I remember exactly where I was on November 22, 1963 when I learned that the president had been shot. I was studying in the library at San Diego State and had just come up to the circulation desk to check out a book. Staff and students were huddled over a radio. I had no idea what could have been so riveting and asked, rather casually if I remember, what they were listening to.
"President Kennedy has been shot," came the answer.
At first I didn't believe it. Impossible. We don't do politics this way. I left the campus and as I drove home I saw that flags had been lowered to half staff. It must be true. It was true. It was so shocking, so dreadful. And today, fifty years later, it still is. It was the loss of faith, the loss of innocence, the loss of the vigorous, idealistic idea of politics and public service. By the time the '60s were over, we had lost our entire generation of leadership; two Kennedys and a King. And we are the poorer for it.
2 comments:
50 years and I still well up when I think about that day and I now believe that it was some sort of conspiracy, do you?
Yes, I know, I never comment, but it's hard to believe that anyone would not remember where they were that day. Senior year of high school, I was on my way to my locker in a building that doesn't exist anymore. Everyone was talking about Kennedy, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
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