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I was eleven back then, and in sixth grade. For some reason we had no school that day. I had taken my bike to get groceries for the family. On the way back I managed to fall off the bike and break a gallon jug of milk -- milk came in glass jugs back then. Kennedy had just been shot when I got home, so I caught most of the news on the fuzzy black & white TV in the living room.
We had quite a few Cuban refugees in New Jersey back then. I found out later that many of them had called their kids home and locked their doors for the weekend, expecting a military coup.
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