The events in Dallas 53 years ago are dimming in the nation’s mind, but I always remember.
I was just three months into 9th grade in the old school building, now gone; in the downstairs hallway, by the doors to the auditorium when the principal made the announcement over the loudspeaker that the president had died.
The news hit me hard.
JFK had awakened my political interests just three years before, when I was 11 or twelve, an interest that continued through a six-year stint in journalism and since. I’d just started being aware of politics and presidential elections then, though, and vaguely remember seeing the Republican convention on TV four years earlier. Our little-screened black and white Sylvania set that sat just to the right of the front door in our old living room, before the remodeling.
One Saturday morning in the fall of 1959, when I was 10 or…
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