Bobby Kennedy didn't die right away. He lingered for more than a day. I was in fourth grade at the time. That sort of thing leaves a scar. I recognized echoes of that scar in Pelosi's voice the other day when she spoke to the press about heated rhetoric and political violence. Like a lot of other people, I'm sure she went to bed the night of that California primary full of hope and woke up in a nightmare that was becoming all too familiar.
[Originally posted Sep 19, 2009 during a time of heated partisan rhetoric. Reposted today, on the 45th anniversary of Bobby's assassination because the long view still matters.]
I had naturally curly hair at the time. One day I spent hours in front of the mirror dumping my father's Vitalis on it, using a comb to slick it down with a part on the side so I could look like Bobby Kennedy. It never worked for more than a few minutes so I gave up after awhile. But even though I gave up on the hairdo I thought Bobby was the second coming. He was going to pick up the standard from his fallen brother and lead us into a better world. He was going to make everything alright.
I was in kindergarten when President Kennedy was shot. I remember exactly where I was when we learned the news. We were coming out of recess from the playground on the roof of the building on the North side of Riverside Church and heading towards the elevator. We were standing in line as always... two rows , in size place, boys on one side, girls on the other. I was at the front of the line right behind Mrs. Larson.
The doors to the elevator opened up and a woman came flying out of it, screaming and crying "They've shot the President!" One of the teacher's aides did something I've seen too many times since. She started to shriek and then her hands flew up to her face to cover her mouth. She stumbled backwards towards the wall. Her legs buckled and she just slid down until she crumpled in the corner, sobbing.
I don't remember how we got home that day, but I know we didn't go back to school for awhile. Mom worked, so we would spend the day with a bunch of other kids over at someone else's house. I remember the day of the funeral. It was on every channel, all five of them. It was a real drag. The adults wanted to keep the TV on and there were no cartoons or anything worth watching. Just this funeral. On all the channels. All the time. So the TV would be on and we'd be playing whatever we were playing.
At one point they showed a kid about our age standing next to his mom and he was saluting the president. So all the kids in the room got up from whatever we were doing and saluted the TV. No one said anything, we just stood there saluting. Since no one was telling us to say the pledge of allegiance or anything I guess we got bored and went back to whatever it was we were doing.
The guy who shot the president got shot so life returned more or less to normal. Things on TV got worse. There was a war going on and it was on TV and it was pretty bad. It wasn't just adults fighting either. Kids were getting hit with this thing called napalm. They said it was like liquid fire. Napalm became the ultimate weapon when we would play in Riverside Park. "I shot you!" "Yeah, well I threw napalm on all of your guys as I died!"
Then Doctor King came along. He wasn't a real king, but he was a real doctor. He wasn't like Dr. Stimson. He didn't make house calls. I figured he was more like Dr. Spock. Dr. Spock used to be a baby doctor, but then he wrote a book about raising kids. He got involved in politics and used to get arrested for talking against the war. I figured that was the kind of guy Dr. King was. He used to give speeches, too. He even spoke at Riverside Church about the evils of war. Then one night we were coming home and the elevator door opened and a woman came out screaming and crying "They've shot Dr. King!" All the adults were shocked. One of the women started to shriek, covered her mouth, leaned up against the wall. Then her legs buckled and she slid down until she crumpled on the floor, crying.
We stayed in the apartment that night, but we weren't allowed to turn on the TV. I was kind of confused by the whole thing. I couldn't figure out why anyone would want to kill a doctor. Doctor's help people. No one could answer my question. The next day we went to school. This time it was PS 125. We had an assembly. We were standing up to say the pledge of allegiance and a girl in the row in front of me, a girl I'd known and played with since kindergarten turned around and glared at me with a hate-filled look that I had never seen before. "You killed my brother," was all she said. We never played together after that.
Then came Bobby, and Bobby was going to make everything alright. The day after he was shot, I guess we were just all in shock. We went to school and it was my job to take the attendance list to the office. I knocked on the door but no one answered. I could hear people inside so I opened the door and went in. All the secretaries were clustered around the radio listening to the reports from the hospital. No one noticed me. They were too busy crying. One of them was holding something like a necklace in her hands. She was crying and praying. I'd never seen anyone pray the rosary before.
Bobby died and there was no one left to pick up the standard. The war grew uglier. The rioting grew uglier. Nixon won the election and some of the students started to exercise our constitutional rights during assembly to not say the pledge of allegiance. The school year ended and we left the country.
I grew up and forgot about all that. Just buried it away with old photos and toys that I never played with anymore. It was kind of like a dream or a movie about other people. I eventually came back to the States and ultimately wound up in Maryland.
During the 2002 congressional campaign I met Mark Shriver, one of the extended Kennedy clan. I was shocked when I saw him standing in front of me. The family resemblance was so strong, I did a double-take before I realized I wasn't looking at Bobby. He went to shake my hand and I turned away. It was just too painful. Funny how you think you forgot stuff, but all you did was bury it. After the Shriver's tried to strong arm endorsements out of the local environmental groups, I decided I couldn't support Shriver. Besides he wasn't Bobby. I worked for his opponent Van Hollen. He was about my age and was clearly motivated by alot of the same ideals that Bobby had been fighting for when he was killed.
Then, when it seemed like the Democrats would never get their heads out of their asses, along came this guy Obama. At first, I dismissed him because he wasn't a governor and he sure as hell wasn't a vice president. That gave him a 15% probability of winning. The last time a senator went straight to the White House was .... President Kennedy.
After Iowa, I realized this guy had something. But after New Hampshire I got hooked on the Hopium and started pushing it like there was no tomorrow. It's easy to be cool when you're the winner. Staying cool when you're losing is the mark of a real winner. I heard Darian Dauchan's poem and realized he was talking about people like me when he said "it's like our heart's have been broken and we're learning to love again." I doubled down on my commitment and hit the pavement. As the campaign heated up, people started talking as they do about "what if...." but I just pushed that out of my mind, it was too terrible to consider. I wasn't going to let fear get me down.
Then Obama came to the University of Maryland. And as he was trotting out to the podium and the crowd was going wild and people were taking pictures a red dot lit up the side of his face.
And my heart stopped.
Then the flash went off and I realized that dot had been way too big to be a laser sight. It was just the autofocus from a nearby camera. But that's when all the ghosts came rushing out of the closet. John, Bobby, Martin. I remembered all those women crumpled in the corners. I remembered the woman crying over her rosaries. And tears from somewhere very deep down welled up and made it hard for me to focus on the screen. And I began to worry... what if... what if Obama becomes the next Bobby?
I wrestled with those emotions for awhile. I thought about Michelle, Jackie, and Coretta. I thought about John John, Caroline, Sasha and Malia. I thought about Yitzhak Rabin's funeral. I thought about Leah Rabin and their granddaughter, Noa. But I also thought alot about King Hussein of Jordan.
I had tremendous respect for King Hussein of Jordan. His eulogy at the funeral for Yitzhak Rabin stands as one of the greatest eulogies I've ever heard. When he died I said Kaddish for him. A lot of Jews said Kaddish for this Hashemite who claimed to be a lineal descendant of the Prophet Mohammad. I think he was the kind of guy Bobby would have liked. Probably vice versa, too.
And then I remembered an interview Queen Rania of Jordan did after September 11th on Larry King Live. Larry King was asking Queen Rania about the conflicts in the Middle East and if she ever had thoughts about giving up on peace. I'll never forget her response. Her eyes lit up with the kind of intensity you see in a jaguar or a cougar right before it pounces. It's mesmerizing. It holds your attention. She looked straight into the camera. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. Then clearly, evenly and forcefully she said, "I think giving up is irresponsible."
Recalling the look on Queen Rania's face at that moment, all my demons fled.
Postscript:
Obama is not the Second Coming of Bobby. But the John Birch Society, rebranded and expanded, continues to plague the republic. To which I reply with the eternal optimism embodied in the final words of Bobby's final speech:
...let's win there!