One thing about getting older is that chances are you were alive when something important happened.
Like when Kennedy was murdered. Assassinated. and not only by Oswald.
I was in the fifth or sixth grade at the time. We had just returned from lunch and getting ready for the second half of the school day when our teacher came into the room crying. She said the president had just been killed. The girl in front of me began to cry. I honestly did not know what it meant, it slowly dawned on me. He was dead.
Then Oswald was killed, by Jack Ruby. And it goes on and on.
I have watched and read about it over the years. And one thing always strikes me as strange, the pictures of people running to the grassy knoll. Especially the policeman.
And how quickly Oswald was found. And the suspect getting shot. And how all the usual protocols for protecting the president was changed on that day. And all the irregularities of how they handled the autopsy and the body and the sloppiness of the investigation.
It is true, many people hated him. Many government agencies, Cuba, Russia, and the mob.
Many saw a long line of Kennedy's in the White for decades to come. That scared them. Bad for business.
There are many pictures people have not seen, other movies from other angles, evidence that is not well known.
A conspiracy consists of more than one person. Simple enough.
Oswald did not do it alone, he was the fall guy, the dupe. He thought it was him alone.
Fifty years later the quest for the truth is still there. No one is satisfied.
You should not be satisfied.
I am not.