The Days of the Bitter End
by Jack Engelhard
19.95, Cover: Hardcover, ISBN: 0-9674074-2-7, ©2001

Chapter 1

Cliff Harris, America’s most popular comedic performer, was on stage and deep into his frolicsome Kennedy impersonation when word arrived upon the whisper of ravens that Kennedy had been shot. First came the rumor, heard only by a few, but then came the word, which spread as a disbelieving murmur from aisle to aisle in the darkened basement theater. The 200 hipsters and tourists crowded elbow-to-elbow at the Café Muse, on Bleecker Street in New York’s Greenwich Village, collectively gasped and fell into an electrified hush when the announcement was made. Though stunned like all the rest, Cliff persevered. He said: “I'm okay. Can't you see?” So much had he begun to believe that he was, in fact, John F. Kennedy, and refused to believe that the end had finally come, and so early in this season of Youth and Vigah.

With Cliff Harris in mind, Lenny Bruce had cracked: “If JFK goes, make room for two graves at Arlington.”

Yet nobody expected it so soon. Not even Cliff, superstitious as he was and always expecting the worst. But not this. Not now. Right in the middle of everything. Or actually, right at the beginning of everything.

This was morning in America. America was a nation on the move, happy to leave behind the torpor of the Eisenhower years to heed this new president’s call for sacrifice and greatness.

Not since Washington and Jefferson had America felt such a surge of renewal as embodied in this president and his even more glamorous First Lady, Jackie. Together they gave us style, romance, adventure, a vision of glittering greatness without end.

Even rational minds presumed that no mere bullet was strong enough to bring down the most powerful man on earth, certainly not this president, so youthful, so handsome, and so virile, for JFK was more than a mortal in terms of America. He was a star! As such he was impregnable and as for power – wasn’t he second only to God!

Kennedy still had promises to keep and Cliff Harris still had material to shpritz.

“Stay,” he pleaded, utterly crushed, but persevering in the tradition of the show must go on.

The overflow matinee crowd, so cheerful and loyal a moment ago, turned on him and hooted him off the stage.

In an instant, in a snap, he was a has-been. That fast! Since taking on Kennedy as his career, Cliff Harris had known nothing but laughter and applause as his due. Loving eyes greeted him everywhere. He was adored — as the president’s double. Now they were taunting him. From all corners of the room came jeers and catcalls even after he made his exit. Backstage his ears burned from the mockery of hundreds, soon to be millions.

The party was over, finished. Nothing would ever be the same again, not for Cliff Harris, not for anybody. A cosmic tragedy had just occurred in the land of merriment. Nothing was sacred. Nobody was safe.