In honor of the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, I’ve written this short post as part of a blog hop for Midlife Boulevard.  My fellow bloggers and I are sharing our memories, thoughts and observations about this tragic day.  The links to their blogs will be made available here later today. 

“Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable." ~John F. Kennedy

Photo Credit: halloweniana.blogspot.com

Halloween, 1963.  I was four years old and my brother was 6.  We purchased our Halloween costumes at our local J.J. Newberry’s, and anxiously anticipated trick-or-treating together.  Our mother decided to allow us to go door-to-door without her. Our Mayberryesque neighborhood was a friendly one where we knew all of our neighbors.  Most of our friends lived on our street; front doors remained unlocked.

It was going to be a magical Halloween. 

We loved the costumes we picked out because we knew who we wanted to be: President John F. Kennedy and The First Lady.

Looking back, I realize what a magical time that particular Halloween was.  Camelot was alive and well in my hometown.

But on November 22, 1963, Camelot came to an abrupt end.  Those of us in Mayberry felt horrified, shocked and saddened along with the rest of the world.

I don’t clearly remember the day of the assassination, but I do remember bits and pieces of the day of the funeral.  My mother cried, my father barely spoke, and our television was on all day.

That lone, chilling sound of the drum -  the one Mrs. Kennedy insisted on along with the riderless horse - was reminiscent of President Lincoln’s funeral. That sad sound remains clear in my memory.

The flag draped coffin, the empty look of grief and sadness on Mrs. Kennedy’s face, the fatherless little boy bravely saluting.  I'm unsure whether I remember seeing these images live on our black and white TV, or if I know them from the innumerable times we've all seen them over the last 50 years..

The shadow of November 22 looms dark in my memory.  I will never again watch the images Zapruder caught on film.

To this day, if I hear the sound of a lone drum beating, I'm reminded of that disturbingly quiet day in our house, and the tragedy behind it.

I'm also reminded what happened a few days later.  While my 10 year old brother watched TV, he suddenly screamed out loud, in shock, after witnessing a madman step through the crowd to shoot and kill the man who presumably killed President Kennedy.

The world was going mad.  Our beloved President was gone forever, and a nation was grieving.

Our Halloween costumes lay in the trash, discarded by sadness and tragedy. But they will never been forgotten.

This little girl continues to pray for peace by putting an end to violence, and bids goodbye, again, to a president we loved dearly and whose life was tragically cut short.

Rest in peace, Mr. President.

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