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False Memory Syndrome

Forty two years ago today, my mother and father visited their closest friends, Ron and Betty, who lived a few miles from us in West London.  I was in the backseat of the small black car.  It smelled of leather and my parents' cigarettes.  I was sullen becuase I was already 14 years old and I had far better things to do than visit my parents' old fogie friends to play cards.

I remember this all so clearly because, just as we pulled up outside Ron and Betty's row house, the car radio broke off its normal programming and a solemn voice replaced the happy chatter.  The voice announced that President John F. Kennedy of the United States had been shot and probably killed.  I can still feel the goose-flesh that crawled over my skin.  I remember the loud gasp as my father realized what had been said.   John Kennedy was one of my father's heroes, and he was mine too.  He was our hope for the future, and now he was dead. Nothing else about that evening do I remember.  I'm sure my folks and their friends discussed the assassination, but that has passed from recall.

Within two years of that day, though, JFK had -- in my eyes at least -- fallen from the pedestal upon which his charisma, his beautiful family, and his martyrdom had placed him.  He was quickly revealed as just another centre-right US politician who was happy to send the boys to war, who was happy to squander the nation's wealth on weapons and imperialism, who had no answer to segregation but brother Bobby's federal agents.  Even later, of course, we learned (perhaps we always knew) he wasn't quite such a great family man, either, that Camelot was an expensive sham. 

Johnson_and_kennedyKennedy and his people lived in the tuxedoed world of High Society that was soon to be swept away by the real world of Soul on Ice and Revolver.  We might have hated that big Texas bully who followed Kennedy, but it was Kennedy not Johnson who pushed the US into South Vietnam, and it was Johnson not Kennedy who brought forward the Civil Rights Acts.  Looking back, we can now see that both Kennedy and Johnson were equal participants in the cabaret that is America the Superpower.  Unfortunately for the truth, Kennedy will always have the smile, the beautiful wife, the cute John-John and Caroline, while Johnson will always be pulling the ears off those damn beagles.

November 22, 2005 in History | Permalink

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Comments

Found your website as I was browsing through blogs mentioning folklore or folkloristics.

Intresting how memory works, it is extremely vivid in my mind when John Lennon was shot, how my mother reacted to the news on the radio.

Posted by: Gunnella | Nov 23, 2005 5:44:34 AM

John Kennedy was imperfect like our own selves. He'd voiced that getting into Vietnam was a big mistake. After that the billion dollar machinery of the military industrial complex, Eisenhauer had warned us about, saw him as a threat to their bloody profits. Those who survived WW II had a misplaced swagger, believing that they'd toughed it through. They should have realised they were merely lucky. John and Bobby Kennedy were in favour of improving conditions for blacks. They took great risks politically to move towards that goal. They could have done nothing and still thrived. Hindsight gives us overview and insights to critique what was or wasn't done in the past. Being in the fog and pressure of battle at the time requires going with what you know, what looks possible, and mostly who you are. Successs is never one grand slam but a series of measures towards a worthy end.

Posted by: Barend Kamperman | Nov 27, 2009 9:16:55 AM