In my childhood, our family would visit the Arboretum most Sundays. When a new sister was born into the family, my parents suggested we find a young tree in the garden and name it for my sister,, who’s name is Ellen. One November day, many years ago, I visited the Arboretum with a friends and was amazed to find a Mongolian apricots in full bloom. Moments later we heard cries of anxiety and pain end it was at that moment that we learned that President Kennedy had been assassinated. It is one of the most poignant memories of my life. After my Harvard years I moved away, first to South America, then Europe and the Middle East. Now, living in New York, I am a regular at the New York and Brooklyn Botanical gardens, perhaps pale substitutes for the Arnold Arboretum. I can never really forget or replace those early recollections and never forget Lilac Sunday at the Arboretum, which I provided for in my will.