My parents moved my sister and me to Dallas from Upstate NY in October of '63. We were there only a month when Kennedy was shot. My Dad, who worked in a downtown building, actually watched from street level as the President's motorcade passed. By the time he returned to his office on the third floor, it had happened. My earliest memory of childhood was seeing my mom sobbing in front of the TV set. I asked, "Mommy, why are you crying?" I was three. The first person whose name I knew, other than mommy, daddy, grammy and Capt Kangaroo, was President Kennedy. As we got older, Dad would take us to Dealey Plaza. By the age of six I could point to the window on the Depository Building from where the shots were fired. In 1967 I remember sitting on one of the plaza's stone colonnade arches --Dad lifted us up there -- and watching a TV crew film a documentary of the event. They were interviewing eye-witnesses. The old Texan man being interviewed said, "I heard pop, pop, pop." Whenever we went by the Plaza up on the Stemmons Freeway, we'd look at the big yellow Hertz Rent-a-Car sign with the digital clock on it, which of course stood atop the Depository. It drew your attention to the site like a, well, like a big yellow billboard! (They finally removed it, but not until decades later).
I still have the complete Dallas Morning News paper from Saturday the 23rd. Never a November 22nd ever goes by without me reflecting on the events of that, sad sad day.
In some ways I wonder how much effect that event had on my life. It was sort of the launch-pad of my awareness. I think to be certain, the Kennedy Assasination has cast a very long shadow over my life, and I’m sure there are many others who feel the same.
Last year, on November 22, 2007, Thanksgiving Day, Bernadette's beloved mother lost her battle with cancer. My poor wife has barely had time to grieve. Neither of us can believe it has been a year already.
November 22nd. A day of mourning for The Townsons.
