The season began with Bobby Kennedy announcing his candidacy for President of the United States. Unfortunately that was the high mark of the Spring of 1968. Just over two weeks later, Martin Luther King was assassinated in Memphis; next came more than a month of the worst urban riots this country has ever seen; a month after that Bobby Kennedy was murdered in Los Angeles when he all but wrapped up the Democratic nomination; and then the country fell into a long demoralizing protest over the war in Vietnam that went on for years.
Spring is supposed to be a rebirth and a rejuvenation. Bobby Kennedy’s run for President was just such a breath of fresh air. We were ready for a change and it was clear that Bobby could deliver.
My first encounter with him had come earlier in my Capitol Hill internship as part of something called the White House Seminars. I was on the steering committee and each week during the spring and summer months, all the interns would gather to hear from various members of the amazing cadre of advisors that had been assembled by President Kennedy during his all-too-short term. Bobby was on the list as Attorney General and that initial engagement was electric. He was a whirling dervish. He was everywhere and hardly drew a breath while he was connecting with everyone in the room. There was a glimmer of recognition when we shook hands as he remembered his involvement in bringing my father and our family to Washington, DC, but that’s another story for another time.
Now Bobby Kennedy was going to be President. We just knew it. From my office in the Rayburn House Office Building, I had frequently connected with his staffers and, as I got to know them, it was an easy decision to join the Capitol Hill Supporters for RFK. The group was informal because we couldn’t be seen as political in our government positions. We met in nearby pubs and apartments while we were reviewing campaign strategies and speeches. Our opinions, along with many others, were constantly being sought on a host of relevant issues including the war.
Not five years earlier, his brother Jack had been assassinated in an earth-shaking event that changed our country immeasurably. Bobby constantly reminded us that a mere 8 years before, he was a campaign manager and, therefore, knew and appreciated all the work we were doing to help him get elected. Working on his campaign made it easier to cope with the volatility of the times. It definitely kept us moving in the right direction. Even when the orders came to report for military service, my father’s life-long commitment to the Army seemed in perfect concert with the fact that Bobby and his brothers had all served as well. You don’t have to want war to feel compelled to protect your freedoms. I never questioned it.
Just before Bobby headed to the west coast in May for the Oregon and California primaries, he stopped by the Capitol Hill apartment where we were meeting. He was there for half an hour. He read parts of speeches on civil rights, poverty and the war that he wanted feedback on. We had heard his words before but now the messages were very finely tuned. To the group, he said, “I’m a little concerned about Senator McCarthy in Oregon (note: McCarthy upset Bobby there) but Cesar Chavez and California will put us over the top.” He shook hands with each of us as he left with thanks for our efforts. “I’m told your father is doing a great job at the Pentagon,” he said to me. The rush of pride had to be noticeable. And then, he was gone.
Certain dates become landmarks in our history. “Black Thursday” when the stock market crashed on October 29, 1929, was indelible to my grandparents; The attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941; D-Day, June 6, 1944, when allied troops, including my father, landed in Normandy; of course, September 11, 2001; all dates ingrained in our learning. We celebrate the birthdays of some our great leaders but lately I’ve noticed that the dates when our leaders have been struck down are beginning to blur. Abraham Lincoln was shot on April 14, 1865, Good Friday, and died on April 15 (OK, I looked that one up!); JFK was killed on Friday, November 22, 1963…even this date has dulled in the minds of the current generation; Martin Luther King was gunned down on Thursday, April 4, 1968, and I’ve written about that day and those immediately after; and a serious attempt on the life of President Reagan occurred on Monday, March 30, 1981 as I was on my way to a client meeting in Austin, Texas, when we heard the news on the new upstart cable television network called CNN.
Tuesday, June 4, 1968, was a run-of-the-mill day on Capitol Hill. I did some research and writing on two education bills that were being presented for committee review. Lunch was at the Rayburn Building cafeteria for some of its famous bean soup. The Capitol Hill group met briefly at the end of the day for a quick rally before we all headed home to watch the primary results come in from California. Nothing was really instant then. There wasn’t even much instant reporting because live coverage was very limited. Although there were voting machines, it felt like every ballot was being counted by hand, maybe literally one hand, and it took forever. It was after 2am eastern time on Wednesday, June 5, that Bobby Kennedy was declared the winner in California. Bleary-eyed, I watched him give his victory speech on my little black & white television just before 3am. All I could think about was Bobby becoming President. Things would be right in the world again.
I left the TV on while I got ready for bed. Suddenly there was a commotion, screams and shouts of “Bobby’s been shot!” It was frightening. I woke up my parents and the vigil began. I think we really knew he would not recover but we held on to that slender thread of hope throughout the entire day. Reports came periodically and we would try to work in between but our minds couldn’t function clearly. The office was a tomb. No one could leave the conference room where there was a television and radio. We all drove home in silence and it wasn’t until the early morning hours on Thursday, June 6, when word came that he had died.
Such emotional times those were. Bobby’s funeral would be in New York while I was driving to the Midwest to attend college graduation ceremonies. I came right back to DC feeling the need not to miss a moment of the requiem. A week later, I went to the gravesite at Arlington Cemetery. Near his brother, in the green grass, was a simple white cross and marker. It seemed so right. I shot a couple of pictures (one above) because the crowds were gone. It was an intense moment. It was hard during those times to keep mustering the strength to feel good about our country. But we had to try.
So you can place Thursday, June 6,1968, on the list of dates to remember from our times. We lost ground in our quest for peace and equality on that day but the example had been set. We just have to keep trying.
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