The first major historical event in my lifetime riveted me at the time and has gripped me since. Historical and political awareness awoke in my young mind over those terrible four days in November 1963.
Forty-six years later like a moth to light, this place attracts me. The Plaza holds no mystery for me. I know every nook and cranny, every conspiracy theory and every person associated with those days.
The Grassy Knoll, the Texas School Book Depository, the Sixth Floor, the Triple Underpass, Stemmons Freeway, Zapruder, Oswald, and the forever young President John Fitzgerald Kennedy flood my mental vision as I wander Dealey.
Dealey Plaza is not an imposing place. It is a small park in the middle of the West End Historic District of downtown Dallas, Texas. The curious come here in a regular flow. They wander, some knowing the tale, others having only read about it. All attempt in some small way to recapture some of the Kennedy mystique.
The story is the saga of youth lost and what might have been. Like all the others I wonder why and lament the potential killed that day. I think in some small way visiting this site is a way to get closure after all these years, to get my mind to accept that yes, it did really happen.