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Making Room Ch. 4: The Cuban Missile Crisis Through a Child’s Eyes
October 1962. I was twelve years old.
That Sunday before October 22nd, I went to brunch at a diner near St. Ignatius with my dad and his best friend. Their casual talk turned to military buildup in Cuba.
“Maybe missiles,” one of them said.
I’d been reading newspapers since I was six while other kids read comics. I knew what missiles meant. I knew what Cuba meant—ninety miles from Florida, Soviet ally, Cold War chess piece.
And I knew what nuclear war meant because I’d read about Hiroshima, about shadows burned into walls where people had been standing.
The adults kept talking, moved on to other topics. I stayed silent, my breakfast suddenly impossible to finish.
Tuesday, I went to school but couldn’t concentrate. During recess, while others played kickball, I slipped into the church alone to pray.
The church was empty. Dark wood pews, the smell of incense and candles, the sanctuary lamp glowing red to show the Blessed Sacrament was present.
I knelt in a pew near the front, looking up at Mary’s statue on the side altar. I prayed the Hail Mary over and over. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.” That ending—”at the hour of our death”—hit differently now.
Outside, I could hear the other students playing. Kickball. Tag. The ordinary sounds of recess.
Inside, I was praying for the world. I felt isolated. Embarrassed, even.
Here I was, practically alone in my terror, seeking divine intervention while everyone else played games. But I couldn’t stop. The fear was too real.
“Please, Mary,” I prayed, not really knowing what to ask for beyond peace and freedom from fear. “Please don’t let them launch the missiles. Please help President Kennedy know what to do. Please help Khrushchev back down.”
Sunday, October 28th. Thirteen days after the crisis began. A beautiful day.
My cousin Gary was with us—he’d always been like a brother to me. His sister had scratched him badly, ordinary sibling violence continuing while we’d been facing nuclear violence.
We were going to church when word came: The Soviet ships had turned around. The missiles already in Cuba would be removed.
In exchange—though we didn’t learn this until later—Kennedy had secretly agreed to remove American missiles from Turkey. Both leaders had found a way to save face while saving the world.
I prayed in thanksgiving. Not just relief but gratitude—deep, profound gratitude. We had been saved. Not just my family, but the world.
Michael Hackard is the founder of Hackard Law, a California trust and estate litigation firm with more than five decades of experience protecting the inheritance rights of families across Sacramento, the San Francisco Bay Area, and Los Angeles. He is the author of four published books on inheritance protection and has produced more than 1,000 educational videos with over seven million views.