Robert Randisi - It Was a Very Bad Year

The hysterical girl was the same one who had given me Barney Irwin’s message. I still hadn’t found out her name.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked her.

‘You don’t know? Oh, Mr Gianelli — Eddie, it’s terrible.’

‘What is?’

‘The President,’ she said. ‘Somebody shot the President.’

‘The President.’ Just for a moment I thought, President of what? ‘Wait. . you mean. . JFK?’

She nodded, held a handkerchief to her nose and began to sob.

I knew I’d get nothing else coherent out of her, so I made for the elevators, figured I’d go somewhere I knew there’d be a television.

When I got to Entratter’s office I found his girl at her desk, in much the same condition as the girl at the front desk. She even neglected to sneer at me.

I entered Jack’s office, found him standing in front of a large color TV in his wall. Color TV’s were still not in everyone’s home at that time, but the appearance of The Wonderful World of Disney as a weekly series in 1961 sure sent a lot of people scurrying for them.

‘What’s goin’ on?’ I asked.

He looked at me over his shoulder, then back at the TV. He was standing with his back straight, his arms folded.

‘No word yet on his condition,’ he said. ‘We just know he was shot while in his motorcade.’

‘In the car? What about the first lady?’

‘Nobody said anything about her.’

I joined him in front of the TV.

‘Jesus,’ I said.

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s a madhouse downstairs.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I didn’t hear anything until I walked in.’

‘It’s all over the TV and radio.’

‘I didn’t turn either of them on this morning.’

It was all very surreal, the panic in the lobby, and the coverage on the TV. The usually stolid Walter Cronkite appeared shaken up. Cronkite was like everybody’s uncle. To see him upset just added to the unsettling feeling of it all.

We stood side by side for quite a while, just watching the reports. After the fact that Kennedy had been shot it was all supposition, but a lot of people were doing the supposing.

After a few minutes I asked, ‘Do we know where Frank is?’

Entratter let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it for a long time. ‘I think he’s home, in Palm Springs.’

‘He must be taking this hard.’

From the outer office we could hear the sound of Jack’s girl, blubbering.

‘Hold on,’ he said.

He walked out and I heard him tell the girl to go home, they weren’t going to get much work done that day. She didn’t argue. When he came back in he picked up his phone and called the hotel room service and ordered some coffee.

‘You want something to eat?’ he asked, before hanging up.

‘See if they can send some pastries with it.’

He told them to send whatever they had in the way of pastries or donuts, then hung up and rejoined me in front of the TV.

‘This is unreal,’ he said.

‘Yeah.’

We were still standing there when a bellman carrying a tray appeared at the door.

‘Mr Entratter?’

‘Just put it on the desk.’

The young man did so, then looked at the TV.

‘Anything new?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Jack told him, ‘they still don’t know his condition. Or they’re not sayin’.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Jack nodded and the young man left.

‘Why don’t we sit down?’ Jack suggested.

‘Yeah, sure,’ I said.

We went to his desk and sat. Entratter was a good host, poured coffee for both of us, removed the covering from the plate of pastries.

‘Is Joey still in town?’ I asked.

‘Actually,’ Entratter said, ‘he left this morning. He probably heard the news on the plane.’

‘That’ll be a somber flight.’

‘Maybe we should call Frank?’ I asked. ‘See how he’s doing?’

‘No,’ Entratter said. ‘Let’s wait and see what else we can learn before we do that. He’s probably making a lot of calls of his own. He’s a lot more personally — ’ he groped for the word, finally came up with it — ‘invested in this than we are.’

‘I guess you’re right.’

‘So,’ Jack said, picking up his coffee.

‘So,’ I said, grabbing a pastry.

At 1.33 CST time — an hour and three minutes after he was shot — President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was pronounced dead at Parkland Hospital, in Dallas, Texas.

After Kennedy was pronounced dead we graduated from coffee to bourbon. Jack and I had our own private wake for a while, and then his phone began to ring.

‘Not now,’ he said into the phone half a dozen times before he finally covered the mouthpiece and said, ‘I better take this one.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, getting up, ‘I’ve got things to do.’ I staggered a moment before righting myself.

‘You OK?’

‘Yeah, Jack, I’m OK.’

‘You wanna go home or work?’ he asked, and then didn’t wait for me to respond. ‘It’s up to you.’

He waved and went back to his call. I returned the wave and left his office.

When I got back to the lobby little had changed, except the pace. There were still people there, crying, slack-faced, but they were moving much slower. Some of them even seemed to be sleepwalking.

The casino floor was much the same. Even where people were gambling they were doing it — both the gamblers and the dealers — with little interest. I wasn’t needed there. As I was trying to make up my mind what to do I saw Jerry’s cousin, Billy, shooting craps. He towered over the table, throwing the dice with enthusiasm. He either hadn’t heard about the assassination, or he didn’t care.

My face felt tight, my eyes gritty, and suddenly I had to get off the casino floor. I went to a house phone and called Jerry’s room.

‘What’re you doin’?’ I asked.

‘Just hangin’ around,’ he said. ‘Watchin’ the reports on TV. You wanna come up?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I’ll be right there.’

Jerry had left the door ajar, so I knocked and walked in. He was sitting on the large sofa, in front of the color TV.

‘I thought you didn’t have a suite?’ I asked, looking around.

‘So did I,’ he said. ‘Billy was all excited, said a bellhop came up, told him we had to move, so he followed the guy here. I thought you arranged it.’

‘Not me,’ I said. ‘It must’ve been Jack.’

‘Well, I didn’t have the heart to drag Billy outta here,’ Jerry said. ‘He thought I pulled some strings, and was real impressed.’

I walked over, stood next to the sofa and looked at the TV.

‘Anything new?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘the Governor of Texas was in the car. He got shot, but he’s alive.’

‘Is he going to stay that way?’

‘Don’t know, yet.’

I looked over at the bar.

‘You want a drink?’ I asked.

‘I’ll take a beer.’

‘Any in the frig?’

‘I ain’t looked.’

I checked, got him a can of Piels. I briefly considered some more bourbon, but in the end took a can of beer for myself, too.

I joined him on the leather sofa and handed him a can.

‘Some shit, huh?’ he asked, indicating the TV.

‘Yeah.’

‘He was a good man,’ Jerry said. ‘A good president.’

I didn’t respond. I knew more about Kennedy the ladies’ man than I did about Kennedy the politician. But I didn’t think he handled the Bay of Pigs or the Cuban Missile Crisis the way an American president should have. The former turned out to be a fiasco, and he gave up too much in the latter. But of course we didn’t learn all the details until years later.

‘You don’t think so?’ Jerry asked.

‘I’ve met him a time or two,’ I said. ‘He seemed like a good guy.’