Today. November 22, 2013. Fifty years later.
As I write, this morning in southern California is an exact copy of the one in Ft. Worth, Texas the day President Kennedy was shot--cold and rainy. I was an eighteen-year old freshman at Texas Christian University in Ft. Worth, Texas, preparing for my half day of classes. As I fixed my hair and applied my make up, the voice on the AM station in my dorm room updated us with the juicy details of where the Kennedys had been the day before and where they were going: how President Kennedy and his wife had been to Houston where they had visited NASA; how the First Couple alit in San Antonio and had spread their magic there among local Latinos.
Finally, dead on their feet, the President and Mrs. Kennedy ended activities that day at the Hotel Texas in Ft. Worth. Not to be embarrassed by their vocal, snobby neighbor Dallas, the locals decided to doll up the President's suite by borrowing sixteen original works of world famous art from some of Ft. Worth citizens' private collections. Dallas was always putting down Ft. Worth, calling it Cowtown. In the meantime, Ft. Worth, usually shrugged and just counted their money and tried not to worry about it. This time, a nerve must have been struck and putting on airs seemed appropriate. It's probable neither of the couple really saw the paintings as tired as they seemed to be.
The next morning--very early--November 22, 1963, the President appeared out in front of the hotel in the rain and entertained the crowd, while the First Lady was deciding what she'd wear today. The forecast was for clearing and sunny skys, typical of a warmish fall Texas day. She decided on a pink mohair wool suit trimmed in blue with a matching signature pillbox hat. Pure Jackie. Practical as well, Mrs. Kennedy had worn that same suit before at least five times.
Back on campus and late for my lab, I left the Kennedys with a background of clinking silverware and a small voice noise at the morning breakfast just as the President began speaking about how no one ever worries about what he and Lyndon were wearing that day. What a lovely sense of humor and delivery JFK displayed. No wonder everyone loved him.
Some time after noon, as I was leaving my English class in Sadler Hall, and stepping out into beautiful sunlight, I saw a small crowd and someone I recognized as Tom Sawyer, a guy who ironically looked very much like JFK. I heard him shout above everyone, "Kennedy's been shot!"
We were all in shock, then came tears, then the heartbreak, then the reality.
Then we all got caught up in the 24-hour per day television spectacle.Watching TV was what Americans did for three or four days. It was brutal emotionally because of the Kennedy family, especially Jackie and her children. Copious tears and upheaval was the order of the day. It was hideous.
The collateral rites and activities that accompanied the funeral of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy were fitting of a hero, even one who was a deeply flawed man in the flesh, yet carried a cache of morality that captured the American spirit and hope in all of us. He was a leader of men, profoundly dismayed by Communism and Socialism. He made no apology for hating organized crime. He knew that all boats float, and regardless of his father's dubious and downright illegal methods of obtaining money, he understood capitalism. Moreover, he was a demonstrated warrior and Naval Officer who had seen action. He was one of the greatest generation, after all, who saw America's future as her best ever.
Unfortunately, many, many people believe that there is much more to the President's assassination than we're told. I've wrestled with it and have come up with maybes and nothing more. Knowing that politics is not only dirty, but also deadly, I can't help but wonder who else wanted him dead. We are now seeing how his personal conduct would've blown up in his face through blackmail. Then, a more conservative public would probably have turned against him. Then, there was the mob...and his mistresses he shared with Sam Giancana...and Frank Sinatra...and with Bobby...and then there's Marilyn. Camelot may have been only temporary anyway. How sad.
Fifty years later. Same day and date, same Thanksgiving week. Same questions. Eerie
Thanks for the read.
As I write, this morning in southern California is an exact copy of the one in Ft. Worth, Texas the day President Kennedy was shot--cold and rainy. I was an eighteen-year old freshman at Texas Christian University in Ft. Worth, Texas, preparing for my half day of classes. As I fixed my hair and applied my make up, the voice on the AM station in my dorm room updated us with the juicy details of where the Kennedys had been the day before and where they were going: how President Kennedy and his wife had been to Houston where they had visited NASA; how the First Couple alit in San Antonio and had spread their magic there among local Latinos.
Finally, dead on their feet, the President and Mrs. Kennedy ended activities that day at the Hotel Texas in Ft. Worth. Not to be embarrassed by their vocal, snobby neighbor Dallas, the locals decided to doll up the President's suite by borrowing sixteen original works of world famous art from some of Ft. Worth citizens' private collections. Dallas was always putting down Ft. Worth, calling it Cowtown. In the meantime, Ft. Worth, usually shrugged and just counted their money and tried not to worry about it. This time, a nerve must have been struck and putting on airs seemed appropriate. It's probable neither of the couple really saw the paintings as tired as they seemed to be.
The next morning--very early--November 22, 1963, the President appeared out in front of the hotel in the rain and entertained the crowd, while the First Lady was deciding what she'd wear today. The forecast was for clearing and sunny skys, typical of a warmish fall Texas day. She decided on a pink mohair wool suit trimmed in blue with a matching signature pillbox hat. Pure Jackie. Practical as well, Mrs. Kennedy had worn that same suit before at least five times.
Back on campus and late for my lab, I left the Kennedys with a background of clinking silverware and a small voice noise at the morning breakfast just as the President began speaking about how no one ever worries about what he and Lyndon were wearing that day. What a lovely sense of humor and delivery JFK displayed. No wonder everyone loved him.
Some time after noon, as I was leaving my English class in Sadler Hall, and stepping out into beautiful sunlight, I saw a small crowd and someone I recognized as Tom Sawyer, a guy who ironically looked very much like JFK. I heard him shout above everyone, "Kennedy's been shot!"
We were all in shock, then came tears, then the heartbreak, then the reality.
Then we all got caught up in the 24-hour per day television spectacle.Watching TV was what Americans did for three or four days. It was brutal emotionally because of the Kennedy family, especially Jackie and her children. Copious tears and upheaval was the order of the day. It was hideous.
The collateral rites and activities that accompanied the funeral of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy were fitting of a hero, even one who was a deeply flawed man in the flesh, yet carried a cache of morality that captured the American spirit and hope in all of us. He was a leader of men, profoundly dismayed by Communism and Socialism. He made no apology for hating organized crime. He knew that all boats float, and regardless of his father's dubious and downright illegal methods of obtaining money, he understood capitalism. Moreover, he was a demonstrated warrior and Naval Officer who had seen action. He was one of the greatest generation, after all, who saw America's future as her best ever.
Unfortunately, many, many people believe that there is much more to the President's assassination than we're told. I've wrestled with it and have come up with maybes and nothing more. Knowing that politics is not only dirty, but also deadly, I can't help but wonder who else wanted him dead. We are now seeing how his personal conduct would've blown up in his face through blackmail. Then, a more conservative public would probably have turned against him. Then, there was the mob...and his mistresses he shared with Sam Giancana...and Frank Sinatra...and with Bobby...and then there's Marilyn. Camelot may have been only temporary anyway. How sad.
Fifty years later. Same day and date, same Thanksgiving week. Same questions. Eerie
Thanks for the read.
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