Also today: Benjamin Britten's 100th birthday

It's a big day for historical anniversaries. Fifty years ago today, both C. S. Lewis and Aldous Huxley died. Both were overshadowed by the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Dallas the same day. I appreciate Ralph Wood's Century article on Lewis and E. J. Dionne's column on JFK, along with Jimmy Breslin's classic story about the surgeon who tried to save the president while the first lady stood stoically by.

Yet while my life and mind have been shaped by both American evangelicalism and political liberalism, I feel little personal connection to either Lewis or Kennedy. Like a lot of people, I have mixed feelings about both men; perhaps more importantly, I wasn't around yet when they died. In any case, neither anniversary made me catch my breath this week.

Here's what did: Benjamin Britten's 100th birthday. The British composer wrote ambitious, tuneful, fiercely modern music—and he did profound things when he worked with text. I was recently part of a discussion group asked to go around the room and describe a formative musical experience in our lives. I spent about five seconds wondering how I could possibly choose just one; then I thought of it and immediately stopped listening to everyone else and just sat there, remembering it.