Across the years, I have heard so many stories so eerily similar to this one. We should never pretend the death of an athlete has anything close to the historical meaning of the death of a president, but I wasn’t alive on Nov. 22, 1963. I don’t have that horror frozen in my brain, as my older cousins do, as my parents did.
But it doesn’t take very much at all to summon precisely what I was feeling at dinner time on Aug.