Come Friday next, it will be the 50th anniversary of the day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Half a century. That's what we've had to get accustomed to this idea. And so much has been written, so much thought given to the event and the consequences that one would think that everything there is to say has been said.
But after all this time, after all the "Where were you whens?" and "What I was doing when I heards," we need to remember that there are two generations who have no such memories, only questions. Those questions reflect an essential lesson of history, which is — in Shakespeare's words — "What's past is prologue."
Some of what we have become as a society and a nation began that morning in Dallas. We remember. We listen to those who remember. And we learn.
If you are John Purroy, your memories are typed in purple ink on scraps of yellow paper that your wife, Teresa de la O, found in a manila folder that had spent several years in a storage unit.
John, a retired reporter and editor for The Press Democrat, was working the wire desk that morning. His mementoes are a few of the scores of teletypes received from the wire services that day. The most dramatic among them has just three words:
" — — FLASH
Beside it, written in pencil, in an editor's scrawl, the letter B — for bulletin, the "hold-everything" term that set the bells ringing on the Teletype machines.
Diane Morgan, then a young reporter, remembers Purroy's ashen look. She also recalls that the news editor, Dick Torkelson, took the paper from his hand and said, "Bulletin, hell! We've gotta hold the press!"