50 years ago

A bit of jumbled personal history here, so please bear with me in my ramblings.

On November 22, 1963,  I left Langley AFB, VA, for a trip to New York City with three other airmen. Around 40 miles outside of Washington, DC, a voice broke into the music we were listening to on the radio saying that our president, John F. Kennedy, had been shot in Dallas.  All of us were shocked.  Moments later the voice said he had been killed.  A discussion ensued over whether we should return to base, some thinking this was the start of an attack, or carry on with our weekend.  The latter idea ultimately won out and we skirted DC and made for New York.  

There we split up.  The others being native New Yorkers headed to their families.  I made a successful attempt to meet up with a high school friend, a girl a year behind me in school.  We went to a museum in Central Park and visited Greenwich Village.  

On Sunday I heard that Monday was going to be a day of national mourning -- a day off for most.  I somehow managed to contact the driver and found out we'd be meeting Monday morning for the drive back to Langley.  Being the great planner I was at the time, I was down to my last quarter by the time I met with my traveling companions after some missteps on my part discerning the correct meeting address. 

As it happened we hit DC just after the funeral and, without planning to, drove down an empty, rainy, dreary Pennsylvania Avenue watching limo after black limo driving from Arlington Cemetery back to the White House.  The rest of the drive was inconsequential.

A month later I was in DC again, this time for the lighting of the National Christmas Tree after the one-month period of national mourning.  It was a relief that the immediate pall of JFK's death was behind us all.  Though quite young, I had admired him for his courage, and somewhat unpopular stances during a turbulent era.  He remains to this day a personal hero.