On the afternoon of November 22, 1963, we were released from school without explanation. When I came in the door, my mother was standing at the sink in the kitchen. Her back was to me and she seemed to be holding herself upright with her hands pressed against the counter edge. She turned around and there were tears streaming down her face. I had never before seen her cry. She told me that President Kennedy had been shot.
For the next four days, I sat in front of the television in rapt attention to the devastating news that the president had died, to the funeral procession, and to Oswald being killed. I also took in stories of the president’s heroism during WWII, the archived footage of his speeches, historic milestones of his life and administration, and the world’s collective grief. I was seven years old and that was the first moment in my life that I became aware of a world beyond our home, family, and school.
It is more than likely that no one discussed with me what I was watching and hearing during those November days. Accordingly, I absorbed those events without filter or cushion. My child’s heart took in the sadness, the fear, and the loss. But, in some deep way, I also absorbed the hope and idealism that John Kennedy represented to so many. My first impressions of politics and government were stories of courage, dignity, hope, and inspiration. Even at seven years old, the words “ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country” found some resonance in me. Those values that I absorbed as a child, in the dark days of November 1963, created the foundation for a deep and durable patriotism.
Of course, we grow up. We realize that our heroes are imperfect, social justice and equality are elusive, money seduces, and power corrupts. We learn that politics is a messy business and that our enduring Constitution is the result of vision and wisdom, but also of self-interest, conflict, and compromise. But these days, we seem to incrementally increase our tolerance for the utterly unacceptable, lowering the bar until there is no floor. How did we get to a point where potential treason merits a “ho hum” if the actor is on your team? How can we ask our veterans to risk their lives and freedoms for our country, but allow our political leaders to take the lowest of roads solely to consolidate their own power? Democracy is robust but it does not have limitless resilience.
There have been many discussions recently about the importance of facing the dark times of history and applying their lessons. We must understand how tyranny rises in order to prevent that rise. Likewise, we must understand how democracy rises and is sustained. The indelible values I learned at age seven still hold powerful sway over me. No doubt the emotion of the events created deep and abiding memories, but those memories have taken shape and meaning with the benefit of age, experience, and education. With adult insight I have come to realize that the thing I admire most about John Kennedy is that regardless of his own human flaws, as a leader he spoke to and called forth our better angels.
Policy is critically important of course. And people of good faith can have very different ideas about how to create a world with liberty and justice for all. But to sustain our democracy we need more than policies and platforms. The example of the Cuban missile crisis instructs. No one disagreed, as a matter of policy, that Russia could not be permitted to sustain a missile arsenal in Cuba. But John Kennedy had the confidence and wisdom to resist the intense pressure for military escalation and instead find a back-door diplomatic solution that likely avoided nuclear devastation.
Had he lived John F. Kennedy would be 100 years old on May 29th. Soon his presidency will move entirely from shared memory to history. But he left a powerful legacy. He called for sacrifice and service. He loved and supported the arts. He was a student of history and personally understood the terrible costs of war. He grasped our global interdependence before technology made those connections apparent to all. And he was able to handle the burdens of the presidency with grace and humor. People the world over cried when he died not because of his politics or even his policies, but because of his humanity and inspiration.
Our children and grandchildren deserve to have the same high expectations and hope for the future of our country that I felt as a young child. Perhaps we can take the occasion of the 100th birthday of John F. Kennedy to rededicate ourselves as citizens to value backbone over self-interest, progress over ideology, and country over party. To honor the legacy of John F. Kennedy, we need to write many more profiles in courage.