My dad doesn’t remember this – but I do.
We were driving down Sixth Street Southeast in Jamestown, heading toward the tracks.
Dad was listening to the radio (tuned in to KEYJ, naturally) in our old Mercury. It was bright and clear outside.
And the announcer led with a story about “Martin Luther King” being shot. It’d be absurd to say I knew what was going on – but I remember being familiar with the name. He’d been on the TV a time or two.
And it seemed pretty obvious it was an important story. I obviously didn’t know why – I was still probably ten years away from meeting my first black person. Jamestown North Dakota was pretty white, back then.