We were dazed. We could not wrap our heads around the situation. It seemed there was nothing to be thankful for.
Thanksgiving at our Costa Mesa home 47 years ago seemed an afterthought. Six days earlier, our brilliant young president, John F. Kennedy, had been assassinated in Dallas, and the nation grieved.
We college students were particularly devastated; I was 18. The music had died.
Some old guy from Texas became our president and life would never be the same.
On the morning of Friday, Nov. 22, 1963, I awoke at 11 a.m., alone in the house. My parents were working, and my two younger siblings were in school. I hadn't gotten home until long after participating in the opening night performance of a student theater production at Orange Coast College. After the final curtain, cast members had gathered at Bob's Big Boy Restaurant on 17th Street to celebrate.