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JFK assassination: Dallas marks its darkest day with sober ceremony JFK assassination: Dallas marks its darkest day with sober ceremony
(about 1 hour later)
Sleeked in drizzle and shivering in the cold, the city of Dallas marked one of the lowest moments in its collective memory yesterday when thousands gathered outside the Texas school book depository, from whose sixth floor 50 years earlier Lee Harvey Oswald fired the three shots that killed the 35th president of the United States, John F Kennedy. In this sombre Texas city there was silence where 50 years ago there was gunfire. Instead of screams, bells pealed across Dealey Plaza. And there was order and reflection in place of chaos and panic.
Just after 12.30pm, the moment when Kennedy was struck as his motorcade passed through Deaely Plaza, a moment’s silence was observed as the nation remembered the youngest president ever elected to the office. The sky was grey, but this was Dallas’s moment of clarity: a day when a demonised city faced its past in front of the world, hoping that by paying tribute to John F Kennedy’s life, it will no longer be defined by his death.
Commemorations began shortly after sunrise when attorney general Eric Holder had paid his respects at Kennedy’s recently refurbished grave at Arlington National Cemetery outside Washington. A British cavalry officer stood guard, bagpipes played and a flame burned steadily, as it has for the last half-century. Sleeked by drizzle and shivering in the cold, thousands gathered outside the Texas school book depository, from whose sixth floor 50 years earlier Lee Harvey Oswald fired the three shots that killed the 35th president of the United States.
About an hour later, Jean Kennedy Smith, 85, the last surviving Kennedy sibling, laid a wreath at her brother’s grave, joined by about 10 members of the Kennedy family. They clasped hands for a short, silent prayer and left roses as a few hundred onlookers watched. At 12.30pm, the time when Kennedy was struck as his motorcade passed along Elm Street, a short period of quiet was observed, broken by the ringing of bells followed by a rendition of of America the Beautiful by the US naval academy men’s glee club.
In Dallas, about 5,000 people gathered under a bitterly cold drizzle for the understated ceremony in Dealey Plaza. In a nod to Kennedy’s military service, the US naval academy men’s glee club performed America the Beautiful.  The half-hour ceremony, called The 50th, was Dallas’s first major public commemoration of the killing. It featured prayers, hymns and speeches and was a tribute to Kennedy’s life rather than a reprise of his murder. But in a location that resonates so vividly of death, even half a century later and even for people who were not born or have ever visited the US, little needed to be said about the machinations of 22 November, 1963.
Access to Dealey Plaza was tightly controlled: distributed through a lottery, and Dallas police conducted background checks on the winners. The ceremony addressed the consequences, not the conspiracies. The mayor of Dallas, Mike Rawlings, told the crowd that the US had been forced to “grow up” on the day Kennedy died. He called the murdered president an “idealist without illusions who helped build a more just and equal world”.
The mayor, Mike Rawlings, told the crowd that the US had been forced to “grow up” on the day Kennedy died. He called the murdered president an “idealist without illusions who helped build a more just and equal world”. Rawlings unveiled a monument on the grassy knoll that is inscribed with the last words of a speech that Kennedy never got to deliver to local businesspeople at the Dallas Trade Mart:
The stage for the memorial ceremony, just south of the depository building, was backed with a large banner showing Kennedy’s profile. A big screen played archive footage of Kennedy’s career and a giant image of him hung at the eastern end of the plaza. We in this country, in this generation, are – by destiny rather than choice – the watchmen on the walls of world freedom.
The US and Texas flags flew at half mast. We ask, therefore, that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility, that we may exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint, and that we may achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of 'peace on earth, good will toward men.'
Onlookers began assembling for the event hours ahead of time. That must always be our goal, and the righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength.
“President Kennedy has always been kind of revered in our family,” said Colleen Bonner, 41. “I just wanted to honour his memory, and I wanted to be a part of history.” For as was written long ago: ‘except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain’.
Mark Monse, 59, said he had come to the site of the assassination “just to see where it took place … I think this [ceremony is appropriate, far more so than the cottage industry that has developed with 500 books in 50 years and all the conspiracy theorists.” Access to Dealey Plaza was tightly controlled: 5,000 tickets distributed through a lottery, and Dallas police conducted background checks on the winners and restricted access in and around the plaza. The weather forced the cancellation of a performance from the Dallas Symphony Orchestra and an air force flypast, though the conditions suited the subdued tone of the occasion. 
While Dallas has grown dramatically over the past 50 years, Dealey Plaza has changed little since the assassination; the three-way traffic junction is part historical relic, part morbid circus. The stage was backed with a large banner showing Kennedy’s profile. A big screen played archive footage of Kennedy’s career and a giant image of him hung at the eastern end of the plaza. The US and Texas flags flew at half mast. 
Only about 300 yards away from the stretch of grass at its centre stands the former Texas school book depository, from where Oswald took aim the president’s motorcade, according to the Warren Commission – though on any typical day, people hawking books, pamphlets and DVDs on the grassy knoll are keen to tell you otherwise. The Depository is now a museum dedicated to the assassination. Onlookers began assembling hours ahead of the start. Mark Monse, 59, said he had come to the site of the assassination “just to see where it took place … I think this [ceremony] is appropriate, far more so than the cottage industry that has developed with 500 books in 50 years and all the conspiracy theorists.”
Unable to conduct their own ceremonies on the plaza, as they have done annually since the murder, groups of conspiracy theorists – they prefer to be called “assassination researchers” – held conferences at nearby hotels. One group of about 50 people marched through through the crowd on Main Street chanting “no more lies”. They fell silent as they joined the larger crowd watching the screen showing the event. Emil Gosselin had travelled from Vermont “to show my support for the president”. The 61-year-old remembers being at school when the janitor walked in and told him what had happened. “It was like the world stopped,” he said.
But despite fears of possible disruption, the event passed off without interruption, with the weather proving the biggest challenge.  Brad Glazier, 60, came from Delaware to attend the ceremony and a conference held by a group of Coalition on Political Assassinations – they prefer to be called “assassination researchers” rather than conspiracy theorists. Glazier was watching a puppet show in elementary school when the principal broke the news. He wore a yellow T-shirt with the conference’s logo, a coin with an image of Kennedy’s bleeding head, and a slogan calling for more archive material to be released: “50 years in denial is enough. Free the files. Find the truth”.
A planned military flyover and a performance by the Dallas Symphony Orchestra were cancelled because of the wet, near-freezing weather – far different from the bright sunshine of the day Kennedy died.  While Dallas has grown dramatically over the past 50 years, Dealey Plaza has changed little. It is part traffic artery, part historical relic, part morbid circus. Only about 300 yards away from the stretch of grass at its centre stands the building from where Oswald took aim the president’s motorcade, according to the Warren Commission – though on any typical day, people hawking books, pamphlets and DVDs on the grassy knoll are keen to tell you otherwise. Threatened with demolition in the 1970s, the depository is now a museum dedicated to the assassination.
But thousands of people still congregated on the plaza, many arriving hours before the half-hour long ceremony, which featured prayers, speeches and a moment of silence. Unable to conduct their own ceremonies on the plaza, as they have done annually since the murder, groups of conspiracy theorists – they prefer to be called “assassination researchers” – met nearby. One group of about 50 people marched through through the crowd on Main Street chanting “no more lies”. But the ceremony passed off without incident.
Howard Stiller, 64, had come from Georgia. “I’d never been to Dallas or Dealey Plaza and wanted to be here today,” he said.  Earlier, at Arlington National Cemetery just outside Washington, where President Obama paid his own tribute earlier this week, attorney general Eric Holder paid his respects at Kennedy’s recently refurbished grave. A British cavalry officer stood guard, bagpipes played and a flame burned steadily, as it has for the last half-century. About an hour later, Jean Kennedy Smith, 85, the last surviving Kennedy sibling, laid a wreath at her brother’s grave, joined by about 10 members of the Kennedy family. 
In Dallas, about 90 minutes after the ballot-winners, dignitaries and news cameras had left Dealey Plaza, a few protestors marched through - but the place seemed to be returning to normal. Hucksters and hustlers were back, telling anyone who cared to listen the truth about what really happened, and why.
And by Monday the barriers, scaffolding and journalists will have departed, leaving a few tourists, a lot of commuters, and a city getting on with going forward.
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