I cried when President Kennedy died.
My kids can understand this in theory and
most years they call me or email a sympathy message on November 22, the date of
his assassination in 1963.
They think it's eccentric, of course, to
get emotional over a historical figure gone half a century. It would be like
choking up during a visit to General and Mrs. Grant in their marble tomb on
Riverside Drive.
Maybe it is strange. But I'm confident I'm
not the only boomer who goes through this every time television rebroadcasts
the color newsreel of Jack and Jackie arriving at Love Field on that sunny
Dallas morning. We didn't learn until years later that John Kennedy was a
flawed human being. When he was alive he was the icon of our idealism. Millions
of pages have been written to suggest he dragged his feet on civil rights or
expediently delayed a decision to withdraw U.S. forces from Vietnam until after
the 1964 election. Still, when he was alive, he inspired a whole generation. “More
than one stranger,” wrote Kennedy aide Theodore C. Sorensen in Counselor: A
Life at the Edge of History in 2008, “has approached me on the streets of
New York over the years, saying, ‘You bring back memories of wonderful times.’”
As far as I'm concerned, they were
wonderful times. And when John Kennedy died, I grieved as when my
parents died years later. I am not the only boomer who will tell you JFK's
death was a deep personal loss that may have dimmed over the years but has never
completely disappeared.
Sometimes when I'm wiping my eyes I'm
surprised to remember: I never met the guy.
Like billions of people around the world,
my only contact with Jack was the electronic flickering of a vacuum tube
electron gun firing electrons on a fluorescent screen – and since only one
electron gun was in operation, the images were in ghostly black and white. I
didn't know for years after his death that JFK had chestnut colored hair.
It would be hard to count the number of
hours I spent as a kid in front of our 12-inch Admiral TV. This was the
miraculous device that brought Lucy and Desi, Fess Parker's Davy Crockett and
Ed Sullivan into our living rooms. The screen was so small that you missed a
lot of detail, like the frayed "S" on George Reeves' Superman costume
that was clearly apparent when the programs were released on high-def DVD five
decades later.
The black and white images on small screens lacked detail, so if you
wanted to know what Jack really looked like, you had to check out the color
displays in LIFE magazine or study the Fabian Bachrach official portrait in the
post office. The JFK I knew and loved was not a flesh-and-blood human being. He
was a television image, and a crude one at that. Is this the stuff of human
companionship?
I recently watched a PBS documentary on
President Kennedy and was struck by the excellent quality of the digitally
restored films, many of them in color. There was the president in the full
flush of youth: the quick toothy smile, the starchy Boston accent, tanned
cheeks, blue eyes glinting with humor, deeply etched laugh lines and clearly discernible pores. It was more like a visitation than a TV program. I
was stunned. John F. Kennedy is more knowable to my kids and grandkids who were born years
after his death than he was to me. My adult children can turn on a flat screen
high-def television and see him more clearly than my contemporaries ever could,
and with the benefit of historical hindsight we couldn't have.
Which raises a small philosophical
question: what is the difference between meeting someone virtually and
meeting them face-to-face? And which encounter has a greater impact?
My mother-in-law met John Kennedy in 1960
when the young senator was in New York's garment district campaigning for the
Democratic nomination for president. She was a beautiful young Cubana then and
the family legend is that she caught the candidate's eye. JFK certainly caught
hers. “He was tall and very handsome,” she reports succinctly, perhaps leaving
out some details. But was the JFK she saw in person – busy, self-absorbed,
working the crowd, grasping hands and casting his eyes in every direction – the
same JFK I knew on an ancient black and white television screen?
I've seen other presidents in the post JFK
period and was moderately impressed. I was on a DC-9 airliner with
former President Ford once and watched him rise too quickly from his seat and
hit his head on the overhead rack. I shook hands with President Carter on
several occasions, once in the White House and later in his post-presidential
appearances. Carter is a warm and gracious man but not particularly charismatic
and you could stand next to him in a buffet line and barely
notice you had reached in front of a POTUS to spear a shrimp.
Somehow these guys seemed bigger on
television.
It goes without saying, of course, that it
is better to relate to someone in the flesh than to a virtual image. Sex is
better than pictures. And video images of a departed loved one only exacerbate
the sense of loss. A digitally preserved face or voice is not the same as a
living smile or spontaneous laugh.
So perhaps we should stop watching
television, turn off our computers, unplug our video games and seek out
enclaves of our fellow human beings. Some church folks advocate abstinence from
Facebook, for example, which they deplore as a fake - a virtual - community, not a real one.
Maybe so. Certainly Facebook and other
electronic social networks can serve as conduits to community. Facebook has
enabled me to reconnect with family and old friends I haven't seen for years,
and a posting by my niece once alerted me to the fact that my sister had been
hospitalized. An Episcopal priest friend of mine uses Facebook to
advocate for his hockey team and test out his sermon ideas.
Clearly, virtual community is not the
place you want to spend your life. But virtual reality can be a
useful tool for helping you map-out where you want to spend your life. Even
the primitive tools of radio and black-and-white television can convey ideals that will change your life forever. People who never met Franklin
Roosevelt were sustained and encouraged by his fireside chats. The message of
John Kennedy's youthful idealism, with all its human flaws, transcends the
media that transmit it. Martin Luther King's soaring rhetoric and moral
integrity has galvanized those who knew him, those who met him on television,
and will have the same impact on babies being born today.
The emotions, the comfort, the inspiration
and the ideas you encounter in virtual community will change your life forever.
The trick is to know when to turn off your computer and live
it.
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