In 1960 dad’s naval career landed our family in Holland. We didn’t own a television—it wasn’t
necessary since cable and satellite hadn’t been invented yet and besides, all
of the shows were broadcast in Dutch anyway.
Our only means of staying up with what was going on in the world was
through the handful of American-speaking radio stations available in Europe.
One Friday night my dad’s best friend and his family came to our
apartment for dinner and conversation.
The son and I were playing in my room when my mom peeked in, smiled and
said our guests were getting ready to leave.
It didn’t take long for us to pick up the toy soldiers strewn across the
floor, and when we walked out into the living room I was caught off guard to
find my mom standing in the middle of the floor crying. It came as quite a shock, not only because
she was smiling just minutes before but also because it was the first time I
ever saw my mom cry. I didn’t understand
what was happening until I heard the radio announcer report:
I repeat: John F. Kennedy,
the President of the United States is dead.
For a moment time stood still.
Actually as I think back to that fateful day and visualize it in my mind—everything
still as clear as if it happened yesterday--time didn’t stand still; rather it appeared
to be moving in slow motion.
My mom continued crying. My
dad—more solemn than I had ever seen him before-- firmly shook the right hand
of his best friend. His friend left
without saying a word; his family followed right behind in total silence,
obviously stunned by what we had just heard.
I was eight years old. I
had only seen pictures of President Kennedy in the newspaper. What I knew about JFK I learned from my third
grade teacher at the American School in Den Haag. My parents were never the type to talk much
about politics—at least not in front of my sister and me, but I did know they
had a lot of respect and admiration for President Kennedy. It was never more apparent when they heard
the radio announcer on that fateful Friday evening a half century ago.
In the years ahead the life of John F. Kennedy had a definite, perhaps
even dramatic impact on my life. The President’s commitment to physical
fitness led me to my first 50-mile hike as a child and 45 years later my first
JFK 50-miler as an adult. I studied
speechwriting while I was in college; my professor was enamored with the
eloquence of President Kennedy and taught me many of the finer aspects of his
unique gift. I don’t think there has
ever been a student who was more attentive than I was in that Anderson Hall
classroom.
There remains the eternal speculation of ‘what might have been’
had the President not been assassinated.
Some say he was destined to be the best President our country has ever
known. Sadly, we have no way of knowing:
John F. Kennedy was taken away from us much too soon.
My dad’s best friend gave me a copy of The Torch is Passed when we left Holland for my dad’s new
assignment in Rhode Island. The book is
a tribute to President Kennedy and a true masterpiece; a historical treasure
and worthy addition for anyone’s personal library.
In closing, I leave you with the words of the 35th
President of the United States, spoken at his Inaugural Address on January 20,
1960:
Let the word go forth from
this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to
a new generation of Americans—born in this century, tempered by war,
disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of our ancient heritage—and
unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of those human rights to which
this nation has always been committed, and to which we are committed today at
home and around the world.
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