Some men see things as they are and ask why?
In 1968 I was working as a volunteer campaign worker for RFK in Torrance, California, I was thirteen. I was an envelope stuffer, precinct walker, phone answerer, and on fire for Bobby. My mother approved, my step-father didn't, Torrance, at that time, was a blue collar town, riven over desegragation, the Viet Nam War, the "Great Society" and passions ran high. I thought Bobby would be the answer, would bring America together, then he was assassinated and my hopes were crushed.
In the Spring I had watched Bobby ask the nation to bear the unbearable when Martin Luther King was assassinated and I thought: "only this white man, who had known the painful loss of his brother to the assassin's bullet could speak to this tragedy without seeming false or condescending to the black community." Then, in June, they were both gone.
