I remember the day, 44 years ago. I was in grade 5 and it was a typical November day in the mountains - cold and the grass crunched underfoot.
At lunch break I went home and saw my mother watching the TV with her chin propped up by her hands. Her breathing was shallow and in the background was the deep voice of Walter Cronkite on CBS, the affiliate out of Spokane, Washington. President Kennedy had been shot, my mother explained, and we should pray that he is alright.
When I got back to school I saw a few teachers with tears in their eyes. I can’t remember if they sent us home but it seemed like the whole world was holding their breath - as if the news was misread.
There has been a lot written about JFK - too much. He wasn’t perfect and his term as a president was not exemplary until the year he died. Then, as if everything he said in his speeches jumped out of the page he stepped into his power and the world seemed to step into his vision - even the USSR. There was a new optimism in a world that was one button away from a nuclear war. Suddenly, we looked up to space, looked to help others in need and looked into ourselves - just like he had done.
It was a synergy that was only repeated one more time in my lifetime - so far. And that was in 1968 when his brother Bobby stepped up to the podium.
Then he was gone.
Then Martin Luther King was gone.
And, finally, Bobby was gone . . . . and the generation of hope slipped into the Dark Ages.
Stumble it!