We soon learned why he had joined us. It was November 22, sixty years previous to this writing. The Captain announced solemnly that our Commander in Chief, President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, had been removed from life this day. Our next port of call was to be Bluefields, Nicaragua, where we would arrive tomorrow. The Captain informed us of the consequences of any sort of unseemly behavior while we were ashore. We took it seriously.

I know that I was lost, in a daze, stunned… just don’t remember much else after that announcement. I know I spoke to no one. I was not a member of the crew, though had been on board long enough to have been accepted somewhat and stood watch and attempted to jam with the band. I had not established any close bonds and anyway, none of us could have been equipped for such an experience. Such things just didn’t happen. We just knew that things had changed in some profound way and it was quiet.

My next memory was that we had to anchor off of Bluefields and take a boat in. That was the next day. I vaguely remember the band playing and me watching them. I think from the boat – I don’t recall going ashore.

Especially since the Cuban crises, wherein I’ve come to believe Kennedy saved my life, and maybe the world as we know it, I noted later that I was being born while he was struggling to save his PT-109 crew (not sure about time zones and all that). His being a Navy man of course meant something, and much has been written about the decline of leaders with combat experience and the respect they have for the horrors of war. A topic for another essay and probably will be part of my tale of the Cuban adventure.

Right now, let’s say I’m grateful, and will not forget.

That’s it.

Next stop, Puerto Barrios, Guatemala. Another tale another time.