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park-like plaza. Ahead, Elm St. passed beneath a broad railroad viaduct known locally as the triple underpass. Beyond it, a young reporter for CBS News named Dan Rather waited for the motorcade to pass by. Suddenly he realized, something was wrong. Rather remembered:
“Wait a minute, I thought. The motorcade has taken a wrong turn here. It seemed to be moving very fast. Something seemed wrong. I’d heard no shots, but I ran to the crest of the railroad tracks, and the scene I saw, I’ll never forget. There were people screaming, there was great confusion. I knew something was very wrong.”
Four minutes later, UPI Correspondent Merriman Smith seized a radiophone in a car 150 feet behind the President’s, and began dictating to the Dallas Bureau: “Three shots were fired at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas.”
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By 1 p.m. (noon in Moab), seventy-six million Americans were aware of the assassination attempt. Among them, stunned residents of Moab gathered in groups in their homes and in downtown stores and waited for news of the young President’s condition. News reached the set of “Cheyenne Autumn,” by way of a local man who had been hired as a movie extra. A transistor radio broadcast the details, as this real-life drama unfolded to an audience who specialized in make-believe.
Members of the cast and crew dissolved into tears but John Ford was not yet ready to release them. Director Ford forced Dolores Del Rio to recite her lines one last time. This time the tears flowed freely.
“Cut. Print.” said Ford grimly. Her performance was perfect; acting was not required.
At 12:36 p.m. Mountain Time, the face of Walter Cronkite flickered on black & white TV screens in the Moab Valley. In shirtsleeves, Cronkite, like the nation, could only wait. Behind him, young errand boys leaned over UPI and AP ticker tape machines waiting for the FLASH that no one wanted to hear. Cronkite, describing the anti-Kennedy sentiment in Dallas, described U N Ambassador Adlai Stevenson’s recent visit to Texas...
“There were some fears and concerns in Dallas that there might be demonstrations that could embarrass the President...”
In the background, a young man tore off a sheet of paper from the UPI ticker and raced off camera. Cronkite continued...
“It was only on October 24th that Adlai Stevenson was assaulted, leaving a dinner meeting there...” Cronkite was handed the fash. He looked down at the piece of paper, put on his glasses, took them off...
“From Dallas Texas, the fash apparently offcial, President Kennedy died at 1 p.m. Central Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago.”
Cronkite’s mouth tightened. His jaw clenched and trembled violently. For five long seconds, he could not speak.
“Vice President Lyndon Johnson has left the hospital, presumably to take the oath of office and become the 36th President of the United States.”
John Ford dismissed the cast and crew members for the remainder of the day. School children were allowed to go home early. Adults sat stunned and disbelieving in front of their TV sets. That evening, Father John Rasbach performed a High Requiem Mass at the Moab Roman Catholic Church. On Saturday morning most of the flm company few out of Moab on Frontier Airlines, headed back to Los Angeles. Only 48 hours earlier, one of the stars had complained, “Leave this beautiful weather and Moab and Indian Summer for fog and smog?” Now they left in silence.
For the next three days, Moab looked like every other town and city in America, bound together by a common loss and a sorrow too deep for tears.
Dolores Del Rio’s grief is recorded forever on film.