Yesterday, Betsy and I took a walk downtown to see if there were any goings-on surrounding the 36th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. We headed through the undulating canyons of the central business district, and tried to stay on the sunny side of the street as autumn temperatures arrived and a gentle wind ushered leaves down the cool streets and across lengthening shadows.
The JFK Memorial is a not-quite-stark white box, made of concrete, that rests just about two feet from the ground, seeming to float despite its bulk. The box is cleft on the North and South ends to create two towering halves that surround a slightly sunken central square in which rests the main dais. The dais is, as the information says, too low to be a table, to square to be a tomb, and too large to be merely a commemorative plaque. On the two sides facing the exits to the cenotaph is engraved “JOHN FITZGERALD KENNEDY” and painted gold to catch what light enters from the gaps, or manages to rappel its way down the massif.
This day, the anniversary, we were expecting not fanfare, but perhaps black ribbons or even a flag at half-mast. Maybe the flags were at half-staff, but I didn’t notice. There were few people save for what seemed like a couple of groups of tourists – families – snapping pictures. In fact, as we approached the memorial from the opposite side of the street, a large group of bicyclists, mostly dressed in Victorian garb, went past. The peloton seemed not to notice the memorial. In fact, it turns out it was a “tweed ride” and it’s only connection to Kennedy was that the group was rallying at the Grassy Knoll.
The Memorial was quiet, as I said, and a few small bouquets seemed lackadaisically placed atop the marble slab, along with a smattering of coins that gave it the air of a wishing well or busker’s hat. Two women, reading the information and inscriptions on the north side suddenly came to the realization that today was, in fact, the day. They seemed surprised.
Dallas, it seems, still bears a heavy weight. Downtown has some elegant buildings, but there is a certain silence and seediness. If not seediness, there is a stillness that exists downtown like a moment frozen in time. Like that gunshot was a shutter release, forever cementing Dallas in a foggy void, like a grainy photo. That vacuity was never more evident that yesterday. A 1965 Mustang parked nearby seemed to further the notion that nearly 50 years hadn’t elapsed in this city.
The city is trying to overcome the stigma that I think is attached to it. It bears a heavy cross and I think that there is an intentional lack of publicity around the anniversary. Perhaps we came too late in the day. The Observer claims there were ‘scores’ of tourists. The Sixth Floor Museum seemed to have a small crowd outside, but was by no means scores of people. The Cowboys game had ended so there wasn’t really a reason for people not to be outside.
Maybe, much like Ground Zero in New York City has become hallowed ground, yet ground that many New Yorkers feel too gutted to visit regularly, the JFK Memorial is still too haunting for some.
