1963 “What it Feels Like.”
Texas, the ‘Lone Star’ State. What a sight, nothing like Washington on the west coast, with its dull, dragging timeline; cars seem to drive endlessly, aimlessly, lives seem to hang perpetually, threadbare. Texas just has this warm, welcoming, accepting nature. An atmosphere that embraces me like a loving mother on a frigid winter’s eve, I belong here. Of course, nothing is and will ever be like Brookline or Bronxville, but having spent most of my time recently in the office, my home away from home, one sometimes has to break the confined spaces of an oval and accept the wider land. I love this feeling.
I came for a purpose. I came on business. I welcome the mind-set; I must stay focussed, not stray from the path of importance, however thin and convoluted it may be. I only just triumphed three years ago, Nixon was a fair opponent. Re-elections are not looking promising, I need to get these people on my side, and thank goodness Johnson, Connally and I arranged this visit. Voter fraud is no excuse, I need to mend the fences among these leading Texas Democratic Party members that were so unjustifiably neglected. We must be a team; there must be no friendly-fire on the battlefield, it only leads to broken minds and shattered ideas, unfinished.
Dallas, now. Jackie and I, we love to travel together. “Jack”, she whispers, in her soothing New Yorker accent, “we need to stick together, you and me.” I cannot help but smile every time I see or even hear her; her short, silky brunette hair cascades over her big dark eyes. Her smile, which lights up the room she walks into tenfold, speaks words incomprehensible to man, but I understand it all. Her words flow like Niagara, but with no crash, only an endless stream of remedying comfort. So warm is her grasp, it melts sorrows and intertwines me with her, I never want to let go. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ever let go, it meant nothing. I realize now that only a fool attempts to bury themselves, away from the reviving potential of love, I don’t want to be a jester.
It’s November 22nd, a surprisingly passable autumn afternoon. One could see the remnants of the now-fallen leaves on the bare, unclothed, trees. They shiver, the toothpick twigs swaying, the Dallas atmosphere pushing and pulling. With this procession, I feel like the only way to reassure my self is to go out unmasked, no hiding. The many times I’ve played puppet, it was, once again, a chance to yell ‘cut’, to break loose, cut the strings and feel fancy-free finally.
‘The Dallas Presidential Motorcade’, I see the banners. I see the TV news crews and I see the Lincoln Continental. A silvery darkness so clean, the man staring back at me in the reflection is impressed. Smooth to the touch. It may not be like the cars I’m used to seeing, but it is one that offers power, éclat, yet acceptability all at once, I see that. Connally and his wife will be in there with us as well as Kellerman and William, of course, and I wouldn’t mind the ride if it weren’t for that damn security. Personally, I prefer to be on my own, allowed to live, ungoverned by anyone or anything, but when one is in my position, one cannot risk, nor can they govern. The irony.
This motorcade is a smooth ride. These faces. The faces that stare back at me have appreciation in their air; it’s always reassuring to see those who recognise the effort put into strenuous, toilsome management of an event such as this. They are beholden, as am I. This seems like it’s going well, this is splendid. “Stop the car” I yell merrily on one occasion. These nuns I see, they look at me with the guise of Roman Catholic happiness. My religion is an escape route from all the drama, the debilitating métier I’ve committed myself to. It is affection like I’ve never known before. Praying is the only way I know how to communicate with God, who always helps me through burdensome, sometimes herculean times. And so, greeting these nuns gives me hope: hope that faith is not dead, hope that I am doing the right thing.
“Stop again”. I see the future. I see another glimpse of hope. These children, however small or incompetent they may seem, will grow up to become something, they will see prodigiousness, I am sure of it. Their energy, their enthusiasm is tenacious. There is no stopping these kids. Their future is as bright as any star. Our future, I can’t wait to see.
I can’t help waving. The atmosphere, the ambience, the wondrousness of the situation forces my hand up, as if it were a question in a classroom. It is a slave to the current as it sways like a drunkard, from side to side, emitting rays of joy unto the people witnessing. I love this feeling. Making everyone happy is my main ambition. I love to see people smile; Jackie, Caroline, Jr, Mom, Dad, Joe, Bobby, Ted, Rosemary, Kick, Eunice, Pat, Jean. It is always a joy to know that my revelry is passed on and accepted. I wonder if
