The next day we travelled to Monticello, in northern Florida, for an extended family Thanksgiving. We arrived on Saturday and watched the news coverage for the entire weekend, still in a state of disbelief. A slew of images are burned in my mind from that time: Jackie in her stained pink dress and just-this-side-of-falling-apart face, standing next to LBJ as he is sworn in as President on Air Force One; John-John saluting as his father's casket goes by; the riderless horse in the funeral procession. But those were still photos. The one that I really remember happened in front of me.
My mother and grandmother were in the kitchen fixing Sunday dinner, while my father, step-grandfather, my three younger siblings and I watched TV. The news cut to Lee Harvey Oswald being transferred from Dallas Police Headquarters to a nearby county jail. Handcuffed to a police detective, Oswald moved through the crowd of reporters and police. Suddenly a man stepped forward and shot Oswald in the abdomen at close quarters. Stunned, we watched it as it played over and over again. And that is the picture I'll never forget. The look of surprised pain on Oswald's face, the detective leaning back in shock and defense, the gun in Jack Ruby's hand and his aggressive stance; all the picture is missing is the noise and chaos afterwards.
For years I associated that event with Thanksgiving at my grandmother's and believed it happened during the Macy's Day Parade. My family believed that right along with me. But
in researching the dates, I found that Thanksgiving wasn't until November 28 that year. President Kennedy was shot on Friday, November 22; Oswald was shot on Sunday, November 24. I don't know why we had the whole week off from school. I don't know why I can so clearly see that Macy's Day Parade. Memories are strange and unreliable things. But I do know that I've never liked parades since.
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