The Elusive Hero

@presidentjackfitzgeraldkennedy / presidentjackfitzgeraldkennedy.tumblr.com

"You can't be ordered to be a politician."
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"Children are the world’s most valuable resource and its best hope for the future." ~John F. Kennedy, 1963.(pictured, John F. Kennedy Jr.  1961.)

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"When her mother and father were in the White House, she was the daughter that every parent longed to have. And 30 years later that has not changed."-At the re-dedication of the JFK Library, Tom Brokaw introducing Caroline Kennedy.

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“For millions this was the breaking point. Even the tone-deaf knew there was something different about the Navy’s rendition. The Presidential march is usually a jaunty tune, played 120 beats to the minute. Now the country heard it as a dirge adagio, 86 beats to the minute, slower than a man’s heartbeat. Each soaring strain was drawn out tragically.” -Excerpt From: Manchester, William. “The Death of a President.”

"As the notes ring out, Jackie Kennedy’s heretofore incredible public poise crumbles, her head bows beneath the mantilla of black lace, she sobs openly. It is a scene that brings a nation to its knees." -Excerpt from: Bugliosi, Vincent. “Reclaiming History.”

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“It lasted but an instant. The momentum of the pageant had caught them up again, and even as she firmly put John to her left, in front of the Attorney General, the band struck up “Hail to the Chief.” This was the last time it would be played for President Kennedy. Soldiers snapped from parade rest to present arms. Officers, policemen, and the lead rider of the matched grays saluted. The clergy folded hands; laymen straightened. Jacqueline Kennedy, remembering how the boy had loved to play soldiers with his father, leaned over and took the booklet from him. She said, “John, you can salute Daddy now and say good-bye to him.” The small right hand rose stiffly. Behind him Robert Kennedy’s face crinkled in pain, and Bishop Hannan, glancing across the street, saw the spectators there crumple as though struck. Of all Monday’s images, nothing approached the force of John’s salute. Mrs. Kennedy, standing erect, missed it, and when she was shown the photographs afterward she was astounded. She had expected an unimpressive gesture; in the past his saluting had been both comic and, in her words, “sort of droopy.” But not now. Somehow the mood and meaning of the day had reached the President’s son. His elbow was cocked at precisely the right angle, his hand was touching his shock of hair, his left arm was rigidly at his side, his shoulders were squared and his chin in. His bearing was militant, and to see it in a three-year-old, with his bare legs stiff below his short coat, his knees dimpled and his blunt red shoes side by side—to hear the slow swell of the music, and recall how the President had idolized him—was almost insupportable. Cardinal Cushing looked down on the small face. He saw the shadow of sadness crossing it and felt a burning sensation in his chest. Eight months later he could scarcely speak of it. “Oh, God,” he whispered hoarsely, “I almost died.” -Excerpt From: Manchester, William. “The Death of a President”

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Now a noble heart is breaking. Good night, sweet prince. May hosts of angels sing you to sleep.

                                 John Fitzgerald Kennedy

                                            1917~1963

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On the morning of November 22nd, 1963, President Kennedy greeted a large crowd of well wishers outside his hotel in Fort Worth, Texas. This parking lot is now a park with a large memorial to Kennedy in front of the now Hilton Hotel.

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