That was my nickname all through Jr. and Sr. high school. And 50 years ago today, as I was walking home from school along Great Plain Ave. in the Boston suburb of Needham, a car driven by one of my friends slowed down as it drove by me, and both he and his passenger yelled out to me…

Hey, Greenie… somebody shot Kennedy! They think he's dead!

I just stopped where I was and tried to process that information for a few seconds, and then broke into a dead run. And I kept running for two miles 'til i got home, where my mother was sitting at the kitchen table, crying. The TV was on in the living room and I just dropped down on the couch and watched. Stunned. My father, who had closed his factory and sent his employees home early, arrived a short time later, and he and my mother just sat motionless and speechless at the kitchen table for an hour.

I remember the smallest details. For those of you who are old enough, where were you and what were you doing when you heard the news that day?