by Guillermo Alfonso Ortega-Noriega

Salvador da Bahia is a beautiful city located up in Brazilian northeast. I was already living there for two years when Antonio Escariz, a colleague-journalist invited me to write for the Tribuna da Bahia, a local newspaper, about my encounter with John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Kennedy was a president at a time when one still believed in governments and in great leaders, as Brazilian Journalist and Writer Roberto Pompeu de Toledo once said.

On November 22, 1973, that Brazilian newspaper published an article narrating the opportunity in which I shook hands with President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, ten years back to be more exact between 9:00 and 9:20 a.m. of November 22, 1963, and there was a picture of that moment, taken two hours and some minutes before he was killed.

For forty-two years, that picture has been with me. Actually, this writing renders homage to photographers, professionals whose mission is to capture reality. The wittiest thing when searching the picture at Fort Worth Star Telegram's files was a strong feeling there was at least one photograph for sure. There had to be one registering that very instant.

I do ignore whether in those days photographer's authorship was guarantied by writing down the professional's name beside the piece. It seems it did not. Be this article, as I said, a homage on behalf of so many anonymous photographers around the world. Without that picture, this article could perfectly be a work of literary fiction. It is not thanks to this photography.

That article written in Portuguese originally, began like this: I was nineteen years old and used to live in Fort Worth, Texas. I had gotten a job in the emergency room at John Peter Smith Hospital, working from 11 p.m. up to seven in the morning of the next day. This way, I could even my budget while attending classes at Texas Christian University.

November 22, 7:15 a.m. I was getting off one bus in order to transfer to another that would take me home to get some rest for few hours before I could go to my first class. Suddenly, I remembered it was announced for that day, the speech President John F. Kennedy would pronounce at the Texas Hotel's parking lot at 9:00 a.m.. He was staying at that hotel since the previous day he arrived to Fort Worth, Dallas' twin city, "where the west begins".

At 7:20 a.m., I felt exhausted with a fixed idea of reaching home to get some sleep. "But it is not every day that one has the opportunity to know a President of the United States personally" - I thought, while walking toward the Texas Hotel's parking lot, having changed my mind knowing that I would have to wait for almost two hours until President Kennedy would show up.

I do not regret to have taken that decision. In those days, Kennedy faced hard attacks from U.S. and international media due mainly to the Vietnam War. His image was not in its best moment. According to the media, the trip to Texas was not very opportune besides the fact of not being very popular in that American region. Later on, I realized that perhaps the only benefit of his death was to recover the good image.

Once at the parking lot, I noticed there was not a single soul so far. For some minutes, I remained in a state of drowsiness. Nowadays, I wonder how I was able to stay on my foot. Jacqueline did not come into sight with him. Evidently, 9 o'clock was too early to face the public, maybe she was in the middle of a nervous breakdown choosing a dress to wear that morning on their way to Dallas. She was an elegant not beautiful but futile woman, that was the impression I had at that moment.

Kennedy in the middle, at each side John Connally and Lyndon B. Johnson. High authorities of the State of Texas, cortege and above everything, Secret Service men, all moving toward the box where the President would speak for various minutes.

A few feet before reaching the place, the President strayed toward the public that formed a semicircle and started greeting everybody by shaking hands, underneath that spirit of honest spontaneity seldom seen in few politicians. However, the Secret Service men forced him to retreat to the place where he was supposed to be according to the program.

Regarding Secret Service agents, I remember I had with me a small handbag I used to carry with a hamburger, a box of milk and one or two books to read during my coffee break or at lunch time at the 3 a.m. As I arrived quite early to the presentation place, I must have been spotted by Secret Service agents who might have considered a Latin American physiognomy threatening, even when Kennedy got along very well with "Tex-Mex" or "Chicanos", so I presumed they decided not to take a risk. Two well-dressed men wearing dark overcoats and hats installed themselves to each one of my sides. I asked to one of them for a match to light up a cigarette. He replied moving his head meaning no matches and kept his hands in the pockets.

An amusing thing was that eight years later I would have the same feeling when as a guest of a Film Festival in the USSR, I was late for my arrival at the city of Tashkent and to avoid the Copenhagen - Moscow connection that would take longer, I took a flight via Leningrad. I do not recall how I managed but I originated a tremendous logistic problem that was only solved when two men, same gear and seriousness as the fellows at Texas parking lot, took me into an airplane heading to Moscow and sat at each side.

In the USSR, my physiognomy resembled Uzbekistan people where great majority is Muslim. I do not know whether during those days they had any troubles with the central government. I think they did.

President Kennedy spoke almost fifteen minutes about rockets, moon, NASA, petroleum of Texas, civil rights. The truth is I do not remember what he said exactly for I was awake already 24 hours. Kennedy said goodbye and, when he was leaving, he decided to disobey the security scheme and headed again toward the crowd.

He stopped up in front of me, looked at, extended his right hand, and smiled while shaking my right hand. He shook hands with other people returning then to the Hotel where he would have breakfast with representative elements of Texas. Thereafter, he would follow to Dallas.

Mrs. A.M. Lewallen rented me a room at her home in Wabash Avenue. I was already sleeping at midday. A very upset dream took over: a nightmare. I wanted to wake up but I could not while sweat was running copiously out of my body.

Somebody had shot down President Kennedy. I yelled: No! I woke up abruptly. My mouth was dry. A deep silence extended all over the neighborhood. A radio was playing at some distance but I did not understand what they said. Silence then hurt my mind. I got up and walked down the stairways until the first floor eagerly wishing for a glass of water. In that instant, I run into Mrs. Lew. (a sweet old lady I will never forget) in a desperate frame of mind. "The President has been shot, Billy!" (She used to call me by my first name in English). "The President was murdered".

Even at sleeping, the subconscious captured the radio news turning them into a dream or rather, a nightmare. I sat down on the step of the stairway and said something in Spanish whose transcription is needless. I do not know for how long I remained there.

Some days later, I visited the Fort Worth Star Telegram to check their file of pictures taken during President Kennedy's stopover in Fort Worth. After three hours searching among some two thousand pictures, I found one. The picture registered the moment when the President extended his hand looking at me. Actually there were more pictures but I only had four dollars to pay the price of one as charged by the Texan newspaper.

That is the story of a fact I experienced and lived when I was young. Would I see it the same way today at 63…? I do not know; neither will I ever do. The good thing of being sixty years old is that time is not longer invested in illusions, in hope, yes, but not in illusions.