The 19th of November is, by all accounts, a rather momentous day.
The occasion was the dedication of the Soldiers’ National Cemetery in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, a pastoral corner of the republic still reverberating with the memory of one of the Civil War’s bloodiest battles. Lincoln, with his customary economy of expression, imbued the ceremony with a gravitas that has scarcely faded in the century and a half since. The address has come to embody the very ideal of political eloquence — a gold standard against which the rest of us must simply reconcile ourselves to producing merely serviceable prose.
Exactly one hundred years later, on 19 November 1963, Americans gathered once more in Gettysburg to commemorate the centennial of that hallowed oration. The ceremonies were held on the grounds of the National Cemetery itself, where wreaths were laid and dignitaries praised Lincoln’s legacy with the expected solemnity. The sitting President, John F. Kennedy, had been scheduled to attend but, according to the official statement, he was “unwell”. Imagine, then, that three days later (on 22.11.1963) J. F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas.
Thus, 19 November emerges not merely as a date in a historical ledger, but as a reminder of rhetoric’s rare potency — and of the delicate, capricious thread with which history so often stitches its moments together.

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