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It is the most famous home movie ever, and the most care-
fully studied image, an 8-millimeter film that captured the
death of a President. The movie is just as well known for
what many say it does or does not reveal, and its existence
has fostered countless conspiracy theories about that day
in Dallas. But no one would argue that what it shows is
not utterly heartbreaking, the last moments of life of the
youthful and charismatic John Fitzgerald Kennedy as he
rode with his wife, Jackie, through Dealey Plaza. Amateur
photographer Abraham Zapruder had eagerly set out with
his Bell & Howell camera on the morning of November
22, 1963, to record the arrival of his hero. Yet as Zapruder
filmed, one bullet struck Kennedy in the back, and as the
President’s car passed in front of Zapruder, a second one
hit him in the head. life correspondent Richard Stolley
bought the film the following day, and the magazine ran 31
of the 486 frames—which meant that the first public view-
ing of Zapruder’s famous film was as a series of still images.
At the time, life withheld the gruesome frame No. 313—a
picture that became influential by its absence. That one,
where the bullet exploded the side of Kennedy’s head, is
still shocking when seen today, a reminder of the seeming
suddenness of death. What Zapruder captured that sunny
day would haunt him for the rest of his life. It is something
that unsettles America, a dark dream that hovers at the
back of our collective psyche, an image from a wisp of 26.5
seconds of film whose gut-wrenching impact reminds us
how everything can change in a fraction of a moment.