Robert F. Kennedy
Today marks the 40th Anniversary of the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy.
I shook Robert Kennedy's hand once.
I was a young kid and was attending the Puerto Rican Day parade in New York along Fifth Avenue with my father. My father loved parades and we went often -- whatever the occasion or and ethnic group: The Columbus Day Parade, the Macy's Day Parade, the St. Patrick's Day parade, the Puerto Rican Day Parade and Israel Day Parade -- we were regulars.
My father was also very active in local democratic club politics in Manhattan and he knew many of the local politicians. On this Sunday (I think it was a Sunday) I was standing at the edge of the curb with my father watching the parade when we saw the new Senator, Robert Kennedy, marching down the street.
I'm not exactly sure why, whether it was because he recognized my father or because my father hailed and greeted him or because he liked little kids, but he stepped over to me and held out his hand for me to shake. I still recall his bending down and looking me straight in the face and his smile I grasped his hand with mine. Shaking his hand made me feel connected to him, to his campaign and to all that he came to stand for. And then he walked on.
As I said, my father was involved in Democratic politics. He and my mother had offered to host a cocktail party in our home for Robert Kennedy's Presidential campaign at which he was to appear on June 17, 1968. My parents were very excited and nervous about it.
i was so taken with "Bobby" and his Presidential campaign that I wore a "bobby" button for most of 1967-68. I believed in him and everything that his campaign promised for America: social justice, a society that cared, and end to the Vietnam war-- all cast in an idealistic yet pragmatic can-do agenda.
There had been a cover of Time magazine with Kennedy on it done by Roy Lichtenstein in his pop style that I had framed and put on my wall.
The night of the California primary I stayed awake with my father watching returns. Kennedy had basically set California as a litmus test for his campaign --if he lost, it was over; if he won, we were confident he would go on to win the nomination.
As it got past midnight, I was tired. My father suggested we both go to sleep and wake up early the next morning to find Kennedy the winner.
My father woke me early with the words "The Senator's been shot." I still remember sitting in my little room (what in real estate parlance would be referred to as the maid's room), a window looking out to an air shaft and watching my 13 inch black & white television with the rabbit ears tilted out the window for better reception.
"Again" was the word that stuck in my mind. Again. Martin Luther King had been shot just two months before, John F. Kennedy five years before -- It seemed as if America was becoming unglued. We certainly felt that way as we watched in shock the reports confirming Kennedy's death.
A few years ago, when I had to close out and empty my parent's apartment after they had both passed away, I came across the framed picture of Bobby Kennedy from my childhood.
It now hangs in my office and I am looking at it as I write this. He looks so young -- it's as if he's in mid-speech -- a speech he was never to finish.
I shook Robert Kennedy's hand once.
I was a young kid and was attending the Puerto Rican Day parade in New York along Fifth Avenue with my father. My father loved parades and we went often -- whatever the occasion or and ethnic group: The Columbus Day Parade, the Macy's Day Parade, the St. Patrick's Day parade, the Puerto Rican Day Parade and Israel Day Parade -- we were regulars.
My father was also very active in local democratic club politics in Manhattan and he knew many of the local politicians. On this Sunday (I think it was a Sunday) I was standing at the edge of the curb with my father watching the parade when we saw the new Senator, Robert Kennedy, marching down the street.
I'm not exactly sure why, whether it was because he recognized my father or because my father hailed and greeted him or because he liked little kids, but he stepped over to me and held out his hand for me to shake. I still recall his bending down and looking me straight in the face and his smile I grasped his hand with mine. Shaking his hand made me feel connected to him, to his campaign and to all that he came to stand for. And then he walked on.
As I said, my father was involved in Democratic politics. He and my mother had offered to host a cocktail party in our home for Robert Kennedy's Presidential campaign at which he was to appear on June 17, 1968. My parents were very excited and nervous about it.
i was so taken with "Bobby" and his Presidential campaign that I wore a "bobby" button for most of 1967-68. I believed in him and everything that his campaign promised for America: social justice, a society that cared, and end to the Vietnam war-- all cast in an idealistic yet pragmatic can-do agenda.
There had been a cover of Time magazine with Kennedy on it done by Roy Lichtenstein in his pop style that I had framed and put on my wall.
The night of the California primary I stayed awake with my father watching returns. Kennedy had basically set California as a litmus test for his campaign --if he lost, it was over; if he won, we were confident he would go on to win the nomination.
As it got past midnight, I was tired. My father suggested we both go to sleep and wake up early the next morning to find Kennedy the winner.
My father woke me early with the words "The Senator's been shot." I still remember sitting in my little room (what in real estate parlance would be referred to as the maid's room), a window looking out to an air shaft and watching my 13 inch black & white television with the rabbit ears tilted out the window for better reception.
"Again" was the word that stuck in my mind. Again. Martin Luther King had been shot just two months before, John F. Kennedy five years before -- It seemed as if America was becoming unglued. We certainly felt that way as we watched in shock the reports confirming Kennedy's death.
A few years ago, when I had to close out and empty my parent's apartment after they had both passed away, I came across the framed picture of Bobby Kennedy from my childhood.
It now hangs in my office and I am looking at it as I write this. He looks so young -- it's as if he's in mid-speech -- a speech he was never to finish.
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