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Remembering that day

Road Runner

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I know, most of you were too young to remember, but I suspect that a few of us have vivid recollections of that day.


I was a freshmen in high school and a member of the school band.  We had been dispatched to a nearby school to participate in their homecoming parade on a warm Friday afternoon in November.  We had disembarked from the school buses and began to form into our marching positions when we were abruptly told to return to our buses because the parade had been canceled.  This was really weird because the weather was warm and sunny and the idea that a school would cancel their homecoming festivities seemed unfathomable at the time.  Once we boarded our bus, the school band director informed us that the President had been shot and that we would be returning to our school immediately.  The return trip was eerily silent.  Few spoke, immersed in their own thoughts and fears.  When we arrived back at our school, the news was grim.  The President was dead.  Many students began to cry. We were sent home.


A very sad day, followed by several more.  

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