I believe November 23, 1963 was a day many baby boomers lost their innocence and youthful optimism. It was a long time ago day when the youthful optimism of many got washed away in a weekend of tears.
At the time, I was a senior in a small southern Catholic high school. John Fitzgerald Kennedy was a great hero to the students, and a living saint to the nuns. He was young, handsome, and married to a fashionable and lovely lady. With two beautiful children, Jack and Jackie lived a life of incredible class and richness. His speeches were articulate, brimming with wonderful ideas and promises of a great future. At the time he seemed the president for the young, and was a refreshing change from the grandfatherly figures of Ike and Truman.
The day of his shooting our school closed at lunchtime and Sister Gervase urged students to pray at nearby St. Paul's Church. Many did. However, within minutes of the first reports his death was confirmed. I remember walking the sidewalk of High Street in a daze and noticing sadness on many faces and even tears as strangers exchanged the latest tidbits of news. It was a beautiful Fall day. The sky was a brilliant deep blue and streaming wispy clouds were immaculate in their whiteness. I wondered why God delivered such a beautiful day to accompany a moment of such immense tragedy and sorrow.
For the next three or four days radios played somber music, a few television stations maintained full time broadcasts and re-broadcasts of the tragic news. It was a surreal weekend filled with sad images and reports. I wondered how the nation could celebrate Thanksgiving the next week. Somehow we did.
As the days have delivered us to the future we've seen many more national tragedies. We've learned a lot that was not so saintly about JFK. His place in history may not be as lofty as we once imagined. However, that single terrible event in the Fall of 1963 was a rude awakening for baby boomers. I believe the hearts and minds of my generation were marked with sadness and a loss of youthful optimism on November 23rd, 1963.
At the time, I was a senior in a small southern Catholic high school. John Fitzgerald Kennedy was a great hero to the students, and a living saint to the nuns. He was young, handsome, and married to a fashionable and lovely lady. With two beautiful children, Jack and Jackie lived a life of incredible class and richness. His speeches were articulate, brimming with wonderful ideas and promises of a great future. At the time he seemed the president for the young, and was a refreshing change from the grandfatherly figures of Ike and Truman.
The day of his shooting our school closed at lunchtime and Sister Gervase urged students to pray at nearby St. Paul's Church. Many did. However, within minutes of the first reports his death was confirmed. I remember walking the sidewalk of High Street in a daze and noticing sadness on many faces and even tears as strangers exchanged the latest tidbits of news. It was a beautiful Fall day. The sky was a brilliant deep blue and streaming wispy clouds were immaculate in their whiteness. I wondered why God delivered such a beautiful day to accompany a moment of such immense tragedy and sorrow.
For the next three or four days radios played somber music, a few television stations maintained full time broadcasts and re-broadcasts of the tragic news. It was a surreal weekend filled with sad images and reports. I wondered how the nation could celebrate Thanksgiving the next week. Somehow we did.
As the days have delivered us to the future we've seen many more national tragedies. We've learned a lot that was not so saintly about JFK. His place in history may not be as lofty as we once imagined. However, that single terrible event in the Fall of 1963 was a rude awakening for baby boomers. I believe the hearts and minds of my generation were marked with sadness and a loss of youthful optimism on November 23rd, 1963.
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