On the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated, I was ten years old and a student at Bailey Inglish Elementary School in Bonham, Texas, northeast of Dallas on the Texas-Oklahoma border. I can’t remember how we were told the news, whether over the loudspeaker or by our teacher, but once we learned what had happened just 70 miles away, we each responded in our own way: silence, tears, words of disbelief. I felt both sad and distressed. How awful that our state had been unable to protect young President Kennedy, a man with a kind face, a beautiful wife, and two children not that much younger than I was.
Our school was dismissed early, and I walked the five blocks home. Once there, I heard the sound of the television upstairs in my parents’ room, so I headed up there to find my father sitting in his recliner, tears streaming down his face. His reaction did not surprise me; I felt like crying, too. I hugged him, then settled on the floor to watch the news coverage. Over the next few hours, our immediate family all gathered to listen to Walter Cronkite’s somber voice as he chronicled what had happened that day in Dallas. I wasn’t used to a professional news commentator showing his emotions on television. But there Cronkite was, his voice cracking and his eyes so teary that he had to take his glasses off to wipe them with his handkerchief. I also felt sad for Lyndon Johnson, who suddenly had to take over the presidency. I knew he wanted to one day be president, but not like that. He and Ladybird looked distressed, just like all of us.
That day, I knew that life had shifted in a monumental way. John F. Kennedy, the man who had said, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country,” was gone, and with him, at least some of my childhood innocence. I didn’t know then that over the next few years, there would be two more assassinations that would bring our country to its knees. I only knew that our nation had suffered a terrible loss, and we were all grieving.
Sixty-one years ago yesterday, sadness was everywhere.
20 Minutes a Day 
I was 9, in 4th grade in Austin, Texas, and we were going to get out of school early so we could go watch the president’s parade. He was coming to Austin after Dallas. I remember my Dad picking us up from school and telling us the president had been killed. Our teacher had only told us there would be no parade.
I don’t remember watching the t.v. coverage. I remember lying on the hood of a car with my best friend. We were looking at the sky and feeling sad.
Oh goodness, Betty. Such a sad day for everyone but the fact that you’d planned to go to see President Kennedy at the parade in Austin makes it even sadder. I can see you and your best friend lying on the hood of a car, staring at the sky. Yes, and feeling sad. Thank you for sharing. Len