The Power and Tragedy of Political Assasination

How do people gain perspective when they live in the midst of history being made?

My husband and I moved to Washington DC in 1962. It was a heady place to be living. Live concerts by famous musicians, bookstores, and people from all over the world. The Smithsonian and art galleries. The Library of Congress with two copies of everything ever printed. Congress in session.

The March on Washington on the mall. It was the time of civil rights unrest. Our generation was determined to dramatically change our culture.

In November 1983, helicopters flew over the city announcing that President Kennedy had been shot. By evening it was clear he was dead. Not wanting to go home, we had something to eat at Woodward and Lothrop, a department store with a small restaurant.

Then we joined many others wandering the streets. People were in shell shock. There was little conversation, but like us people sought solace in being with others.

We were standing on Wisconsin Avenue when the motorcade carrying Kennedy’s body rushed by on the way to the Naval Hospital in Bethesda. There he was officially declared dead.

Later we learned that Lyndon Johnson had been sworn in as President as the presidential plane traveled from Dallas to Andrews Air Force base in Arlington. A sniper who disagreed with Kennedy was the assassin.

The next days were a blur. This was not supposed to happen. How did a person make sense of these events? My memories are crystal clear, visual and vivid. But they are a patchwork without any cognitive coherence.

During the transition, Johnson kindly gave Jackie several months to move out of the White House. Every morning Johnson was escorted by motorcade to the West Wing to go to work – traveling fast down Massachusetts Avenue, the avenue of embassies. Past the school where my husband was doing graduate work.

Political assassination is no joking matter. Along with others, we hoped it would never happen again.

But that was not to be. Five years later, Martin Luther King Jr. was killed by a sniper. Months later Bobby Kennedy lay wasted on the ground. Twenty years later I was at a conference, when it was announced that Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated.  A women in the group came forward keening. The sound stays with me.

It only takes one person with a gun to change the course of history.