At age twenty, a man is supposed to be made of iron, Kennedy was made of chalk. His back ruin from football and the war. He had weak bones from sickness. The doctors bound him up in a hard corset thing. A stiff brace of canvas, steel. A mean thing, but it kept him standing straight. He wore it under fine suits to hide the pain. I guess it told the world a story of a healthy, strong young man.
Dangerous things met him in Dallas though.
The first bullet went through his neck, a survivable wound. A normal man would have slumped down, a heap of flesh falling. Getting out of the line of fire, sure. But the brace held JFK up, it kept him sitting straight, easy target. The second bullet took his head off – The thing he wore to look alive made him dead.
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