Not a good day in history. In 1963, I was in the first semester of junior year at University High School in Honolulu, now known as the University Laboratory School. It was going to be a special day, as we boarded buses and headed to Ala Moana Park for an all-school picnic. It became special, and seared in memory, for another reason. We were on the buses when the news came from Dallas. President Kennedy had been shot, and before long news arrived that he was dead.
That was then.
This is now. Feline Friday. November 22. I’ll always remember that Friday in 1963. I would prefer to remember Feline Friday. Any Feline Friday. This one will do.
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In San Francisco in school. Disbelief. Glued to news. One of the few days can see an image of myself in mind, rather than surroundings. Watching swearing in of Johnson on AF1 later, feeling strong, he knew. Told no one, but, as we know later, I was not alone.
The day after I was discharged from the Army. Driving through Missouri on our way from Fort Sill, Oklahoma, to Michigan.
Heard the radio bulletin. Stopped at a Holiday Inn to check TV reports. Bar full of rednecks cheering for Lee Harvey Oswald. Turned and left, driving until we reached Michigan, glued to the radio.