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In the days leading up to November 22, my class had apparently been unruly on the playground at recess. I don’t think we’d been doing much besides the ordinary chasing and screaming. But our teacher, Miss Merkin, had passed along a warning from the principal that our recess privileges would be suspended if we didn’t soon become more ruly.
An empty threat, we all assumed, and so our anarchy continued on Pasture’s blacktop for 15 exhilarating minutes each morning and afternoon.
An audible, collective sigh breezed through the classroom. A sigh of relief. Then we immediately donned our somber faces.
At 10:30, students at Pershing and Pasteur and throughout Chicago were sent home to watch the funeral. On Tuesday, we all went back to school. My classmates and I returned to 214, and ordinary life resumed, including recess.
