JFK

The JFK Museum is located at the end of one of the many tiny peninsulas that make up the inner perimeters of the Boston Harbor.  As you look from inside the museum out the large glass windows, you feel as if you're on a ship at sea.  The turbulent waters crashed against the sides of the walkways surrounding the building.  Snow dust danced on deck before being swept away to sea.  It was an exceptionally beautiful sight.  

The Museum chronicles the life of the 35th President of the United States, from childhood through college to his time abroad in Europe, and his decision to run for office.  As you walk throughout the museum, you are greeted time and again by the voice of the president.  Many videos survive of his time in the office and the museum curators have carefully edited these stills into an enjoyable narrative of his short life.  Although a narrative, it is never eery, but instead hopeful and helps carry with exceptional consistency the personal and ethical code of JFK:  service, courage, family and a love for American culture, style and the arts.  Leaving the museum, I feel as if I have stepped into the intimate story of the life of a great man.

I also feel as if I understand myself a bit better.  I have always felt an incredible connection with JFK.  Visiting the museum, and seeing this intimate portrait of him, I understand a little more as to why.  I see in him, a person I aspire to be.  Serious and smart, business minded but at the end of it incredibly passionate and not afraid to encourage expansion of knowledge and culture.  I see in him a joy of life, a love of his country and a real work ethic:  there is an entire room dedicated to the many drafts of his inauguration speech! A man to admire, unlike the cowboys and indians of Reagan and the Bushes.  JFK was an activist, an academic and an artist - the three A's that help make up my identity. 

Although I'm too young to have experienced the days of Camelot, I still feel the loss of the assassination of JFK.  I turn to him for guidance when I am lost.  I caught my breath as I entered into the dark hallway labeled November 22, 1963.  Small screens in the wall run the Cronkite broadcast announcing the death of the president.  Cronkite holds back tears as he announces that "some 38 minutes ago" the president received fatal wounds by an unknown assassin.

The gravity of the situation is further compounded by the rooms proceeding this one:  showcasing promise and greatness in the 1000 + odd days JFK served as president to this nation.  So much life taken away in the blink of the eye.  In the museum, you're not ready for it to end and it gives reason to the question, "Where were you when you heard the news?"  I could try to eloquently put the situation into perspective, but really heartbreak is the feeling I was left with. As I exited the exhibit halls into the great glass patio overlooking the ocean the reality of the situation enveloped me. Emotionally exhausted, I quietly sat on a marble bench with my hands crossed on my lap.

Visiting the museum today was a truly holy experience.