Yesterday was the 46th anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s assassination in Dallas. JFK was 46 at the time of his death. I am 46.

One thing that troubles me about Dallas is that the whole identity of the city is 1) the Kennedy assassination and 2) the Dallas Cowboys and 3) the really, really old TV series, Dallas. If I mention this to Dallasites, the response is “That’s not true!” … silence … change of subject.

Anyway, every November the local newspaper starts up with the assassination stories. I don’t know how they keep thinking of new things to write about, but somehow they do. Over the three Novembers I’ve lived here, I’ve gradually become aware that November 22nd is a non-official city holiday, and certain resident (and non-resident) conspiracy theorists fetishize it, and that is something interesting I should probably observe while I live here. So yesterday I talked Ed into riding our bikes down to Dealey Plaza to see what there was to see.

We saw: a book signing, altars, TV cameras, tourists, a LOT of police officers, hot dog vendors, carriage rides, surveying equipment, clipboards, maps, signs, candles, finger pointing (lots), binoculars. We heard: “obviously”, “that doesn’t make sense”, “show trial”, “Moron Commission”. And then some people in a really old Lincoln convertible drove through the plaza and pretended they’d been shot in the head, laughing. Classy.

(This sign isn't usually here.)

Next we decided to continue on to Oak Cliff, where Lee Harvey Oswald lived. After the assassination he traveled that way, shot a police officer, and was subsequently captured in the Texas Theater. We stopped at both of those sites on our bikes, and then headed back across the Trinity River toward home, stopping at a bar with a big backyard we’d heard great things about, Lee Harvey’s. Seemed appropriate.

Next up: Tour de Bonnie and Clyde.