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Until that fateful day 50 years ago the only President I remembered being assassinated was Abraham Lincoln.
I was sitting in a college class my freshman year at Platteville State College (now UW-P) and was thinking about going home to watch my former high school basketball teammates play Lancaster. Then the door opened and the rest of the day, in fact the next few days, bordered on the unreal.
The person who entered the classroom, a female I didn't know, announced that President Kennedy had been shot.
The first thought I had was that this could not be happening. But, if that announcement did not feel like a dagger in the heart, the next one did.
President Kennedy had died.
Out of respect schools and businesses shut down and the nation began to watch the sadness from the tragedy unfold. It may have been the only time the national media did not trip over each other trying to get the story. They seemed to cooperate and help tend a nation's wounds with care and respect.
Anyone with access to a television no doubt watched in silence as the funeral took place. Nothing was out of step with the way the country mourned.
The course of history was altered from that day forward. None of us know what would have happened if the President had lived and had been able to serve his term. At best what we could come up with would be nothing but a guess.
Slowly the nation pulled itself up from the depths and got back to work. But it wasn't the same.
And for those of us who were there, it never will be.