After All, It Was You and Me

I was in the fourth grade in a basement classroom of Saint Peter's (sic) School in New Brunswick, New Jersey, when the squawk box in the corner of the room crackled and the principal, Sister Immaculata, told us President John Kennedy had been shot and led us in praying the Rosary. 

We were, I guess, not very good at prayer as Kennedy died in the hospital, or he may well have been dead at the moment the bullet smashed into his skull while he rode in that ill-fated motorcade in Dallas, Texas. 

For you all of this is "history," but for me this is all from memory, strangely always in black and white, none of it pleasant and all of it from a past that I had hoped to have passed out of. But here we are. Again.

Later today, because we have this insatiable desire to know the unknowable, or to die trying, an enormous number of previously unreleased documents on the murder of John Fitzgerald Kennedy will be released and every single conspiracy theorist and whack-job from here to Area 51 and back will hop into their black UN helicopters and leave chemtrails across the sky as they rewarm every old chestnut and probably offer some new ones. 

Today is different. Today is not the same. 
-bill kenny