The Night Bobby Kennedy Died

Kennnedy was just a lot of work. I was the Coordinator at Cal State Hayward for Southern Alameda County Students for Kennedy. I had just got off one campaign, for student body President for Richard Miner and found myself once again doing the thankless tasks behind the scenes to organize a grass roots movement. My roomate was the front man and spokesperson of the organization. He had heard of my escapade at San Jose and contacted me, I did not at first approach him. I only visited the Northern California Headquarters once, in San Francisco where a former San Jose State student leader from the mid sixties was on the staff as a co-ordinator(one Dick Wolf).

The Assissination was devastating. I was with my brother in San Jose the night of the election, and witnessed the televised report. All I could do was sit in the corner an cry. The student movement dissolved overnight people in Hayward were speechless. We moved to an era beyond hope beyond even will...

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[In 1960 my friend and I had been in Youth for Kennedy together. Bobby came one day and sat at a table stuffing envelopes with us. We were so hopeful that we could turn things around. Bobby was an incredible person - much more easy going, more dedicated to social change than his brother. I remember that he was kind of amazed that we were working so hard on the campaign and we couldn't even vote.] ... JFK's assassination was a shock (we knew people wanted him dead but didn't really think they'd do it) but Bobby's assassination really hit me very hard.

I met Bobby in 1960 so there was a feeling of personal loss. He was more of a doer than Jack and more courageous. I don't think that Jack would've taken the stands that Bobby did on civil rights, the FBI, etc. We who were working for the issues of human rights, peace, disarmament never felt the support from Jack that we did from Bobby. When he decided to run for President, I sometimes felt that he didn't have a chance to make it to the Whitehouse alive and sometimes felt that he would be elected, end the war and heal the country. The night he was killed, I went to Denny's across the street from where I lived because they had a TV. Everyone in the place was a Kennedy backer. I watched the assassination and went into shock. Some friends found me, took me home, put me to sleep and I don't really remember the next several days. I felt the country was perhaps wounded beyond repair. I felt that revolution was a strong possibility. I felt there had been too much killing. But I also saw no focus or much thought being given to what changes people wanted or what future they envisioned.

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I continued to campaign for Kennedy, for Alan Cranston, and for Henry Waxman and, on the day of the primary helped to bring out the vote. Since we lived only seven or eight blocks away from the Ambassador Hotel, I walked up to take part in what we expected would be a victory celebration. After I had been there for a couple of hours, I guess, packed in a ballroom, waiting for the candidate to come down to talk to us, I heard what sounded like firecrackers going off way down the hall. Minutes later, the announcement came to us that Kennedy had been shot.

Within a week of Robert Kennedy's death, and after my finals, I wrote a series of letters to some of the leading members of the California delegation to the Democratic convention, who were mandated to support Kennedy for President. The gist of my letters was that they should throw their support to McCarthy, and from then until the convention I campaigned for "Clean Gene." I helped man the McCarthy table at UCLA during the summer quarter and did more canvassing. All the time, I had a feeling of futility, since it was said that Humphrey already had the nomination sewn up. My previous optimism was being replaced with a grimmer disillusionment.

Q: I was wondering if you could look back to the night [of Robert Kennedy's assassination] and elaborate upon it a little more.

At 4pm on June 4, 1968, the day of the California primary election, I went to the Westwood Kennedy headquarters for assignment. I was sent to Santa Monica, where I worked until 8pm bringing voters out of their homes to vote for Kennedy. I went home and ate dinner and watched the early election returns on television. With five percent of the vote counted (mostly from Northern California), McCarthy was slightly ahead, but Los Angeles County was expected to go to Kennedy. I had been invited to the Ambassador Hotel celebration, so at 10pm I walked over.

Almost exactly a year before, we had had our senior prom in the ballroom next to the room where the celebration for us lower level campaign workers was scheduled. The atmosphere was entirely different this time: the room was crowded with people, it was stuffy, full of the smell of cigarettes, sweat, and cheap perfume. There were television cameras, banners and signs. A mariachi band was playing when I first entered, and various singers--Rosemary Cluny's the only one I remember--entertained the throng as the night wore on. In between, there was a constant rumble of cheering and chanting. Election returns were periodically reported from the stage and it gradually became clear that Kennedy was taking California. Anticipation grew and grew. The sound of firecrackers sounded from the hallway. The chanting grew louder. It had taken me over two hours to work my way to within five feet of the stage where, we were promised, the Senator was soon to appear in address us. Somewhere around 12:15, as we were in the middle of chanting, "We want Bobby! We want Bobby," the master of ceremonies (a guy with red-tinted sunglasses and voice right out of the Columbia School of Broadcasting's rock deejay division) told us to be quiet because something important was happening. When it had quieted down somewhat, they began yelling for doctors. I figured it was for the pregnant woman by the stage who had earlier almost been crushed by the press of the crowd. Then they said, "This is important. Please quiet down...we need a doctor. There has been a serious accident upstairs." All of a sudden, it became very quiet. Someone in back yelled, "What the hell's happened?" All we in that room knew was coming over a transistor radio that the guy with red-tinted glasses was holding to his ear. Listening, he got a horrified look on his face and finally announced, "Senator Kennedy has been shot in the hip!"

In shock, the crowd quickly clustered around the few television monitors and radios in the room to listen for news. Many were crying, some were swearing, most looked shocked. It was clear to me that I was not going to find out anything there that I couldn't watch on television at home, so I decided to leave.

The scene in front of the hotel was more confusing. Sirens were blaring. Five police cars were just pulling up the long driveway. Ambulances, too, were arriving. A passenger bus had been parked across Wilshire Blvd, so as to divert traffic. I still thought that Kennedy had only been wounded in the hip, but I was angry and upset and felt powerless to do anything about it. In lieu of being any help, I began to run down Wilshire, towards home. Along the way, people in their cars would ask me what I knew. The thing is, they probably knew more than I did, since they at least had a radio. When I got to the corner of Wilshire and Vermont, a black fellow stopped his car, leaned way out with his face full of anger and shouted, "What the hell is going on down there?" All I could think of to say was, "They caught the guy." I kept running the rest of the way home and, at one point, slammed my hand against a parking meter: it was swollen for days.

It was not until I got home that I found out that the attack was life threatening. I watched television all night long, trying at the same time to study for a psychology final the next day. His life was in balance all the next day. I went to bed early Wednesday night and awoke to learn that Robert Kennedy had died. The first thing I did that morning was to put out a flag at half mast.

I felt a great sense of futility in the days following. I had participated, in a small way to be sure, in the recognized means of effecting political change, and just at the very moment when victory was at hand it was pulled violently away. The way it was done, though, made it so ambiguous that it was hard to know who had denied the victory. Sirhan Sirhan just seemed to come out of left field. I was at a complete loss trying to understand what he was thinking. After all, I got a "D" in psychology.

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