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Nov. 22 / By LaVerna Land

I am sitting at my desk after lunch. I have worked here in the Cost engineering department of the Minuteman Missiles at Sedalia, MO for the past 18 months. I only have four more days.

I am sad to leave friends I have worked with long hours and played with, too. It is like saying goodbye to family. Jim, my husband, has already started work on another set of missiles in Cheyenne area and has a furnished house waiting for us. He has been away 6 weeks. He will be driving back for our almost 3-year-old son and me on Thanksgiving Day. We will pack a moving trailer and start back on Saturday. The 700-mile drive will take us two days. Should I tell Jim I think I am pregnant or wait?

"I hope we don't get snow in Denver," I think.

We are moving away from our hometown. Our parents are sad that we must go so far away. They will miss seeing their only grandchild.  But Jim is a welder on the missiles and we must be where he has work.

Then Cliff, my boss, returns from lunch with the horrible news: "Kennedy has been shot."

Shock, stillness, sadness, disbelief. How bad? When? Where? Who did it? We so hope he will be OK. We locate a radio and listen, too stunned to work.

And finally we hear the news that none of us wants to hear.

"President Kennedy is dead."