On the 50th Anniversary of JFK’s Assassination: Accident and Destiny

John Fitzgerald Kennedy: The 35th President of the United States

John Fitzgerald Kennedy: The 35th President of the United States

I was living in Mexico City, waiting on the corner for the light to turn green. It was a very busy thoroughfare called Avenida Insurgentes by the Zona Rosa and traffic was very heavy. I remember turning to see two guys walk up to my corner. They were tourists: anyone who wears shorts is. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I could tell they were Americans.

For some reason, I just felt like I didn’t want to stand near them. Having lived in Mexico City for so long, I learned how to pass inadvertently through throngs of people without anyone noticing I wasn’t Mexican. And standing near these guys made me feel very much a target.

The light was still red so I crossed the street, past a taxi which was also waiting for the light to turn right, to get to the other corner.

The light turned green and I started to cross. I had gotten halfway across when I heard an impact. I quickly turned and the story unfolded in my head as if I had watched the entire scene: the taxi that was waiting crept slowly as the two Americans crossed in front of him. Meanwhile, another taxi had shot out from behind the first taxi to jump it in line to get ahead, not realizing that there were people crossing.

The second taxi hit one of the Americans and took off. The friend who wasn’t hit was screaming and throwing his hands up and down. The one on the ground raised himself slightly and I could see the blood streaming down his face.

I had to sit down on the other side of the street, I was trembling so much. My hands shook as I called an ambulance. It was then, that with stunning clarity, I saw the pieces move: had I stayed on that corner, it would have been me. I was standing exactly on the side of the guy who got hit before I moved off.

All because I had a feeling that I didn’t want to stand near these two men.

It was when I watched this following video that I thought about that particular story. It is about a journalist named Pierce Allman who was there on that fateful day in Dallas and how he had a chance meeting with Destiny. He seems a lot more burdened and troubled than his words convey. Haunted by a memory of death, he searches for peace in the form of truth. And as the Thanksgiving dinner is stored away for lunch leftovers, I wonder what it would take for him to truly feel that he can give thanks in its entirety.


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