Like much of the free world, I am noting that today is the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.
On November 22, 1963 I was a 5-year-old attending kindergarten at Paradise Elementary School in Casper, Wyoming. On that day, I remember hearing the gasps of teachers as they were advised of the shooting.
After a bit of whispered adult-to-adult consultation, they advised us of the event — and while I understood what we were told, I not really able to process the information in a cogent way until a few days later as I watched the funeral proceedings on television at home with my family.
Like many, I have distinct memories of that period, but I suspect that the majority of these “memories” were implanted in subsequent years during repeated viewings and media analyses of the events, by incessant anniversary markings at 5-year intervals — and by hearing, reading and viewing conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory.
There is only one thing from the period that I am sure of: I watched the funeral parade — on black-and-white television from Washington DC — and I distinctly remember seeing a band of kilt-clad Scots.