The awful day that got us to the moon

My generation remembers exactly where we were when we heard the news on November 22, 1963.  JFK had been shot and killed.  A dagger to the heart.

So, as a nation, we decided that by God we would get to the moon, just like Kennedy had called on us to do.  We wanted to beat the Russians, and we wanted to honor our fallen President.

Back 50 years ago I was sleeping on a couch in my Uncle Fritz’s one bedroom apartment in Anchorage.  We watched Armstrong step on the moon with Aunt Helen Mary, on their little black and white, with rabbit ears.  None of us had much to say, other than “I’ll be damned.”

Other than 9-11, there’s only been one day that I think is worth remembering since the moon landing.  A day that shocked the world.  The day Trump won.


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