The most notorious political murder in recent American history occurred this day in 1963, when John F. Kennedy, the 35th U.S. president (1961–63), was shot and killed in Dallas, Texas, while riding in an open car.

I was born ten months after that dark day in Dallas, but the residual results remained. The widowed First Lady, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, was still very much an international icon and a continued focus of the paparazzi. My mother followed and emulated Mrs. Kennedy’s fashion and hairstyles, and my homemade outfits were similar to those worn by Kennedy’s son, John, Jr..

Growing up in the 1960s and 1970s, our country continued to recognize Pearl Harbor Day. It’s amazing to think that when I was born in September 1964, Pearl Harbor had not yet reached its 63^rd anniversary. I grew up knowing where folks were on December 7, 1941, and November 22, 1963. Now, the impact of Pearl Harbor is overshadowed by 9/11.

The tragedies that seemed to follow the Kennedy family became too real for my family after meeting Senator Robert Kennedy at my hometown’s legendary eaterie, Mangas Cafeteria, two months before his own murder. I was three months away from my fourth birthday, but I can still recall watching his funeral on television with my family. The discussions following Bobby Kennedy’s shooting and death seemed to return to the haunting days of Dallas, nearly six years before.