural, and political changes were reflected in many of the movies of that time. As a film buff, I took advantage of popular releases like To Kill A Mockingbird, The Graduate, Cool Hand Luke, Bonnie and Clyde, Whose Afraid of Virginia Wolf, and Psycho, to name but a few. Their themes included civil rights struggles, heightened social consciousness, changing attitudes and values, emotional turmoil and rebellion, upheaval, and challenges to traditional authority, as demonstrated by the counterculture movement of the 1960s.
Central to my experience was the music. It was the decade of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Grateful Dead, Bob Dylan, and Jimi Hendrix, to name but a few. Of them, I was especially influenced by The Beatles music. Tuned into the Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964, I watched their first live performance on U.S. soil. Then, the following August, I attended The Beatles concert at the San Francisco Cow Palace. The ticket demand was extreme since this was The Beatle’s first stop on an all-American tour. Grateful to secure seats, my friends and I observed fans sleeping on the grounds overnight, hoping to catch a glimpse of the band. The atmosphere was electric as the crowd eagerly awaited the “Stars” appearance. I recall seeing them mount the stage carrying their instruments and then opening the show with their hit “Twist and Shout” over the deafening screams of the enthusiastic fans. Being part of the experience was indeed historical. At the same time, another British group, called The Rolling Stones, contributed to the transformation of music. I have fond memories of dancing to their numerous hits, of which “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” was my all-time favorite. Other iconic bands and artists like The Grateful Dead added to the variation. Pioneers of the counterculture movement, their music explored love and spiritual themes together with rock and psychedelic elements. Their experimental music became synonymous with the psychedelic experience I was exposed to during those years in San Francisco.
While I enjoyed the music and film of the decade, I remained an observer rather than a participant in the counter-movements. Having grown up in a sheltered world made me cautious of change. I remained committed to my Irish background and its defined culture and values. Yet, I wanted to expand my horizons and grow selectively from the cultures in my new world. I especially enjoyed learning and indulging in foods from Asia, Europe, and the Americas, which made me realize the limitations of Irish cuisine at that time. Exploring cuisines led me to ethnic entertainment and festivals like Chinese New Year or German Oktoberfest. But what I valued most of all was the freedom in America, where I was removed from established norms and lifestyle expectations. Thus, I wandered forth in search of my destiny, which led me to Boston, Massachusetts, known for its Irish antecedents.
[1] The song they sung was The Boys of Wexford, by Robert Dwyer Joyce (1830-1883).