I was 11 years old that day in 1963. It was during algebra when the announcement came over the intercom that President Kennedy was shot.
The nun at the head of the class immediately signaled us to get out of our seats and onto our knees. We began praying the rosary, then class was dismissed.
I am not sure I understood what was happening. It was very sudden. I remember that I was conscious of not getting my dress dirty as I ran the mile across town. It was a "colored dress day", meaning we were not in our school uniforms.
When I climbed the stairs to my door and entered the kitchen, I saw a basket of laundry in the middle of the floor and my mother standing in front of the tv, in tears. She turned to me and said, "I was hanging the clothes and I saw the flag at the mill go to half-mast. I knew this was going to happen!"
Over the next few days I listened to worried adults talk about politics. Sometimes they argued.
Something changed. The world didn't seem so safe anymore.
Not too many years later, Richard Harris was singing "Camelot" and we all were thinking of Jackie and JFK.