Dear Editor:

When my boyfriend said, “You'll never get near him,” it raised my hackles so much that I became more determined to meet him. He was coming to Baltimore, on a campaign stop at the Emerson Hotel. Carefully, I chose my outfit for the event: white gloves, pearl earrings, low heels, and a green floral print dress with its wide self-belt.

I was 19 on this August night and unable to vote, but this candidate sparked my interest in politics. His youth! His intelligence! His glamour! He inspired in me a lifelong yearning for learning. After years of boring Ike and Mamie, this man brought youth and exuberance to the national arena.

During this exciting time, I began reading newspapers, not novels. I craved information about the election and the young candidate. Then I began to compare the candidates, read both sides of an issue, and form opinions based on facts. I watched all of the debates, televised for the first time in U.S. history.

On the night of the campaign stop, he arrived looking trim, handsome and tan, as advertised. Not only did I get a good parking space, I also found a seat in the second row. This may have been a mere pit stop for him, but the evening was magical for me. The evening ended when I shook his outstretched hand, with my white glove removed.

I began passing out fliers, posting campaign posters and urging residents to vote. I followed televised coverage, the convention speeches and, of course, the election. We watched the president-elect with his pregnant wife, at their Georgetown home, being interviewed the following morning. We watched the inauguration on that frigid January day, followed by the evening’s glamorous dances.

Politics had always been dry and boring, but with John Fitzgerald Kennedy, they were suddenly deeply emotional. For the first time in my life, I felt trust and hope.

In today’s troubled political times and the viral spiral of media and Internet, there is little rational discourse. The age of innocence is gone. The man who inspired me is gone. After his death, it was written that, “We'll never laugh again.” The rejoinder was, “No, we'll never be young again.”

Carole Clarke Cochran
Boothbay Harbor