Sitting in Math class at the university I went to, long before I became a dub. Several nearby classes broke early and we watched people file past the open door heading outside. The professor saw it, too, and excused himself to go see what was going on. He never came back. After a few minutes, somebody said, "Well, we may as well leave early, too," and got up and left. Soon we were all walking outside. I noticed people were running in the direction of the Student Union. I was strolling in the direction with a classmate, both of us oblivious to the news. Someone came running up behind us and as he passed, said: "President Kennedy's been shot. It's on TV!"
We raced to the student union and stood in shock around a black and white telecast. We got there just in time to hear Walter Cronkite take off his glasses, look up at a clock on the wall, and announce the time of JFK's death. He had tears in his eyes. We did too.
The next four days were surreal. All of us were glued to the TV. Life just stopped. There has been nothing like it in my lifetime, except for 9-11.
A young idealist, I came to feel that Nov. 22, 1963 was the day America died. Events in subsequent years appeared to bear that out. The country went down the toilet in the '60s. That's probably why I was ripe for dub recruitment in the '70s. Looking back today, I have more and better perspective.