I was 23 years old and at work in downtown Oklahoma City. I had walked 3 block from the office to Main street for lunch and on the way back to work I noticed some people crying and hurrying somewhere. I finally stopped a man on the street who looked like he had seen a ghost or something and asked what was wrong and he told me President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. I was about a block from the office and ran the rest of the way back in 3" high heels. Of course, we didn't have a TV in our office, but we had a radio and stayed glued to it all day. I remember everywhere you went someone was crying (probably me) and it seemed there wasn't anything else to talk about. Of course, I watched the funeral and cried and cried over the riderless horse, John-John saluting, Jackie being so brave behind her black vail. It was like a member of our family had died. And it seems life was never the same after that. We all went on of course, but for years the sun just didn't shine as bright.