10/20/2025
November 25, 1963.
Washington, D.C., was draped in silence. The air hung heavy with grief as the world watched the funeral procession of President John F. Kennedy — a young leader gone too soon, a nation stunned into mourning.
And there, between rows of soldiers and the rhythmic toll of muffled drums, walked a single black horse — proud, restless, immaculate — his empty saddle holding a pair of boots turned backward. His name was Black Jack.
He was the riderless horse, the ancient military symbol of a fallen leader — a tradition stretching back centuries, from warriors lost in battle to presidents laid to rest. But Black Jack was more than a symbol. He was alive with emotion, a creature of energy and fire, barely contained by the soldier at his lead.
A coal-black Morgan-Quarter Horse cross, Black Jack was named after General John J. “Black Jack” Pershing, the commander of the U.S. forces in World War I. He had served in hundreds of funerals at Arlington, yet none like this one. As the caisson carrying Kennedy’s flag-draped coffin moved slowly through the streets, the cameras captured it all — the sunlight glinting off the polished saddle, the riderless reins swinging with each step, the black tail flicking restlessly against the November chill.
And then came the sound — that haunting, perfect rhythm of hooves striking pavement in time with the drums. The world saw majesty, but those close enough could feel his trembling. Black Jack’s ears flicked at every drumbeat; his muscles rippled with restrained sorrow and confusion, as if even he understood the weight of the moment.
He danced a little, tugged at the reins, tossed his head — not out of disobedience, but out of spirit. And somehow, that made it even more human. In his struggle to stay composed, he reflected an entire country trying to do the same.
When the procession reached Arlington National Cemetery, the black horse followed quietly to the hill where the eternal flame would soon burn. The riderless saddle, the reversed boots, the empty stirrups — each detail a message: the leader rides no more.
After that day, Black Jack became legend. He continued to serve in military funerals until his retirement in 1973, but he never again stood before such a sea of grief. When he died in 1976 at the age of 29, he was buried with full military honors — one of only a handful of horses in American history to be laid to rest that way.
His grave lies at Fort Myer, near Arlington, marked simply:
“Black Jack — Riderless Horse — November 25, 1963.”
He carried no man that day, but he carried a nation’s sorrow — step by solemn step — and somehow, through the stillness of his presence, he gave dignity to heartbreak.
Black Jack did not just walk in Kennedy’s funeral procession.
He walked into history — a dark, gleaming reminder that even in grief, grace can take form,
and that sometimes, the truest rider is the one who carries only memory.
