looking grim. He blurted out, "the president has been shot and the governor of Texas has been killed." At first we thought this was the opening line of one of his lengthy jokes/tirades about US policies, but as he stood rigid, frozen in his tracks, staring at us it became clear that something was wrong.
Stranded, helpless (not that we could have done anything), powerless, angry, but mostly in deep pain. The following days are a blur. We were like zombies moving through the hours and days. By the time airlines rebooked us, we were essentially on auto-pilot drifting along on cigarettes and booze, and running on empty.
The flight from Mexico City to NYC was hushed, reverent. Back then of course, there were no diversions like music or inflight movies. No one ate much, but we sure drank plenty (in those days everything was free) and Eastern Airlines spared no expense in that department. The flight was otherwise uneventful, we landed on time.
Back in NYC the numbness, confusion, and too many unanswered questions lingered for a very long time. Some would say they linger even 50 years on.