by Joseph Levendusky My youth was marred by four tragic assassinations. When I was four, John F. Kennedy was assassinated on the same day my Irish grandfather Jim O’Shea died. My father broke the news to his children at the supper table, while the radio news rehashed the details of JFK’s murder. I was eight when Martin Luther King was shot to death in Memphis. There was rioting and arson in the neighborhood where I went to school and my grandmother walked me to school past National Guardsmen with M-1 rifles. Only two months later Bobby Kennedy was shot in LA while running for President. I learned the news the morning after, when I…
