22 November 1963

I was in my second year of high school, 16 years old, walking with my boyfriend to an afternoon class, probably talking about the upcoming winter band concert (he played French horn, I played flute). The hallways were crowded, as we were part of the “Baby Boom” generation that filled the schools after World War II.

Our chatter was suddenly was interrupted by the public address system coming on, and we heard the school’s principal say “I need your attention for a very important message: President Kennedy has been shot and killed.”

We couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense. How could the president be shot? Who could have gotten close enough to do that, with all those Secret Service agents around him? Why would anyone want to? What was going to happen next?

We went home to our parents’ tears and hugs, and the steady stream of TV news, which continued all weekend and on Monday, a national day of mourning. The collective grief was palpable, and shared by people of all ages and circumstances.

Remembering JFK’s youth and promise, his inspirational call to “...ask not what your country can do for you -- ask what you can do for your country,” I cannot help wondering what our nation might have become, had that bullet missed its target.

(Even though I was too young to vote in the 1960 presidential election, I acquired a Kennedy campaign button, which has been with me now for many moves over 50 years -- longer than virtually anything else I own, other than this gold charm bracelet that I wore in high school, and a few beloved books.)

This is tagged JFK50 for the Blipfoto "Goodbye Camelot" gallery.