The rest of that day, and I daresay the rest of our lives, was immeasurably altered by the horrendous act in Dallas on November 22, 1963. We used to hear words like 'What were you doing?' or 'I will never forget what happened that day', and we used to talk with each other about our individual experiences. I am doubtful that many (if any) of the millions born since then, however empathetic, can truly understand or appreciate the depth of the emotions we felt.
No matter what our "political" alliances were, we were so "old-fashioned" that we prayed, or at least wished, for the success of the President of the United States. Because we knew, we sincerely understood, that that sentiment was "best" for each of us, for our families, and for our country.
The evening movie? Unforgettable! The 18 y/o newly-minted Marine (the youngest fellow I had ever dated), clad in his dress blues, instead escorted me on a train ride to our nation's capitol, where we walked up and down a score of its streets, visiting several churches in the process. The entire city was like a cathedral, cloaked in silence broken only by a whispered greeting or a heartfelt prayer. We comforted each other by our presence, our shared grief.
Rest in peace, John. And may God bless us, one and all.