One Fall Day

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Last week at this time, I was at the American Heart Association 2017 Scientific Sessions meeting in Anaheim, CA. I’m not going to risk a libel suit for telling you what I think about Anaheim.

I’m sure that anyone who has read my previous posts knows that events of only a week ago have not aged sufficiently to write about anyway. But being at the AHA brings back memories. I attended the 1977 AHA meeting that was held in Dallas, and I have never entirely gotten past it.

If you remember, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas in November, 1963. The 1977 meeting was my first visit to Dallas, and the United States had just traded Gerald Ford for Jimmy Carter in the Oval Office. The loss of JFK was still fresh.

On a sunny but chilly day in early November, I walked the several blocks from my downtown hotel to the Texas School Book Depository building. At the time, the building was in a sort of renovation limbo, and it looked haunted. It was impossible to keep from looking at the sixth floor and wondering which window Lee Harvey Oswald shot from.

I’ve never felt good about Dallas, or the American Heart meeting since.

President Kennedy gave his last public address at Amherst on October 26th, 1963. I was lucky enough to be in audience. I have joined a group of classmates (some of whom are shown here) working on a documentary that looks at the content and impact of that speech, and offers some commentary on its relevance today. As part of the effort, our group met at Amherst College on October 28th   for a Saturday event called “Poetry and Politics, A Celebration of the Life and Legacy of JFK.”

The day was not unlike the October day in 1963 when the President spoke: a crisp, sunny fall day in New England, enough leaves on the ground to rustle as you walk, and enough still on the trees to stand out in color against the blue sky and high, thin clouds. After three outstanding presentations by current students and a panel discussion, the 150 or so of us who were “celebrating” gathered on the grassy quadrangle in front of the Frost Library, the building JFK had come to dedicate.

The keynote speaker looked familiar as he stepped vigorously up to the podium. Congressman Joseph P. Kennedy III is unquestionably one of “the” Kennedys. He looks more like his grandfather, Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, than his great-uncle the President, but the resemblance is strong.

After the speech, I took a little private walk around the campus. I looked at the second floor of James dorm where I lived, at the Chapel where I had listened to Robert Frost say his poems, and the playing field at the foot of Memorial Hill where I had watched JFK’s helicopter land.

The young Congressman gave a good speech. Not perfect, but perfectly adequate. He’s just 37; there’s time, and there’s hope.

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