Fifty Years Tomorrow

Dear John,

 

Goodness, it's late already! I've been resolving a computer adventure. I downloaded something that tried to eat the animals and burn down the house and take over the world. And it changed my browser homepage, darn it! I finally got six different things - six! - uninstalled, and all is well.

 

Tomorrow will be the 50th anniversary of the Kennedy assassination. I remember that day so well. I was in third grade, and they let us watch the television coverage until the buses got there to take us home early. My grandmother cried for a week.

 

There's been a lot of television coverage, as you can imagine, and I've learned a lot about the events leading up to the drive through Dealey Plaza. The supposedly-earthshaking conclusion is that the majority of Americans don't think we know everything about the assassination. I would think that would be obvious from the moon. I never for a minute believed a word the Warren Commission said. I keep thinking about something you said years ago - that you didn't believe aliens had landed, but you were certain that, if they had, the government would cover it up.

 

We are members of our own generation, aren't we? Several pundits have said that trust in the government died that day. A lot died that day. I also keep thinking about something that I said years ago - the 1950s ended on November 22, 1963. And the 1960s ended on May 4, 1970. But that's another subject.

 

So I was almost eight years old when it happened. And what made my eight-year-old brain start asking questions was when Jack Ruby shot Oswald. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why a nightclub owner would get so worked up that he'd go kill the assassin. It made no sense to me then, and it makes no sense to me now. The question doesn't get much press and I've never heard a decent explanation of it. And that's still what I can't swallow. For me, any answer that doesn't cover that, doesn't hold water. I don't know what happened, and I doubt that we ever will. Maybe the aliens shot him and the government covered it up.

 

When our generation gets to the nursing home, besides arguing over Beatles or Stones, we'll be sitting in our wheel chairs and restraints shouting Oswald, and LBJ, and CIA, and FBI, and Secret Service, and Castro, and who knows how many more theories by then. It changed all of us forever.

 

So that's my mulling for tonight. I wish you were here so I could hear what you think about it now. By now you probably know what really happened. Can you drop me a hint?

 

Love you so much,

Joan.