Mrs. DeMello wasn’t in place that day. She usually stood to the side of her desk at the front of the classroom, a few feet from the door.

She was a stern woman, her morning greeting a curt nod as we filed past, giving her students the once-over to make sure the girls’ skirts weren’t too short, the boys’ shirts buttoned near their throats. I don’t think we made much of her absence as the minutes ticked away, caught up as we were in a teenager’s narrow world.

Then she swept in.

She looked the same — mostly. Her hair was combed tight to her head with a roll of curl at the base of the neck, a shift dress in a subdued print skimmed her stout frame. The sensible shoes I swore she wore so she could creep silently through the classroom during tests were her everyday footwear.

Her face was different, stricken, as they say, and there were tears in her eyes. In a voice gravelly with restrained emotion, she told us what had happened in Dallas.

I don’t remember the exact words she used, only that “president,” “shot” and “dead” were among them.

I don’t remember our reaction either, only that our chattering stopped.

She strode to the radio she kept on a table by the window and snapped it on and we listened as scraps of news on the assassination of John Kennedy were broadcast.

The rest of that Friday is a blur. There was an assembly near the flag pole, and I imagine one of the band boys played “Taps.” Some kids and teachers cried. The tough kids wisecracked and horsed around, earning sharp rebukes. Then we were told to go home.

Unlike today, schools then had no structures or strategies to help kids deal with tragedy. There were no counselors or teachers made available to talk things out.

We were told to go home — confusion, sadness and a broken understanding of our world trailing us to bus stops and front doors. A naive generation insulated by an island paradise suddenly quivered with uncertainty.

Much has been said and written about the effects of the assassination on a peer group just coming of age. Like World War II is believed to have shaped the societal contours of older folks, Kennedy’s death is regarded as a so-called turning point for baby boomers.

No doubt the murder unsettled us. In the ensuing years, the harshness of wars, racial and economic conflict and recurring random violence continues to shadow a lightness that once was.

As we age and move closer toward certain darkness, contemplating a day 50 years ago, when two bullets smothered a radiant life, we are reminded of a singular beam of an unbroken soul. However brief, it is enough to hold on to.