The night Barack Obama was elected president, people danced in the streets of New York. Our man had beaten the GOP. I looked into the eyes of a man my age and we started crying, not out of joy, but in relief of having endured the lost years since November 22 1963.
Obama was one of us. He took office two months later. The presidential limousine drove him from the inauguration stage to a series of parties. Thousands of supporters glad-handed their president and at the end of the festivities Barack Obama found himself in the White House.
He had it all.
The Oval Office.
The Red Phone to Moscow.
They were his along with two wars and a shattered economy.
That evening he must have looked at his wife and said, “What now?”
If I was Michelle, I would have said, “What about the Kennedys?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who killed the Kennedys?”
“That’s a dangerous question.” And he dropped the subject.
The President has had eleven years of access to the deep, dark secrets buried by various agencies; Roswell, Martin Luther King, Pearl Harbor et al. We have too many questions, yet nothing new has come to light during his administration and considering the body count for asking the wrong questions, I can appreciate his patience.
It takes time to unbury the truth and even fifty years after the fact and it doesn’t look like Obama is going to get it for us either before his access is gone.
So who killed the Kennedys?
Someone knows, but they ain’t saying.