It would be hard for a citizen of the United States to escape the fact that tomorrow is the 50th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, our nation’s 35th President.
Newspapers from Dallas to Denver and from Ft. Worth to Ft. Wayne have featured coverage of the anniversary this week. Tomorrow, scores of journalists and dignitaries will descend on The Big D for the official commemoration.
Meanwhile, news websites across the country have uploaded special packages devoted to the date. Cable and news channels have devoted significant airtime to the story this month. High profile periodicals have featured the anniversary as well. All that coverage has increased as November 22 neared.
The purpose of my blog post, today, is not to recount the tragic events of 50 years ago. Those images are indelibly etched onto our nation’s psyche; the events have been chronicled as a part of our collective oral history.
Everyone 60+ years old has a “Where were you when you heard” story to share just as we all have similar realities associated with the terror attacks of 9/11.
I’ve heard my folks’ version of the November 22 story numerous times.
The orientation to that date, November 22, 1963, is peculiar, however, for people like myself born that year.
On one hand, you know this tragedy – which forever changed the nation – really happened during your lifetime. Still, you have no memory of it. You have no memory of watching your parents or teachers weep. You have no signature “I was at X when I heard the news.”
Where was I when I heard the news? I was probably asleep in my crib or maybe resting or playing in my playpen.
But to REALLY answer the question, honestly, there is a composite set of facts and images that I have amassed throughout my life. I was probably first aware of the news when I was 3 or 4 years old. I remember, vividly, that my parents had a book published by local newspapers. The book was called Four Days and it recounted the events of that awful weekend.
As I grew up, I read the book and I saw the graphic images published in it. I asked questions. I heard the stories from parents about they dealt with the tragedy. Later, I asked similar questions of grandparents, uncles, aunts, teachers, etc. as we marked the anniversary over and over.
In 1983, when cable was new, I remember one of the networks rebroadcast the coverage ‘as live’ to mark the 20th anniversary and we all talked about it again. Ten years ago, in the internet age, the coverage mushroomed. This summer, when my family visited the Newseum on vacation, we saw numerous exhibits devoted to the assassination including “Creating Camelot,” 1000 Days” and “Three Shots were Fired.”
To answer the question: My signature “Where was I” moment was informed by the signature moments of everyone else.
Surely, 50 years ago, adults fed or cuddled me and tended to the needs of a six month old infant while they dealt with the horror and sorrow of the events of those four days. As they nurtured me and healed me from various infant maladies, they worked to help heal their own psychological wounds as did everyone in the nation. We moved forward with a new President and a resolve to put the tragedy behind us.
As tomorrow’s observance of the assassination passes – as we all pause to pray and reflect – I will do the same. I will also thank my elders who helped me to process the information and make sense of it.
I thank them for helping me put the tragic events of 50 years ago into context so it would become a part of me just as it is for everyone else who was alive on that fateful day.
JG
Originally posted 11/21/2013
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