Nov. 22 has been a key date for me for 59 years, as of today, marking the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Dallas. I was in 8th grade in 1963 at Central Junior High, and was sitting in class with history teacher Bud Williams when the announcement came over the P.A.
It must have been early afternoon and school was immediately cancelled for the rest of the day. I can't imagine that happening these days, no matter what, but I must have walked home (about two miles or so, though I'm sure we made it more like three, with all the twists and turns we explored most days).
I assume it was cold but don't recall any snow or rain that day. JFK was a hero in our house and there were tears from both my mom and dad -- and that was very unusual. I had to look it up, but it was a Friday and everyone spent the entire weekend and most of the following week watching TV coverage, including seeing the accused assassin himself assassinated by Jack Ruby on national TV. I can't imagine how well my young self handled all this chaos, followed soon after by the funeral rites and procession.
I just know that I may not have been named after the president -- after all, I was born just five years after JFK returned home a war hero and a decade before he ran for president. But whether I introduced myself as John or Jack, people always gave me a look. And I still sometimes get a lame comment like, "I thought you were shot in Dallas" from time to time. For many years, it happened every time I produced my ID, and I honestly wish I had a nickel for each occasion.
My family lost something that day, though, like most Americans, we managed to return to "normal" and returned to jobs and rooting for our favorite teams (Iowa Hawkeyes and Chicago Cubs foremost) and generally "getting on with it."
I was thinking that likely happens all the time, no matter the horror. The five killed in Colorado Springs the other day will likely be mourned for a few days or weeks and then people will need to get back to life and all its challenges. After all, we live in America, the only nation where such slaughters happen with numbing regularity, all in worship of "freedom."
Thanksgiving was the next week, and the district cancelled classes all week, leaving everyone plenty of time to watch TV, mourn, and wonder about the future. I returned to Bud's class ten days later and we may have talked about it all, but I have no memory of that -- and about 17 years later would find myself working at City High, where Bud had become dean of students and cross country coach and a living legend. I mentioned once to him that I had been in his World History class on that fateful day. He just nodded and had nothing to say. It was random coincidence and that was that.
I have watched from afar as other Kennedys came and went in our lives, with the assassination of Bobby Kennedy just after I graduated from high school in 1968 being a rival painful moment.
The country missed out on the generational leadership that Bobby might have provided had he won that year's presidential election. He was the favorite in the race and he was vastly superior in many ways to his older brother as a leader and thinker.
I occasionally reflect on "what if" regarding the Kennedy brothers and know I am supposed to be skeptical that one man (or woman) really can make the difference in a giant country and world. But I do retain the perhaps quaint notion that one person in the right place with the right leadership and insight can make things better (or worse) for much larger groups of folks.
One of the happy surprises in my life was that Barack Obama was NOT assassinated. I have long assumed that the good guys get gunned down. It is America, after all.
Thoughts and prayers, of course.
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