1969 was a turbulent year.
Insanity must have seemed to infuse the air. The Manson family butchered Sharon Tate and several others in Roman Polanski’s home, doing “the devil’s business.” Senator Ted Kennedy was implicated in a most embarrassing and unfortunate incident in Chappaquiddick.
And yet there was also a great sense of hope and creative endeavor. Sesame Street ushered in a new era of children’s television and education. Monty Python appealed to the inner child. A police raid of the Stonewall Inn in New York awoke the passions and pride of an entire suppressed community.
And then, as if the world itself were suffering contractions, on Thursday, November 13, I was born. I’d like to think this fits more on the positive end on the scale of events.