Flight from DFW to PDX
Spent the afternoon in the historic section of Dallas.
It was pretty run down.
The major attraction was the Sixth Floor Museum on Daily Plaza – as I knew it, the Dallas School Book Depository.
About a dozen of us from the conference took a bus there.
Everyone of my generation knows the site.
As I approached, I drew the site in my mind.
The image of John Kennedy and his wife in the open car.
Making the sharp turn in front of the brick building – then the second by second frames of the Zapruder 8 millimeter film.
The grassy knoll in the background.
The president lunging forward, then back as the second and fatal shot hits him.
The cars speeding off under the triple underpass to the hospital.
I walked past the brick building where the shooter supposedly fired at the president.
Over to the grassy knoll.
There on the road – two white X marks.
One about twenty yards from the first.
The museum was well organized. Every element of the Kennedy presidency was represented. Newsclips of those days were played.
There were relics – actual objects of that day.
There was an exhibit of Parkland Hospital where the critically injured president was taken. I stared at the white smock and shoes of one of the doctors who treated the president. I was four inches from it. I imagine the person inside it who treated the president. Of what he must have realized when the extent of the injuries were known.
I looked out the window where the alleged assassin stood. I saw what he saw. I saw the two Xs on the road.
I went outside of the museum. Everyone emerged in silence.
The sun was shining.
It was on a sunny fall day like this just a few feet from me that history occurred. A moment seared into the memory of all who lived through it.
I walked around the neighborhood of the museum for about an hour. Finally, I got back on the bus to head to the hotel.
It took a few minutes before I realized our route.
There was Dealey Plaza.
Ahead to my right was the grassy knoll. Beside me – the brick building – the school book depository.
As our bus passed directly over the first X, I unconsciously moved my head forward as if to imagine the scene I had watched over a hundred times. Then a few seconds later, as I passed over the second X, my head again snapped back.
I looked ahead and slightly to the right and saw what was probably John Kennedy’s last conscious view.
And then – we went under the triple underpass and onto the freeway and on the same route the motorcade took to Parkland Hospital.
I looked out at the Texas countryside as we headed back to the hotel.
What did that moment, that experience mean to me.
In some ways, it was the end of my childhood innocence.
No longer did I have the illusion that the world could be a safe place.
In a moment, a nation was plunged into sorrow.
In a moment, a nation lost a president. Perhaps even hope.
A beautiful first lady was a widow.
Two joyous children were fatherless.
That day a nation had to come to terms that the most powerful and protected man in the world could die on a sunny afternoon.
What else could happen?
Two days later, Kennedy’s alleged killer was shot dead.
Five years later, race riots broke out following the shooting of Dr. King. A few months after that, Kennedy’s brother was killed as he sought the presidency.
In this context of the death of three leaders, hope was rare.
Perhaps in this context, it is easier to understand the subsequent search for inner hope, inner meaning.
It was the dawning of the Age of Aquarius.
A time to renew hope in the face of a divided and hurt nation.
But that is a chapter for another time.
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