Dirty Don's reputation shot to hell

IWAS 15 when President Kennedy was shot.

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I still remember hearing the news in our corner shop in Manchester, where I had been dispatched to buy cigarettes for my mother. I ran all the way home to tell my parents that JFK was on his way to hospital. They turned on our little black-and-white television just in time for what was probably the most shocking newsflash of the second half of the 20th century.

"President Kennedy is dead." When I look back to that time these days, and the four, even five, decades that followed, it's with an almost wistful memory of what the American presidency seemed to stand for.