42 years ago, we sat in front of our television sets in complete shock. When the usually totally objective Walter Cronkite momentarily lost it on a live broadcast, he represented faces all over America, frozen in grief and disbelief.
It was an innocent time. Young, vigorous, charismatic, and eloquent, Jack Kennedy represented the dreams of the young. Into a political world filled with tired old detached men, he and his passionate New England intelligentsia swept like a fresh wind that promised a new world order and unlimited potential for all of us. We loved his accent, his hair, his humor, and his energy. We couldn’t wait to join the Peace Corps and remake the world.
For years, we quietly asked each other: Where were you when Kennedy was shot? We all knew exactly where we were and what we were doing when the news came. It was a moment frozen in time, a great divide between the promise that had shined so brightly and the unknown darkness that lay ahead after the light had been so prematurely extinguished.
Later, the cynicism of an ugly war, a string of assassinations, riots in the streets, and the paranoia of a secretive administration, would take...
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