Where were you in 63

Not quite as catchy as the slogan from American Graffiti (Where were you in 62), but for many of my generation  it was a point of pride to remember exactly where you were and what you were doing at 12:30 central time on Nov. 22, 1963.  I can still remember the light shining through the streaked windows in the library at St. John the Evangelist catholic school that afternoon when the news reached the nuns who in turn told us the president was in hospital after being shot in Dallas.  The rest of the afternoon and evening were a blur, and the indelible images of the horse drawn caisson rolling into Arlington cemetery took up the rest of the weekend.  As a 7th grader I was curiously detached for the most part, but at some level I realized history was being made.  Catholics in particular took the assassination very badly.  One of our own had been gunned down and the world would never be quite the same again.  A Canadian friend was commenting on the approaching anniversary the other day and casually stated the FBI was behind the death as if it were established fact.  I wonder what the verdict will be 50 years from now.