As I write this blog entry, the time of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy arrives, the most tragic event of my lifetime until September 11, 2001!
A young, vibrant, charismatic, good looking young President, murdered at a time when there was hope and optimism about the future of America.
This is very different than the present sense of pessimism and dread that millions of Americans feel after the nation has put into the White House a man who represents the worst elements of the American experience.
The fact that two women–Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris–who represented the sense of hope and change that Kennedy represented six decades ago, lost to Trump is very much a source of disappointment.
It is not as if John F. Kennedy was perfect or had a perfect rcord in office, but he inspired millions by being the youngest elected President in American history.
And the fact that his nephew, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has so damaged the historical memory of both his father, Robert F. Kennedy, who was also taken from the nation by assassination, and his uncle, by his horrendous and lunatic conspiracy theories about health and medicine, is tragic.
And the fact that RFK Jr. is about to work with Donald Trump in undermining the health care system, makes the anniversary of the JFK Assassination more depressing than ever before.
A Day In November
By F. Wayne Johnson
I will always remember,
That day in November,
When a president was shot.
The tragic day in Dallas,
Sent a country into paralysis,
And the ultimate death of Camelot.
I was no more than a child,
My political views views were mild,
In the South Civil Rights were being fought.
Many violently disagreed,
With powers to be,
Because people’s values were being crossed.
We were just starting up a war,
On a foreign countries Shores,
And Vietnam had not yet been lost.
Our leaders convinced us they were sure,
For our democracy to be secure,
A lot of weapons needed to be bought.
Young men were being sent away,
There was more and more each day,
But no one would realize the cost.
We were committed way too deep,
Lost Son’s mothers were sent to weep,
Too late the actual truth had been sought.
For that November’s day’s sin,
I often wondered how it might have been,
To hear the story from the man who was caught.
So the important lesson has to be,
For all of us to see,
Is the day must never be forgot.
Thanks, Wayne Johnson!