Folks often ask the question, "do you remember where you were and what you were doing?" when they recall momentous, and often infamous historical dates during their lives. Today, we observe the 50th anniversary of that terrible day in Dallas, Texas, where President John F. Kennedy was gunned down during the prime of his life. Since I was a 6-year-old kid back then, I believe that I may be one of the youngest persons alive who can actually recall that time. Most anyone who was younger than five or six back when JFK was assassinated is unlikely, I believe, to have any memory of it.
During the fall of 1963, I had entered Kindergarten at a suburban St. Louis grade school where I went to school for just half the day in the morning. So on that infamous Friday 50 years ago, I had apparently just gotten home from school when the shots rang out. I don't recall what I was doing when it actually happened, but I do remember my mother being very upset later that afternoon when she told my older brothers upon returning home from their schools that President Kennedy had been assassinated. I wasn't sure what that word meant, but I knew it was something really awful because when she said it, she was crying. (By the way, a family friend took the photo of me displayed on the right on Thanksgiving Day in 1963, which was less than a week after the assassination.)
Perhaps, it's more accurate to state that I recall the events during the immediate aftermath of Kennedy's death, than the actual, horrific deed itself. Many historians believe that JFK's assassination ushered in the age of television news. Fifty years ago, three broadcast networks basically dominated television, and all three, CBS, NBC and ABC, were giving this story wall-to-wall news coverage. As a result, my next memory of that time came on the following Sunday (November 24). While televised live before a national audience, JFK's accused killer, Lee Harvey Oswald, was fatally shot while police were transferring him to the county jail. I can remember vividly my mother shrieking in horror as my family and I watched this attack unfold before our eyes on our black-and-white TV.
The next day, November 25, 1963, I can remember watching the wall-to-wall coverage of the funeral procession, where a riderless horse was pulling a carriage holding JFK's flag-draped coffin to Arlington National Cemetery. I remember wondering what kind a man was Kennedy at the time. After watching John-John's iconic salute to his father's coffin, I began wondering about his kids who were about the same age as me. I wondered if they were sad as the concept of death was still pretty new to me.
The Kennedy assassination had a profound impact on me. Beforehand, all I knew was basically my family, my school, and my dog.
But afterwards, my concept of the world increased exponentially. For the first time, I discovered the existence of news, history and the politics that shapes them. Moreover, the Kennedy assassination made me aware of my own mortality.
My maternal line tells a story that begins not just centuries ago, but deep in the Ice Age.
Through the magic of mtDNA testing, the kind that traces a direct line from mother to mother across thousands of years, I’ve learned that I belong to haplogroup U4a2. This lineage reaches back roughly 13,000 years to the hunter-gatherer women of northern Europe, who lived in a harsh, glacial landscape at the end of the last Ice Age. Over time, their descendants adapted, settled, and became part of the early populations of central Europe, eventually finding roots in what is now Switzerland.
By the 1700s, my maternal lineage could be documented.
ROSE JONELY
The story begins in Bern, Switzerland, with Christina Hoffman, born in 1724. From her, the line continues through generations of Swiss daughters, Anna Wyttenbach, Barbara Streit, Elisabeth Hadorn, Elizabeth Trubel, and Rose Marguerite Jonely, women who lived their lives in the heart of the Swiss Alps.
With Rose Marguerite Jonely, my second great-grandmother, the story takes a dramatic turn. Around 1880, Mormon missionaries persuaded her family to leave Switzerland and begin a new life in Idaho. That journey across the Atlantic marked a turning point, but not a break in the chain.
In Idaho, the next generations, Rose Vaterlaus and Laura Louise Burnside, carried the lineage forward. Laura, my grandmother, lived in many places, but one constant remained: the passing of that ancient maternal thread. She gave birth to my mother, Margaret Josephine Kelley, who in turn passed it on to me.
So my maternal story is an epic journey: from Ice‑Age Europe, to the Swiss Alps, to American life, an unbroken chain of mothers and daughters stretching across centuries.
I recently read a story about a woman who took a deep dive into her ancestry, going back thousands of years. Her experience got me thinking about my own family history and wondering what I might find if I looked a little further back than the usual records and family stories.
While researching, I uncovered a genetic term called haplogroups, which are large genetic groups that link people to a shared ancient ancestor. Some are paternal, passed from father to son, while others are maternal, which are passed from the mother to all her children. They don’t tell the whole story of who we are, but they can offer some interesting clues about where our ancestors came from and how they moved across the world long ago.
A while back, I took a DNA test through Ancestry.com. Later, I discovered those results could be used to identify my paternal haplogroup, which allowed me to trace my direct father-to-son line. (I’ll need to conduct a different DNA test, to discover my maternal haplogroup, which is on my to do list for later.)
So, I uploaded my Ancestry DNA file to another site that identifies paternal haplogroups. It came up with R1b-L421. At first, I thought, “So what?” But after doing some reading, though, I was floored to learn that this line likely traces back to Eastern Europe, around present-day Bulgaria or Romania, well before the rise of the Roman Empire.
That discovery made me pause, since our genealogical research places the Wells family in England and Scotland for many generations. One possible explanation, suggested by Google’s new AI feature, is that this Eastern European DNA entered my English ancestral line through a Roman-era mercenary. The Romans recruited soldiers from across their empire and stationed some of them in Britain along Hadrian’s Wall. It seems likely that this soldier, if he did indeed exist, had children with a native woman and assimilated into British culture. Amazingly, it seems, his DNA may have simply carried on, generation after generation, eventually reaching me.
This morning, I reluctantly flipped on MSNOW (formerly MSNBC), bracing myself for what was coming. Sure enough, it was the usual parade of Democratic Party talking points. But today, one word kept popping up over and over again: affordability. Apparently, that’s the new magic word. Commentator after commentator praised it, arguing that a renewed focus on affordability is the key to winning back political power.
On the surface, it sounds great. Who doesn’t want things to be more affordable? But once you sit with it for more than a minute, the whole idea starts to ring hollow. “Affordability” quickly reveals itself as a feel-good slogan, pleasant to hear, but light on substance. It’s nothing more than a platitude standing in for real solutions.
Yes, this message seems to be working for now. Democrats have notched some impressive wins in recent off-year elections, and they deserve credit for that. Still, I worry the momentum won’t last if the party keeps leaning on the same recycled rhetoric. If Democrats genuinely want to energize working-class voters, they need to offer something bolder with policies that people can actually feel in their everyday lives. Minor adjustments to the status quo, such as expanded tax credits, modest drug price negotiations, or incremental housing initiatives, often come across as window dressing to people who are struggling to get by.
What many voters are really craving, IMHO, is something far more straightforward, which is, for lack of a better term, populism. People want substantive change. And I believe the path forward is clear. Run on big, unmistakable ideas, such as Medicare for All, a massive expansion of public service jobs to stop endless layoffs, and bold investments in infrastructure. That’s how the Democrats can become a true opposition party to the elites who currently run this country.
Every once in a while, a local news story sneaks up on you and lands a little closer to home than expected. This one did exactly that.
According to several local reports, a Seattle-based company is considering building a brand-new cruise port right here in Manatee County that's large enough to accommodate the massive cruise ships that can’t fit under the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. Tampa already handles the smaller vessels, but this proposed port would be designed for the real giants of the cruise industry.
What makes this especially surreal for me is that I book cruise vacations for a living. Day after day, I sit at my desk at home, working from dual monitors, helping people plan trips aboard these very ships. Until now, those ships have existed mostly as itineraries, deck plans, and booking confirmations on a screen. Suddenly, there’s a real possibility they could be docking on Rattlesnake Key, just a few miles from where I live.
Developers are pitching the project as a major economic win for the area. They’re talking about thousands of new jobs, along with the ripple effects—new restaurants, motels, and tourism dollars brought in by waves of cruise passengers passing through. It’s an appealing vision, especially in a region that’s always balancing growth with opportunity.
At the same time, environmental groups are already raising red flags. Concerns about water quality, impacts on wildlife, and the loss of one of the county’s last largely undeveloped areas are front and center in the debate. It’s the familiar Florida dilemma: progress versus preservation, prosperity versus protection.
If the project does move forward, construction wouldn’t begin for at least five years, so nothing is imminent. Still, the idea lingers. There’s something undeniably strange about realizing that the massive cruise lines I help book every day—from the quiet of my home office—might soon be sailing up and down the coastline less than ten miles away.
For now, it’s just a proposal. But it’s also a reminder of how tightly interconnected our work, our communities, and our environment really are, and how sometimes, the abstract suddenly becomes very real
My perception of "God", if you will, is a recognition of a higher power or supreme consciousness that exists far beyond the limits of our understanding. This divine presence is so vast, so unfathomable in its nature and scope, that attempting to fully comprehend it is like asking a single-celled organism to understand the passage of time or the nature of abstract thought. Just as such a creature lacks the faculties to grasp those concepts, we too are inherently limited in our ability to perceive or define the true essence of the divine.
