Okay, so a whole lot of you weren’t even born yet…
But I remember vividly the shock and disbelief. It was my junior year at Central Michigan University. I was strolling along the corridor of the student union looking for an empty study alcove when a guy approached me. It was someone from the popular and overpopulated Play Production class whom I did not know well. Actually, he was in a social strata well above mine, so I have yet to know why he singled me out. His eyes were dazed but intense as he stopped me with a hand to my shoulder. “President Kennedy has been shot,” he said simply.
I froze, staring at him. It was like the news had dropped from the ceiling and struck me in the face. We clutched arms for a moment; then he moved on.
Left standing in the middle of the hall as the students flowed around me, I watched as the news slowly caught up to them. It wasn't long before everyone began scattering to the various TV rooms to watch a heavy-eyed Walter Cronkite explain what little was known at that point.
Of course I've been following all the retrospectives of this horrific event, but this memory didn't strike me until my step-bro posted his impressions as a 12-year-old on Facebook. The flurry of comments that followed, each one a brief memory of where they were when the news hit, brought it full front and center.
I’d like to hear yours.