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My JFK Story




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On that fateful Friday, November 22nd, 1963, I was only five years and five weeks old, and in morning kindergarten at McLean Elementary School in Wichita, Kansas. After the end of my half-day of school, my mother was driving me to the barber shop for a haircut, and we were waiting at a stoplight at the intersection of 25th and Amidon Streets when she heard on the radio that the president had been shot. To my mother, this was such shocking news that she could not immediately grasp what she had just heard.  Just a few minutes later, when we arrived at the barber shop, my mother told the barber and the other customers there that she thought that she had heard on the radio that the president had been shot. The barber and the others present looked at her in disbelief. The barber then turned on the radio, and "the rest is history."  As I was so young at the time, I confess I have no independent recollection of this day; however, my account is based on what my mother shared with me in subsequent years. In fact, at her funeral almost a year ago -- November 28th, 2012 -- I incorporated this snippet from history into the eulogy which I both wrote and then read at the church service on December 4th, 2012.