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(See Luke 19.) Our family had grown up in University Park, an enclosed park-city surrounded by Dallas, Texas, and attended Christ the King Catholic Church and elementary school.There we worshiped Christ as King of the world, and had a multi-story mosaic of Him to contemplate daily.There were a great number of us standing behind our sign, and we were standing on the curb, so we were able to hold our line as the anticipation built.My brother, Chris, had our Dad’s movie camera and he figured out the best position for him to take movies of it all. Our family was jubilant, my Mom and Aunts simply electrified. He had sacrificed getting a handshake, and in doing so created a treasured film the whole family wants never to forget. And, if the reports are correct of what transpired after that stop, it may well be that it was my brother Bob or, more likely Dan, who was the last person to shake the hand of President Kennedy that day.

When she returned she proceeded to hand draw a sign we could unroll in front of us all in the hopes the President would read it.

Each of us has carried deeply the impressions of those terrible events.

As I key in these words, I can still feel the President’s hand shaking mine.

The sign read simply: Here’s an image I snapped off my TV of our family in the recently aired National Geographic show called “JFK: The Final Hours.” The sign-making and the planning about how we would show the sign at the most opportune moment kept us busy and calmer until we saw the President’s plane fly overhead to land at Love Field.

That’s when the crowd that had gathered there began to jockey for better positions.

We got there early, of course, hoping to get a good spot. We would have a clear view of everyone and everything as they passed by.

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