That Friday

ALAN writes:
This essay began as a reminiscence I wrote for my 8th-grade classmates.
There was grey overcast with light rain in St. Louis on that Friday in November 1963. My classmates and I were seated in our classroom on the second floor of the “new” St. Anthony of Padua school building, just down the street from Behrmann’s Tavern. It was early afternoon when our teacher, Sister Rita Bernard, told us something we never imagined we would hear.
At that same time, my mother was shopping at the Sears-Roebuck department store, less than a mile away. She was on the second floor when she saw people walking over to the area where television sets were on display. So she followed them to find out why so many people were congregating there. That is how she learned that President Kennedy had been shot.
Those who fawned over the Kennedy Family and those who demonized them left me equally unimpressed. Had I been old enough in those years to understand such things, I would have opposed certain ideas and policies promoted by the Kennedy administration. But that does not alter the horror of that weekend or its effect on American life. Regardless of one’s estimate of John Kennedy, his family, or his administration, a political murder had been committed, in response to which the federal government staged a pretend “investigation” and the “independent, watchdog press” revealed an astounding degree of incuriosity. (more…)


