Today is the quindecennial of a morning I cannot ever forget.
I originally posted this first-hand account five years ago on the original version of this site, and today seemed an appropriate time to publish a revised version of the original here.
My late father, who was old enough to fly P-51D Mustangs for the USAAF during World War 2, once told me that he could remember exactly where he was and what he was doing when he heard about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Likewise, my elder brother (the only one of my siblings who is legitimately a baby boomer) can recall exactly where he was and what he was doing when he heard about the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.
In the exact same vein, a certain September day a decade and a half ago is irremovably burned into my memory.