For eight long months I stood silently on a living room shelf in Michigan nodding at anyone who walked by. I started to think I had become a ‘yes’ man; but the fact was: I was just happy that my head was still attached to my body.
My first trip of 2014 was a short four-day venture to Dallas, Texas that began on March 20th; but for most of that time my photographer was presenting at a safety conference and I stayed in the hotel room. At the airport in Detroit, my presence in the camera case was questioned by a TSA agent. When that agent was informed that I was going to visit some Kennedy sites in Dallas, I was passed through without incident or further questions. My biggest fear was the ol’ body cavity search; and I wasn’t quite ready for that. I was excited to be on an airplane again – it was the first time I had flown since my flight from China to the U.S. aboard a cargo plane full of rubber dog poop shortly after I was born in 2009.
My two-day stay at the Hilton Anatole in Dallas was interesting; especially during the morning when the housekeeper arrived to clean the room. At one point she noticed me standing on the desk next to the telephone and she said with a smile, “Hola eres lindo”. I thought to myself, ‘Does it look like I can do the limbo?’
Finally, at noon on Saturday March 22, 2014, the conference had closed and my Presidential tour window had opened. Vicki’s cousin Kim Johnson, who is from Plano, Texas, pulled up in a white Chevy Tahoe with my photographer’s wife in the passenger seat. Kim had agreed to chauffeur us around the area to visit the JFK sites. Our first stop, the Dallas Trade Mart, was just down the street from the Anatole. In 1963, President John F. Kennedy was scheduled to deliver a speech at the Trade Mart; but he never made it.
Since the Trade Mart was closed, I posed for a quick photo by a small memorial dedicated to Kennedy that was located outside of the main entrance. When we were finished, it was back in my case so Kim could escort us to the next site – historic Parkland Memorial Hospital. The route that Kim drove to Parkland was the same route that JFK’s limo driver used in 1963; only the limo driver never stopped or even slowed down at any of the stop signs. But when I think about it, Kim barely stopped at them as well; which was okay with me because we were on a tight time schedule and I had a lot to see. When one is in a hurry, it’s advantageous to have Kim Johnson behind the wheel! Once our SUV arrived at the emergency entrance to Parkland, I was carried to the area where Kennedy’s limo had been parked in 1963. As I stood there, an eerie feeling came over my entire body. I could envision in my resin-filled mind the chaos that must’ve occurred at that exact location in ’63 when they carried the wounded President into the hospital.
Kim and Vicki waited for us in the Tahoe as we finished the exterior photoshoot at Parkland. As amazing as it was for me to visit that site, I needed more. I wanted more! I had to go inside that hospital! We walked over to Kim’s parked vehicle and mentioned to the girls that we were going in; we needed to get into Trauma Room 1! Within a minute or so, I was carried through the emergency room door and down a narrow hallway. As we went through the doors and into the hospital, I thought to myself: ‘Kennedy was carried through those doors during the last moments of his life’. After we made a turn at the end of the hallway, we came upon a young man dressed in green scrubs who was situated at what appeared to be a receptionist desk. Not knowing where we were in the hospital, my photographer walked up to the kid and asked the big question: “Would you be able to take us to Trauma Room 1 where Kennedy was pronounced dead in 1963? Or could you tell us how to get there?” The polite youngster said, “The old Trauma Room 1 is now our Radiology Room and it’s just down that hallway, but unfortunately it’s closed on Saturdays. The door to that room is locked and I can’t leave my post to let you in there; we have too many people here that need assistance.” We were so close and yet so far away; but my handler wasn’t about to give up easily. “Is there anyone else who can let us into that room. It would mean a lot to us”, said my photographer. “We visit and photograph Jefferson at Presidential sites all around the country. We came here today from Michigan to see that room and we might not ever get back to Dallas. This will only take a few minutes and then we’ll leave. Isn’t there anything that you can do to help us?” The kid asked us to wait and he would try to contact one of his friends who would be able to lead us to the Radiology Room. The longer we stood there, the more nervous I got as it looked less likely that we would get into the historic room. Then out of nowhere, another young man who sported green scrubs had appeared. Our original receptionist said to his co-worker and friend, “Take this key and let my friends into the Radiology Room. Let them get their pictures and then lock the door back up. Try to make it quick so security doesn’t see you.” The skinny dude in the scrubs led us down a hallway until we came upon a room that had a ‘Radiology’ sign near the entrance door. My resin-based heart started to pound with anticipation. Before he let us in, however, the kid said to us, “I can’t turn on any lights so you will have to use your flash. But there’s really nothing in there from ’63; there’s only a small plaque on the wall that states the room was the old Trauma Room 1. You can get a picture by the plaque if you want, but we have to make this fairly quick.” Those words were no more out of his mouth and he unlocked the door. We were in; we were inside the room where doctors feverishly tried to save John F. Kennedy’s life and where he was pronounced dead exactly a half hour after he was shot. I tried to take everything in as to where we were; it was hard to fathom exactly what had transpired in that very room back in 1963. We were so transfixed from being in Trauma Room 1 that we almost forgot what we had come there for – a photograph of me inside the room. Near the door, affixed to the wall, was the plaque that we were told about. It was roughly ten inches wide, black in color, and featured gold lettering that stated: ‘Original Site, Trauma 1, November 22, 1963’.
We did it – we captured our photo in Trauma Room 1 and it was time to make our way out of Parkland to tell the girls. After retracing our path through the hospital’s corridors and out the back door, we were greeted upon our arrival at the Tahoe with: “Where the heck have you been? We were getting worried about you. What took you so long inside that hospital?” When my photographer explained to the antsy women that we had talked our way into Trauma Room 1, Vicki replied, “I actually think you could talk your way into anything.” The immediate response to the sarcasm was: “I think you’re right. I think I could talk my way into anything; and that’s not a bad talent to have!” Kim fired up the Tahoe and we headed for the Presidential Holy Grail of Dallas – Dealey Plaza.
