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I was 12, was told by our bus driver as we were loading the bus to go home. That the president had been shot. I asked the busdriver," What president?"
I Got home in time to watch Cronkite make the announcement that he had died. It was a sad day for the country. But there were no tears at our home. We were poor folks living in the country, in Massachusetts. We know Jack and his clan [abbreviated profanity deleted] the crooked philandering thieving drunken ways, My dad hated the Kennedy's.

All my dad had to say about it, was "About time someone shot that bastard". He died before we all learned what a lout Nixon was.