I remember when it happened in 1963. I was a young kid, black living in the south, Chattanooga, Tennessee. I was in the third grade when suddenly about 2 PM class suddenly stopped. We were told that President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed. That was a trying day for everyone. A scary day for a nine year old Kid. It was a day that I will never forget.
As I look at the many documentaries that found their way on television this past week, we know that those who lived through that weekend, will never forget it, the sadness, the tragedy, and the ugliness of it all. That's was the most troubling aspect of it all. Most African American's saw President Kennedy as a savior of sorts, primarily beacuse he gave more than lip service to the the plight of African Americans. Although the shooter Lee Harvey Oswald was killed by Jack Ruby. It was no consolation for us, because Kennedy was not just President, he was a friend and so was his wife Jackie.
I was nine years old, but I lost a little bit of my youth that weekend. I realized that there were truly evil, violent people in this world. And we realized even more, that we lost someone truly special that meant so much to all Americans and even though many of us did not know him personally. We lost a friend and America lost it's innocence that weekend, November 22, 1963.