1963 and 1968, years that will live on forever in memories and history.
So many of us remember where we were, what we were doing when the news that JFK, MLK and RFK were dead.
Some of us to this day mourn those deaths and always will.
Some of us wonder, what if?
Most of us wonder from a distance, our memories were not personal, we were not family, friends or employees of these men. We had not been touched by personal contact with them, but we all were touched by their time on earth.
What have the years meant to those who knew them or were touched by them, with a handshake, a hug, a smile?
As I read this article, I was back there, being awakened and told late at night that RFK was dead, and saying, 'don't say that, it is not funny'.
This is the story of such a man, a man who remembers it all, who has relived it for 47 years.
I feel lucky having been alive at the same time as these men. And though I have no claim to have been a part of what they did, I feel as though I was. Perhaps that was part of their magic: they could lift the rest of us up so that not only could we aspire to live in their images, but we believed we could and in so believing, could act with some of their dignity and humanity.
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