Remembrance: JFK

I'm of an age to remember the day Nov. 22, 1963.
A school day, but the lessons learned came from a black-and-white TV in the classroom, not the shell-shocked teacher. As a student of Y.H. Thomas Junior High School, I sat in the old-fashioned wooden desk, amid 20 other students. We sat, bent over our desks, our heads on our arms, face down, so no one could see us cry. No matter; you could still hear the sobs from various parts of the room.

Not so long ago, we had elected John F. Kennedy president in the school election. Our hope was born out later on a national scale when our parents voted. And the trauma of Nov. 22, beginning in that dingy classroom, my face pressed to the wood, would take years to release. From then on, it seems, I jumped every time a TV newscaster announced, "We interrupt this program with a special bulletin ..." It was the first time I had reason to deplore the senselessness of all that youth and beauty buried in the ground. (Photo right: Graveside ceremony, from the JFK Library)

The enormity of the hurt returned in 1982 with the death of California opera conductor Calvin Simmons, age 32, from a canoeing accident that might have been suicide (Below: Young lions -- conductors Calvin Simmons, righ, and Simon Rattle).

In both cases, the what-would-have-beens are still so haunting, never to be resolved.