Dallas, 22 November 1963. The main event is supposed to be on the appropriately named Main Street. News footage shows office workers leaning out of windows, peering at the motorcade through a blizzard of ticker tape. On the sidewalks, the crowds are fifty deep, a wall of noise and celebration. Everyone thinks this is the place to be.
Well, nearly everyone.
A few blocks away, in Dealey Plaza, the scene is different. There is no ticker tape here and the crowds are thin. A dressmaker with vertigo films the action balanced on a concrete plinth. There's a man opening an umbrella even though it isn't raining, a construction worker who will claim he was sent here by God, three mysterious tramps who will shortly be arrested and an unidentified woman who will become known as the Babushka Lady.
This is not a book about who killed John F. Kennedy or why he was assassinated. This is a book about memory, how we construct our shared history and what happens when your life is defined by a single, fleeting moment. It's a celebration of human nature, of the joy of research and the freedom of an open mind. Above all, it reveals the stories of a group of real people who thought they had opted out of the main event on the day JFK came to Dallas, only to find themselves at the centre of the most scrutinised six seconds of the twentieth century.
