The unreality of it all continued through a Thanksgiving weekend that wasn’t. A droopy faced vice-president raised his right hand as we held each other’s. Then, just as the enormity of what had happened began to set in, a baby-faced assassin was gunned down in our living room. The magic box made its final transition and stared back at us in disbelief. This wasn’t just life imitating art… it was the end of innocence. I don’t think we realized how deeply the razor had cut until the bleeding began (more bleeding than we could ever have imagined). Deep emotional ligaments had been severed and America would never use its muscles the same way again.