"Dylan, JFK and the Fine Art of Time Travel..."

A photograph is one-sixtieth of a second in time.

But it’s what happened on either side of the "click” that fascinates me.

My imagination runs wild.

Like those guys who were having Lunch Atop a Skyscraper in 1932.
What’s their story?

Did they all go for beers after work in some pub in midtown Manhattan?

Or did they go home to their wives and say, “Honey, the weirdest thing happened at work today while the boys and I were having lunch on a steel beam 850 feet above the sidewalk…”

Who knows?

But I sure do love thinking about that kind of stuff.

Back in late March 2020, Bob Dylan released a towering song called Murder Most Foul.

It’s about the Kennedy Assassination.

For sixteen minutes and fifty-five seconds, you’re riding with the ghost of Kennedy in his 1961 Lincoln Continental convertible limousine witnessing everything that would come in the wake of his death.

The ratcheting up of the Vietnam War.

The Beatles.

The assassinations of MLK and RFK.

The Moon landing.
Woodstock.
Altamont.
Kent State in Ohio.

Nixon.

And even though Murder Most Foul is almost 17 minutes long, it doesn’t feel like it.

It doesn’t feel long.
It doesn’t feel short.

It’s like time doesn’t even exist when you’re listening to it.

Dylan’s early music has that timeless feel as well.

It’s a moment in time.
A performance.

No overdubs.
No punch-ins.
No fixes.
No nothing.

I get so inside these songs that I’m positive I can hear Dylan’s cigarette burning in the ashtray that’s sitting on a little table beside him next to his coffee cup and harmonicas.

I swear I can hear cars driving by on 7th Avenue and 52nd Street in New York City.

Any recording of a performance gets the same reaction from me.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow is a portal to October 7, 1938, where for two minutes and forty-six seconds, you are at MGM Studios in Culver City, California, witnessing the MGM Studio Orchestra and a 16-year-old Judy Garland capture the song that would, in 2001, be voted the Song of the Century.

Listen to Robert Johnson singing Kindhearted Woman Blues, and for two minutes and fifty-three seconds, you will be transported back to room 414 at the Gunter Hotel in San Antonio, Texas, on November 23, 1938.

And if you listen really hard, maybe, just maybe, you can hear the world outside.

The same thing happens when you listen to a song like, The Times They Are a-Changin'.

When Dylan recorded The Times They Are a-Changin’ in New York City on Tuesday, October 24th, 1963, the Beatles hadn't even set foot in North America yet.

John Fitzgerald Kennedy was still alive.

In fact, less than a month after Dylan recorded The Times They Are a-Changin’, JFK was gunned down in Dallas.

The times indeed changed right there in Dealy Plaza on November 22, 1963.

”From Dallas, Texas, the flash, apparently official: President Kennedy died at 1:00 p.m. Central Standard Time, 2:00 Eastern Time, some 38 minutes ago…”
Walter Cronkite - CBS News

As you may have guessed, I also have a bit of a horrified fascination with the Kennedy Assassination.

I don't know why, but I just do.
I'm quite sure I'm not the only one.

Anyway, in March of 1999, we were booked to play a show at the Caucus Club during SXSW down in Austin, Texas.

The night before SXSW got underway, we had booked a show at Club Dada in Dallas, down Deep Ellum.

The next morning, before heading to Austin, we went to check out Dealey Plaza and the Grassy Knoll.

Up on the 6th floor of the School Book Depository, where (apparently) Lee Harvey Oswald had "set up shop,” is a museum called (oddly enough), The Sixth Floor Museum.

As we were walking into the museum, I noticed a black limousine with the top down parked at the front door.

It was the same make and model that Kennedy was driving in on that fateful day.
A 1961 Lincoln Continental Convertible.

There was a sign by the car that read, "Kennedy Parade Route Tour - $20!!!"

I had been looking forward to standing in the window (next to the window) that Oswald (apparently) stood in.

But then again, sitting in the backseat of a '61 Lincoln Continental and driving the Kennedy parade route through Dallas would also be pretty cool.

I could imagine winding slowly through the streets of Dallas.
Love Field to Dealy Plaza.
Take a right on Houston Street.
See the School Book Depository in the distance.
Then, left on Elm Street.

Wave to all the admirers…

"You can't say Dallas doesn't love you, Mr. President."
What was that?
"Oh my God! They're gonna kill us all!!!"

There's an "X" in the middle of Elm Street about a half block down from the Texas School Book Depository, marking exactly where President Kennedy's car was when he was shot.

There are places where massive, earth-shaking, world-changing events took place.

The spot where Elvis stood when he recorded That's All Right at Sun Studio on Monday, July 5th, 1954, in Memphis, Tennessee.
The spot where John Lennon was gunned down in front of the Dakota building on Monday, December 8th, 1980, on the Upper West Side of New York City.

That “X” on Elm Street in downtown Dallas, Texas, would most certainly qualify as a massive, earth-shaking, world-changing event.

We made our way up to the Sixth Floor Museum.
I stood in the window (next to the window).
Squinted my right eye.
Tried to time travel.

About an hour later, we were back in the gift shop snooping around.

I wanted to get a picture of the Kennedy car, so I bought a disposable camera and went outside.

The car was gone.
Shit.
Oh well.

I went and wandered around Dealy Plaza.

There were about 30 or 40 people milling around on the Grassy Knoll.

Everyone was doing the same thing that I was doing.
Looking up to the 6th-floor window and back down to the "X" on the road.

There’s an energy at Dealy Plaza.
You can feel it.
Time stands still.

There were conspiracy theorists out front of the School Book Depository saying that Oswald was indeed just a patsy and that one of the gunmen was actually across the street in the Dal-Tex Building.

"Here's a picture of Oswald standing on the corner, watching Kennedy go by. He wasn't even in the window."
"No kidding! Wow, yeah, it sure looks like him…”
"Yes, sir. That’s Oswald, alright. The gunman was down on the fourth floor of the Dal-Tex building. Way better angle, if you ask me. Another gunmen up on the overpass. Another behind the fence up on the Grassy Knoll. It was a turkey shoot.”

Suddenly, I felt like I was in the movie JFK.

I looked at the "X" on the road and then at the fourth-floor window of the Dal-Tex building.

I wandered around some more.

I stood where Abraham Zapruder.
I looked around.
I studied the triple overpass.
Everyone said they heard shots coming from behind the fence on the now-famous Grassy Knoll.

I wandered up the hill and stood behind the fence.

I found the spot where the gunman was supposed to have stood.
I looked around.

The School Book Depository, to my left.
The triple overpass to my right.
I looked across Dealy Plaza.

In the distance, turning right onto Houston Street, I saw a 1961 Lincoln Continental.
Kennedy’s car.

I couldn't believe it.
Complete time travel.

I watched him make his way along Houston and then slow down and make that famous left onto Elm Street.

I reached for my camera.
I squinted my right eye.
Looked through the viewfinder.

Waited.
Waited.

Click.