It started out as an ordinary Friday. I was just a five year old boy, who was having lunch while I watched Bozo’s Circus on WGN-TV. The Grand Prize Game was being played when the bulletin came on the air that President John F. Kennedy had been shot. I called to the members of my family who were in the kitchen. Mom said in later years that their reaction was, “Oh, you’re kidding.” But I doubt that was the case. I don’t think a five year old could make up a story like that. I don’t remember anything else about that afternoon, except going to therapy at Easter Seale. When I got in the door I announced that the president had been shot. I didn’t realize that everyone in the nation knew it. That weekend there weren’t any Republicans or Democrats, just Americans who’d lost their president. I only remember bits and pieces of that weekend. I saw the tape of the chaos of when Lee Harvey Oswald had been shot at the police headquarters in Dallas. I didn’t know what was going on as the picture of Jack Ruby showed on the screen. I remember seeing Jacqueline Kennedy standing looking at the president’s casket in the Capitol Rotunda. She wore a vail over her face. She held Caroline’s hand with her right hand and John junior’s hand with her left hand. I remember the horse pulling the casket down the street with the American flag draped over it. I remember the scene at the cemetery when Mrs. Kennedy accepted the folded flag. I realize that what I’ve said here is of little importance, but I wished to share my memories of that weekend.