Fifty years ago, we were a nation in mourning and in many ways, we still are. The 35th president of the United States, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was slain by an assassin’s bullet.
In the past month, the media have been inundated by a deluge of articles, reality shows and docudramas about that fateful day in Dallas. The JFK assassination has been called a watershed moment in history and the loss of innocence for the U.S. It felt as if a member of our family had died.
My mother QuoVada first became interested in JFK at his election to the U.S. Senate in Massachusetts in 1952, three years before I was born. During JFK’s run for the presidency, we campaigned in the best Democrat grassroots tradition, going door to door asking people to vote for JFK.
Mom, my 9-year-old brother Brian and I, age 5, had a whole routine worked out. She would knock on the door, Brian would play the song flute and I would sing a modified version of “Shoo Fly Don’t Bother Me… cuz I’m gonna’ vote for Kennedy!” Mom would hand out the campaign literature and we would go to the next house...