Fifty Years On

Today is the 50th anniversary of the assassination of John. F. Kennedy. It's been suggested that we try to post a picture that reflects our abiding memory of that day. It's been often said that this event, along with 9/11, is scorched into our mind such that we remember exactly where we were and what we were doing at the time. That's certainly true in my case. I was a seven year old boy sitting in the front room with my parents watching television, in black and white of course, when a newsflash popped up. I was really too young to understand anything of JFK's presidency but I'm sure I knew who he was and his importance to the world. With far less distraction in the family home back then, I suspect I watched very much more news than any seven year old would be likely to watch today.

I have no other memories from my childhood that are so connected to a time and place. I think the impact for me as a young boy was not directly felt but came through my parent's reaction, especially my father. The memories are vague but I can recall a sense of complete shock, of events unfolding that were beyond anything that could possibly have been imagined. I suspect that my dad may have cried. He was a sensitive and emotional man. I can now only project back with the benefit of more understanding but I suspect the news was felt so deeply because of what JFK represented. We were a working class family, living a hand-to-mouth existence and, despite being on the other side of the Atlantic, he symbolised a certain optimism for the future, especially for ordinary people.

At that time we were sitting less than twenty years after the end of World War Two. The war was more recent to my parents back then than the birth of my own children is to me now. In some way that fateful event felt like the assassination of hope. And it marked the United States forever as a place where unspeakable things could happen. I think it also marked my first passage into the adult world proper. I was allowed to stay up late to hear the latest news come in, to be part of my family's coming to terms with this reality. I may have still been a child but, again interpolating backwards, I possibly no longer felt like a child. It may have been a far more formative experience that I've ever before paused to acknowledge.

I thought it would be impossible to find an image to reflect my young feelings all the way back then. How could I possibly do that? It's hard enough to find the words. By strange chance, though, I stumbled across this scene in an alleyway just a few yards from where I get my lunchtime sandwich, and being very short of time again it's happened to end up being just about the only shot I've taken all day - other than a few portraits. I'm not going to try to interpret this. I think that's best left to you. All I know is that Serendipity is a powerful and mysterious presence in my photography. And not to be ignored.