As Thanksgiving and final exams approached in the fall of 1963, I was walking toward Aycock Hall Dormitory at West Georgia College, when a friend shouted from an open, second- story window, “They have killed Kennedy.”

The days that followed the assassination of President John F. Kennedy were among the saddest of my life, spent grieving over the end of Camelot and watching the mournful preparations for Kennedy’s funeral. I sat in my room studying for final exams, while constantly listening as the TV recounted the tragedy in an unending stream…the riderless horse … the gun carriage carrying the young president’s body… the salute of his son John-John as the cortege passed … the interment at Arlington … the lighting of the eternal flame… the poetic eulogies…the relentless rattle of drums. It was too much for any of us to bear -or so I thought.

Completing my college work only a few days later, I was able to find a temporary teaching job in one of the nearby schools. I was welcomed with accounts of how the school principal had announced the assassination of our president over the school’s loudspeakers -and how the classes erupted in cheers and applause. Their parents had hated the martyred president it seems; and, had convinced their children to hate him as well, something I was too naïve to comprehend. It was my first encounter with the cruel animosity that would envelope our national politics for the remainder of my life, a struggle for the soul of an America that seemed at times to have lost its soul.  

Of course, many of us were young and susceptible to Kennedy’s brilliant manner of speaking and the handsome charisma he projected with such easy grace, a war hero, a sailor home from the sea, a man in full with a lovely wife and adorable children, a millionaire’s son who campaigned afoot in khaki pants and charmed the members of the Boston ladies clubs to win his seat in the US Senate. And, he was the author of an inspiring book on political heroism, Profiles in Courage -required reading for many college students.

Our cynicism would grow in the decades ahead, as endless war in Vietnam drained our idealism. The violent 1968 Democratic Convention was a turning point, followed by Richard Nixon’s defaming of the presidency in the Watergate Scandal. The collapse of the Soviet Union made us feel invincible for a fleeting moment, but without an enemy to unite us, we began to devour each other politically. Politics came to hinge on television ads and debates, so money came to dominate elections, fueled by corporate- donations on a scale few could have imagined. The rise Political Action Committees and corporate funded “Think Tanks” fostered a lock-step deadlock in the halls of congress, impeding meaningful legislation as the twentieth century ended.

Then, tragedy struck again.  The desire for revenge after 911 reshaped our view of the world. While democracy was being challenged at home, we entered new decades of war -this time to bring about regime changes in the Middle East, to defeat the radicalizing influence of resurgent religious fundamentalism… ironically just as religious fundamentalism became resurgent in America. A culture war was on and politicians were eager to exploit it.

Still, there persists the memory of a more promising world, one in which we could expect sophistication, grace and honor in our political leaders.

Postscript: Our vacation plans this year took an unexpected turn, offering us a few hours in Boston. We used the opportunity to visit the nearby John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum. It brought back many memories of the pride my generation took in having a dynamic and eloquent young president. Cynics of course abound, claiming Kennedy was all myth and mirrors fueled by wealth. Instead, I choose to believe that the ideals we admire in our leaders are mostly reflections our own virtues and ideals. Standing before the beautifully displayed and recreated White House images of the Kennedy years revived some of my own idealism. Reliving the exhausting sorrow felt when Kennedy was murdered also called to memory the beautiful sadness the country so openly expressed at the time. We were united by tragedy.