One Day in 1960

I was ten years old, and knew nothing of presidential politics. But somebody famous was coming to Billings. (Previously, the town was captivated by a visit from the Lennon Sisters.) To see the face, the features, and to connect it to that man on the TV screen who did all those important things was enough to set me in awe.

Billings didn’t have ramps for loading and unloading passengers. They debarked onto the tarmac and walked into the terminal. When JFK’s plane landed, there was a throng of us, and we surged forward to meet him. I imagine there were security people all around him (although in those days the Secret Service did not guard presidential candidates), but I wasn’t aware of any. No one stopped me from getting close to him.

I was two thirds of the height of the average spectator, so I was not going to see over any heads. I used my size to my advantage, working my way under and around people, making it to the front of the crowd. I could see him as he walked towards us, smiling, his eyes looking off in the distance, only somewhat aware of us. I poked my hand between the grownups, and held it out. We never made eye contact. We shook hands. Only one of us was aware of the importance of that event.

Three years later I would think of that handshake in a different light. But touching him that day was enough to fill my young heart with joy.