Alas, Dallas
We were seniors, and events suddenly revealed that we were more innocent and vulnerable than we knew. JFK's death seemed to indelibly stain our lives. Looking back now across the years, trying to ignore all the later theories, revelations, and hypotheses, can we still see the John F. Kennedy whom we thought we knew?
As children of our times, we viewed the world through broadcast media. After the countless pictures of aged leaders like Konrad Adenauer and Charles De Gaulle, JFK seemed refreshing. In hindsight, he reminds me of the era's Pepsi slogan, which extolled those who think young. In fact, he was our parents' age, and he had always been fabulously wealthy. We had no real reason to identify with him, but we did.
In 1959, my English teacher praised Kennedy's book Profiles in Courage, hoping to convince us that a successful politician could still value principles. Others of my teachers would also praise Senator-cum-President Kennedy. When, in our sophomore year, the school Variety Show was called The New Frontier, the choice surprised no one. Our generation was so smitten with JFK that we overlooked something obvious: he had garnered only 50.17% of the popular vote; many Americans were less impressed.
America later learned that, as with any other man, his substance and image differed; there had been concealed nuances and imperfections. Such flaws in no way excused his murder, or negated the ensuing national suffering and grief.
Leaving Fort Worth for Dallas, November 22, 1963
jfklibrary.org
That afternoon, the news spread quickly, stunning faculty and students alike. Some wept.
In the coming days, media reconstructed our view of the world, so that everything seemed to be happening in the context of the tragedy. In this new world, old names and faces yielded to new ones. Dan Rather, a local Dallas reporter, became a regular presence on our screens. A touching British television tribute introduced David Frost to us. Lee Harvey Oswald was barely more than a name, until he became a contorted face as he was murdered on live national television. Jack Ruby, assassin of an assassin, took his place in the news.
John F. Kennedy Jr. at his father's funeral
abc.net.au
The shock was relentless, and ever deepening. To recapture the feeling now is like chasing after an elusive dream. Grief rolled over us like a rogue wave at Jones Beach. There was no escape; we had to let it happen. As had been true on "the day the music died," we would need time to process and to heal, and healing would mean stretching something within us, stretching it until we could believe that, even after all this, the world was still OK.
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