The Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy: Crime, Conspiracy, and Cover Up

The spring of my sophomore year of high school found me falling into a depression that lasted several months. Personal and family problems were behind most of it, with national events weighing down with extra pressure as we saw the deaths of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy.

1968 was such a bad year, I avoided thinking about it for decades; I have tried to understand it for decades more.

In those days, my dad would wake me up before he left for work at Chrysler in Highland Park, MI. I turned on my radio while dressing for school. That June 5 I learned that Robert F. Kennedy had been shot. It caught me unawares, a gut-punch that left me breathless.

I had a two-mile walk to high school. Then I ran to my friend's locker to find her devastated. Her parents didn't understand her grief, she said. I wrote in my diary that I silently prayed, "Don't let him die."

Looking back, it seems that with RFK's death the dream of a just society died, too.

(Alright, I have read biographies and I know that Bobby was no one's idea of perfection. But he did have an awakening and envisioned a better America for everyone.)

We watched the news. We saw how Sirhan Sirhan stood in front of Bobby and shot him and knew that Bobby died. Sirhan went to prison.

End of story.

Apparently, this story's end was manipulated for easy answers and for fifty years people have been searching for answers that better fit the evidence. Beginning with the fact that Sirhan was in front of RFK by several feet but RFK died from a bullet that struck him in the back of the head.

Oh, and it seems that Sirhan's gun held eight bullets but thirteen may have been fired.

Investigative journalists Tim Tate and Brad Johnson's book The Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy presents an entire history of investigations into Bobby's death, drawing on 100,000 official documents and 25 years of forensic work.

I am not easily drawn to conspiracy theories. All kinds have been made over the years. Was Sirhan hypnotized? Did the government brainwash him? Were a girl in a polka dot dress and a man in a gold sweater involved? Did the police destroy evidence to hide something? Where witnesses harassed or ignored? It is all very interesting but I am not placing bets on any of them.

What seems possible is that the LAPD had decided that Sirhan had the gun and they ignored evidence and testimony and gaps that did not fit into their story.

Reading Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson and The Shine Will Shine by Ray Hinton and I Can't Breathe by Matt Taibbi proves that the police do make decisions and manipulate evidence to be consistent with what they believe. It is very possible the LAPD did that fifty years ago.

Paul Schrade was behind Kennedy and was also shot. He believes there was a second gunman. He went to Sirhan and told him he believed he was innocent. "You were never behind Bob, nor was Bob's back ever exposed to you," Schrade told Sirhan.

We will never know the truth of Bobby's murder. It is one more 'unsolved mystery' for us to ponder. What is the point? my husband asked; Bobby is still dead.

It was interesting to learn about fifty years of investigation regarding Bobby's death. My interest did not lag.

The Daily Mail is serializing the book.
View the trailer for the book at https://vimeo.com/272208961?ref=tw-share

I received a free ebook from the Thistle Publishing in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

LBJ's 1968: Power, Politics, and the Presidency in America's Year of Upheaval by Kyle Longley

LBJ's 1968 by Kyle Longley caught my interest right away. I have been reading about President Johnson ever since Doris Kearns Goodwin's book LBJ and the American Dream came out.

LBJ has fascinated me for the complexity of his character. He was a truly empathetic man who strove to better the lives of Americans. He understood power and how to use it. He could be cruel and undignified. And he was blind to his own flaws.

While contending with one crisis after another, Longley shows how President Johnson's strength under pressure and thoughtful consideration helped him deal successfully with the U.S.S. Pueblo while his fatal flaw, a prideful lack of self-examination and denial of error, led to his failure to end the war in Vietnam.

LBJ abused his power regarding Supreme Court nominations, which the Republicans would not approve, setting a dangerous precedent. Johnson was unwilling to give over party leadership, negatively impacting the Democratic platform and Vice President Humphrey's campaign.

But he also responded to the death of Rev. King and the resulting rioting across the nation with empathy and understanding, pushing the 1968 Fair Housing Act.

LBJ had supported gun control ever since the assassination of President Kennedy. In February 1968 he submitted the Safe Streets and Crime Control Bill. He wanted to ban mail order sales, interstate sales, sales to prison inmates, and sales to minors--but the NRA opposition squashed the bills. And a few weeks later, RFK was shot. The president proposed a commission on violence.

"My fellow citizens, we cannot, we just must not, tolerate the sway of violent men among us. We must not permit those who are filled with hatred...to dominate our streets and fill our homes with fear...Let us put an end to violence and to the preaching of violence. Let the Congress pass laws to bring the insane traffic in guns to a halt, as I have appealed to them time and time again to do. That will not, in itself, end the violence, but reason and experience tell us that it will slow it down; that it will spare many innocent lives."

The Gun Control Act of 1968 did end mail order sales, sales to minors, and importation of guns but failed on licensing and registration.

When the Nixon camp secretly worked to stall Johnson's peace talks, Johnson elected to suppress the evidence rather than create a crisis if the president-elect was outed as treasonous. As Longly points out, that crisis was only delayed until the Watergate break-in was discovered.

As if the Vietnam war and problems of Communist China were not enough, LBJ had to respond to the 1968 Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia.

Every issue we deal with today can find its twin in 1968. I enjoyed both the in-depth story of 1968 both as history and as a revelation of how we "got to here."

The Republican response to Civil Rights, Environmentalism, and the Great Society was immediate; the dismantling Johnson's legacy, even the publicly popular programs, continues to this day. We have a renewal of racial tension and hate groups. We still struggle with Southeast Asia, China, and the Soviets.

I found LBJ's 1968 to be an emotional as well as intellectual read, as both a snapshot in time and informing today's political scene. I would recommend it to those interested in American history, presidential history, and also to those of us who grew up during this time period.

I received a free ebook from the publisher through NetGalley in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

LBJ's 1968: Power, Politics, and the Presidency in America's Year of Upheaval
by Kyle Longley
Cambridge University Press
Publication April 1, 2018
ISBN 9781107193031
PRICE $29.99 (USD)

Getting Personal

I voted for LBJ in a junior high mock election after a classmate told me about the Great Society. A few years later my peers were chanting LBJ, how many kids did you kill today.

1968 was such a tumultuous year that I spent years trying to encapsulate it in a short story, 16 in '68. I was still fifteen at the time of the assassinations of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr and Robert F. Kennedy. I returned from school to televised images of the war in Vietnam and body counts.

My husband vividly remembers watching President Johnson announcing his withdrawal from candidacy for reelection.

My mom and I watched the 1968 Democratic Convention together on our black and white television.

In the meantime, my family was dealing with a health crisis, mom hospitalized for weeks while I 'held down' the fort at home for my little brother. And between the assassinations of public leaders, a boy at school sat in a car in his family garage, door closed, with the engine running.

Both my personal world and the public world were overwhelming.

On my first wedding anniversary, we learned that on the day we were being married in a quaint, New England style church surrounded by red rose bushes, President Nixon's 'plumbers' were planning a break in that night.

Reviews

'Countless historians have picked apart 1968, but Kyle Longley is the first to go inside the head of the man who, more than anyone else, defined that year - and with a style and precision that somehow makes an account of a terrible time a joy to read.'
Clay Risen - The New York Times

'1968 was a turbulent year in our country and a year when President Lyndon Johnson encountered what seemed like an endless series of crises. Kyle Longley has depicted the tone of the times and captured the dilemmas and decisions of LBJ in this compelling book that should be read by any student of that eventful year.'
Larry Temple - Special Counsel to President Lyndon Johnson in 1968, Chairman of the LBJ Foundation

'Like King Lear, Lyndon Johnson gave away his power before the end of the play. Kyle Longley's Texas-size epic reveals the tragedy, comedy, pathos, and heroism in the extraordinary events that followed that fateful year, 1968, as seen through the eyes of an American giant.'
Elizabeth Cobbs - author of American Umpire

'From the Pueblo crisis to the Chennault affair, 1968 was a year like no other, and Kyle Longley's fast-paced, richly detailed narrative splendidly captures the ups - and mostly downs - from the vantage point of LBJ's White House.'
George C. Herring - author of The American Century and Beyond

'Kyle Longley has penned a vivid and insightful portrait of one of the most tumultuous and significant years in American history.'
Randall B. Woods - University of Arkansas

'Kyle Longley offers an insightful portrayal of arguably the most complex American president of the Cold War era. What emerges is a fresh appraisal of Lyndon Johnson, a tragic figure contesting the forces of history. In an innovative biographical approach, Longley takes us inside LBJ’s White House during the tumultuous year of 1968. An outstanding work by a master storyteller.'
Gregory A. Daddis - Chapman University, California

Grandpa Ramer, Letter Writer Extraordinaire

My Grandfather Lynne O. Ramer wrote scores of letters to people: relatives, college friends, students, and strangers including public figures, could count on his sending a letter.

When Gramps died in 1971 I received his personal papers, as per his desire. They were stored for many years before I could see what was there. Here is a selection of letters he received from the famous and near-famous.

Robert F. Kennedy

What 1962 article in the Saturday Evening Post did Gramps write about in his letter to Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy? I can only wonder! But RFK wrote a nice letter back.

US Senator Warren Magnuson

Senator Magnuson refers to the contents of Gramp's letter. Gramps also wrote that the Senator supported the oceanographic research bill S. 901 which was 'pocket vetoed' by President Kennedy.

My grandfather had sent Senator Magnuson articles about the Lobo Wolves of Kane, PA. Summer of 1961 my grandparents, my mother, and I went on a trip to Pennsylvania. My mother and her siblings had all been born in Kane where my grandfather had been a teacher. We visited the Lobo Wolves and I have post cards, a flyer, and a magazine article about them in my scrapbook.

Lobo wolves postcards

Flyer for the attraction

Dr. McCleery saw his first wolf as a young man. After earning his doctor's degree he returned to his hometown of Kane to practice. The U S. Biological Service was exterminating the wolves that had once followed the Buffalo but now were attacking cattle. In 1921 McCleery asked for several wolf pups and he started a zoo or preserve for the wolves. They were filmed for the Walt Disney film The Legend of Lobo.

Magazine article on the Lobos at Kane, PA

 After McCleery's death, Paul Lynch took over to care for the wolves.

Senator Philip Hart

A letter dated September 13, 1961, from United States Senator Philip Hart mentions that Senator Magnuson had forwarded him Gramps' letter of September 9. "This I have read with much interest. Your observations and philosophical comments have brought home to me some things I have not thought of before, and I am grateful to you." Gramps noted that Hart supported Magnuson on 

S 901.

Governor G. Mennen Williams

This letter from Michigan Governor G. Mennen Williams responded to Gramp's congratulations on his appointment as Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs. Gramps wrote about Kayoes Mogaji, a Nigerian he had been exchanging letters with after seeing Kayoes' letter in the Saturday Evening Post.

The Governor graciously thanked Gramps for sharing Kayoe's letter and even said he would "do my best to say hello to Kayoe and give him your personal regards." The Governor also said, "if there were more people like yourself helping the "Kayoes" of Africa, I am sure there would much more understanding in the world."

Gramps notated,"but he (Williams) didn't find the time when in Lagos! Kayoes saw "Soapy' from afar! From the street."

Gramps added, "Kayoes Mogaji, 21 in 1959, sent a letter to Editor (Saturday Evening Post), "Ben" Hibbs [editor of the Saturday Evening Post], asking: "Tell us about U.S.A.; from 12 Eiselgangau Street, Lagos, Nigeria. Subsequently, we exchanged a dozen letters--"bearing gifts"--with Kayoes and two others. "Brown, yellow, and black boys"--all members of Lagos Epis.[copal] Cathedral Orchestra."

So my grandfather wrote to members of the Lagos Episcopal Cathedral Orchestra after reading Kayoe's letter in a magazine!

Williams' term as the Governor of Michigan ended on January 1, 1961, at which time President Kennedy appointed him to the post of Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs, where he served from 1961 to 1966. 

George Pierrot's World Adventure Series

Whenever we were at my grandparent's house we all watched George Pierrot's World Adventure Series,  Mondays through Fridays at 5 pm. The show debuted on October 10, 1948, on WXYZ and ran until 1979. 

I have a letter dated November 29, 1961, written from Pierrot to my grandfather, a response to Gramps sending him a lengthy letter and a clipping of his article "Mindin' Cows and Larnin' which had appeared in the "We Notice That" column in his hometown paper the Lewiston Sentinel. 

Pierrot wrote,

"I had a little bit of farm experience. My father was a doctor in Seattle but he operated an orchard in the Yakima Valley of Eastern Washington. We had no livestock, but summers we had a pony, and drove a team of horses ten hours a day, cultivating and ditching for irrigation. In 1913 when you were ten, I was fifteen and getting reading for journalism by editing my high school newspaper. Later I edited the University of Washington daily and took my A.B. in Journalism at the same University.

"I edited both the American Boy and Youth's Companion. In 1913 the editor would have been Clarence Budington Kelland [later to become editor of the Saturday Evening Post], later to become one of America's most popular magazine writers. I was his protege when I came along in 1922, and he was very helpful to me. As a boy I also used to read Horatio Alger, G. A. Henty, and the rest. You could turn in an Alger and get another one for an additional nickel. I remember par, for reading an Alger book, was from 4 p.m. when I got home from school to 6 p.m. when it was supper time. The skinnier Alger books took less than two hours.

"Well, I'm the only one in my immediate family who isn't a teacher. I am glad that I have always managed to stay in fields where the dissemination of information was the important thing, such as the American Boy. Such as our illustrated lectures. And our tv shows, on the average, are as informative as we can contrive without losing the popularity that keeps them on the air.

"It is always a pleasure to hear from a teacher, especially when he is a former reader of the magazine where I spent fourteen happy years.

"Sincerely, George F. Pierrot"

The second letter from Pierrot to Gramps is dated December 15, 1961. It is more formal in tone.

My grandfather affixed a Detroit Free Press newspaper clipping from February 27, 1971, written by Charlie Hanna and entitled, "At 73, George Pierrot is TV's Oldest Travelor." Hann writes that in the 1930s Pierrot was the country's youngest magazine editor and was then the nation's oldest television star of the nation's first and longest running travel show.

Ralph J. Bunche, Under-Secretary, United Nations

My grandfather was related to Maude Shannon Ramer, whose cousin Rev. James Shannon was the motivation for an international gathering for understanding in Aaronsburg, PA. Mr. Bunche was one of the attendees. You can read about it at my post here.

Upon the Reverand's death, my grandfather wrote to Mr. Bunche, forwarding Maude Ramer's letter regarding her cousin's death.

A June 14, 1960, letter from Mr. Bunche to my grandfather includes a copy of the letter he sent to Maude, who had also written to him.

"I am very sorry to learn that he is gone," Mr. Bunche wrote, "...he was a thoroughly dedicated man who stood for the right, fortified always by the staunch courage of his convictions. It is too bad, in the light of his deep interest in Africa, that he could not have lived to see the exciting developments that have been taking place in that continent, with almost explosive rapidity, during the past three years."

copy of Mr. Bunche's letter to Maude Ramer

Ann Lander

In April 1960, My grandfather sent columnist Ann Landers an article he had written entitled "This is Your Wife" recounting all the things husbands take for granted. Ann wrote back, saying, "If the married world were packed with husbands like you, I'd be out of business."

Walt Disney Studios, Carl Nater, Director

Grandpa had a masters degree in mathematics. In his later life, he taught calculus and trigonometry at Lawrence Technological University. He had developed a cartoon Micky Mouse to explain algebra.

He wrote a letter to Walt Disney Productions and received back a letter dated October 16, 1962, from Carl Nater, Director.

"Your very fascinating letter has been received and I've been asked to answer it for it does relate rather closely to some of our activities. This division is responsible for the distribution of our films which have educational values to the schools and we, therefore, work quite closely with the school people all over the country.

"The use of the Mickey Mouse symbol to explain some of the concepts in algebra strikes us as being most imaginative and while I fear I have forgotten all of the algebra I learned at one time I shouldn't be a bit surprised that it is well received by your students. I have two youngsters at home who are currently struggling with algebra and I'm going to give them a chance to use the "Mickey Mouse" approach.

"It is obvious to us you are certainly a real teacher and I should think every youngster who has been in your classes has had a wonderful and exciting experience with algebra. We are most grateful for your interest in our activities and thanks so much for your letter."

I admit that when Gramps tutored me in Algebra I passed the class.

Roger Blough, U. S. Steel

Gramps had attended Susquehanna University with Roger Blough, who became Chairman of the Board of U. S. Steel. Blough and President Kennedy had a battle over steel prices. Blough's article in LOOK magazine on January 29, 1963, offered his belief that the market, not the government, should set commodity prices.

This letter from Blough dated October 12, 1959, is interesting only for Gramps' note: "Nick" Blough and I were building cleaners, "white coats" (table waiters) at S.U. in the 1920s."

Denis Baly, author "Geography of the Bible

A. Denis Baly was the author of "Geography of the Bible" and a professor at Kenyon College. A December 12, 1961, letter notes his engagement to speak in Detroit, and Gramps noted he was at the lecture, noting, "He's wonderful!"

Baly mentions his upcoming trip to Syria and Lebanon, and to see Abu Simbel "in case they do not manage to collect the money to protect it!" The ancient temple of Ramses II was threatened by the planned Aswan Dam. The money was raised to relocate the temple.

Harold Moldenke, author of Plants of the Bible

When I was a girl my grandfather gave me a thick stack of educational papers in biology, prepared by Moldenke. Moldenke was another Susquehanna U alumni, class of 1929. My grandfather had sent him a leaf for identification

Gramp's note reads, "Hey, Jack! Got the hepatica along his (John Geiger) lake (Dunham!) Now dig up root, stem & leaves; leave to dry, then send that poison ivy (like) plant to the above--you'll know! We (and wives) have been constant pals since 1942! Our kids (4) and theirs (2) grew up together--H.S. (Kenmore, N.Y.) Their kids were grads of M.S.U. and U of M (Roger has 2 A.M. from U of  M!

Had my grandfather lived into the age of social media, he would have been a Facebook addict with thousands of friends.

Nancy's Sophomore Slump

Me, age 15

By Tenth Grade I felt like an 'old pro' at high school. The year was a heady journey of ups and downs. I went on my first date, studied journalism, saw the end of a friendship and the deepening of others. That spring, 1968, Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated. A boy at school died. And Mom suffered a major health crisis that hospitalized her for weeks.

Me, fall 1967

I had taken Algebra in summer school so I could 'catch up' to my friends and take Geometry as a sophomore. I started out ok, but couldn't keep up and failed the class.

My geometry teacher Mr. Jacobson and I had a 'special' relationship. One day he said I was his favorite geometry student. "He kept bugging me and asked, "Who's your favorite geometry teacher?" That spring, when I was flunking the class, I told one of his honors geometry students to "kick Mr. Jacobson hello for me," and she did. She said he laughed and thought it was 'sweet of me' to remember him. When I came into class he told me, "I got your hello." I apologized, but he said, don't think of it, adding that he was "happy to fill my head with geometry."

About Journalism class I wrote, "Mr. Rosen's going to be a real peach of a teacher." I loved the class, even selling the Herald newspapers and Lancer yearbooks. I wrote, "Everything Mr. Rosen says sinks and goes deep into me. I looked through all my old Heralds and my Lancer.  I bet I’ve looked at my yearbook a million times."

I had Biology with Mr. Gasiorowski whose passion for his subject was infectious. What a great teacher and a great guy. He was a Chicago Cubs and Eddie Stankey fan.

When my dad brought home two rabbits in the spring I named them Eddie Stankey and Stanley Miller, a chemist Mr. G talked about who made amino acids in a test tube. My brother called the bunnies Spot and Snow.

Me with Edie Stankey and Stanley Miller

When Mr. G talked about Desmond Morris' book The Naked Ape I bought a copy. Mom picked it up to look at and was appalled by the description of the human body response during sex. I told her I had read more salacious things in her books which I had picked up and read!

In October my folks went to the Parent open house. I wrote, "Apparently Mom and Dad had a good time at open house tonight. They liked all my teachers, especially Mr. Rosen and Mr. Gasiorowski. Mr. R said, “I don’t know if any of the kids have been telling you what we’ve been doing..”
“Yeah!” Mom said.  “Two hundred sentences…”
“That was a while back.”
“Now you're doing verbs and photography.  She likes your class best, I think.”

Girl's Choir 1967-68. I am in the second row from bottom, fifth from the right.

I was thrilled to be promoted to Girl's Choir. We wore a navy blazer provided by the school. I felt really sharp wearing it to school on days we sang. I was always singing, walking home or through the school hallways. They were a great group of gals and I made many friends in choir. I enjoyed Mrs. Ballmer.

Gym was required for two years. My gym locker was near that of the 'Greaser' girl who had bullied me in junior high, taking my hat and throwing it. One day I was singing while dressing and she said, "She's singing. Are you singing for me?" I replied, "If you want me to." And so I sang the second alto part of the song we were learning in choir. Her friends listened, too. They said I was good. I was never picked on again. It was a confirmation of something I had believed when a girl: if a bad guy came along all I had to do was play the piano or sing to calm the wildness.

I was still pining for the same boy. I wrote, "Mom left me with no hope. But Dad did. He said, “Don’t give up.” He said anything—even a fumble—boosts a guy’s morale. Let’s hope so. Of course, he ought to know, being a guy himself—once."

My old neighbor and friend Mike D. who had moved away was now a freshman at Kimball. I was too shy to talk to him. One day he gathered his courage and asked if I was me and then asked if I remembered the telescope and Homer the Ghost. I didn't have the courage to let him know I really had liked him. Partly it was pride, as I was a year older, but mostly I was shy.

A boy from my homeroom teased me for a while then asked me out. We dated for a few weeks, going to a school dance. We were dancing to My Girl when he kissed me, my first kiss. He wanted to go steady. I liked him as a friend, but we had little in common and I broke it off.

My homeroom class, 10th Grade. I am in the second row, third from right.

I followed several friends and joined the Political Action Club.

I never cared about sports but went to the football games at school to see my friends. I did learn a little about football.

I was writing more poetry:

The sunlight from the window,
Formed a stream of light flowing into the room.
The light illuminated the particles of dust
Floating on the river of melted sun.
The slowly sinking silver moon
Abandoned its position in the heavens
Giving it up to the victor, the sun.
A rosy dawn slowly, silently
Took over the sky transforming
A midnight blue to rainbows.

I read Gone With The Wind and wrote, "I feel I know Scarlet and Gerald and Rhett and Melody and Ashley all personally. I suffer with them. They haunt me, through Rhett's asking Scarlet to be his mistress, through Ellen's death, through when Scarlet finds the Tarleton twins have died. War is horrible. The book is so much a love story, but also it gives an excellent picture of Southern life and a great background to the Civil War. I never knew that was like that."

Other books I read included Alfred Hitchcock's Stories Not for the Nervous; The Moonspinners; The Return of the Native and Tess of the D'Ubervilles by Thomas Hardy; Other Voices, Other Rooms by Truman Capote; J. D. Salinger's books; John Knowle's A Separate Peace; Green Mansions; The Foundation Trilogy by Issac Asimov; Kingsblood Royal; The Chosen by Chaim Potok; Anna Karenina; and Stranger in a Strange Land by Heinlein.

Tom and Dad playing at dining room table, Me and Mom.
No one else wore their hair that way. I always did something weird.

The fall began with the murder of a classmate's little brother in the Quickstead Woods near Kimball. Then my Grandfather Ramer was hospitalized after his first heart attack. One night some boys were trying to get the attention of the girls who lived across the street. Dad yelled at them to be quiet. They threw a beer bottle through my parent's second-floor bedroom window.

That October, listening to my records I wrote,

"Life is so baffling and unpredictable. It schemes, and you can only hope you’re on the right side of the conflicting forces and not on the overpowered side. It can cut you down like a scythe cuts the wheat. You fall at its mercy. It can be endless in every way as the stars. It can make you as exhausted as one lost in a pathless woods.

I won’t cry, no I won’t cry,
I won’t shed a tear
Not as long, not as long as you
Stand by me.

I feel so strange to feel so friendly
To say “good morning,” and really mean it,
To feel these changes happening in me,
But not to notice still I feel it.

"It’s all so strange. To say “good morning” and really mean it.  It makes me think.  Do they?  Does someone care, even if to say a “good morning?”  What is there left to say?  Is there something I’ve forgotten?  One person left blank?

“I can no longer keep my blind drawn,
And I can’t keep myself from talking.”

"But I notice, I feel it. What a strange effect a beautiful, overdubbed melody can have, creating a whole new emotion out of nowhere. Changing instantly how you feel. Maybe tomorrow I’ll know the answers. Maybe tomorrow I’ll know. I can only wait. And hope He will stand by me, as before."

At Christmas, our neighbors the McNabs joined my family for a turkey dinner. I played Christmas Carols on the piano and they sang along. Afterward, Grandma Ramer, Dad, my brother and me took a drive to see Christmas lights.

We ended up in Detroit. I wrote, "We saw Cobo Hall, Ford Auditorium, The Spirit of Detroit, Hudson's Christmas display windows. It began to snow, not much on the ground, but it does look beautiful to look out your window and see snow falling. Yes, we saw Detroit in all its glory, and the dark, back alleys that chill you to the bone. Not far from Grand Circus Blvd. and it's lighted stores, are broken-down tenements. But even there, in cracked windows, can be found a few colored lights, a lighted candle."

We spent New Year's Day in Tonawanda. I wrote, "Now I'm grown I can see people's personalities. Aunt Alice and Uncle Kenny, Skip, Tom Wilson. Skip says I can't marry until I'm 30--get an education. Uncle Ken is funny. Aunt Alice will have a baby in July. John [Kuhn] pities poor dad--"even your own daughter!"--because I pick on his big nose." I wrote that "Nancy Ensminger was impressed by my description of my life in Michigan." Sadly, Aunt Alice lost that baby.

In January I wrote, "I think the world's falling apart. Riots, wars, crime--dear God, I wish I lived on some obscure island in the Pacific or on an iceberg off Greenland. When will man find peace? Will he ever? We destroy all the beautiful things with ugliness. I wish I were a child again able to live in my own magical world and leave the rest up to the adults. But in this day and age, teenagers are caught up in it. Ever since I heard [a boy] talk about being drafted I've been scared for the boys I know. I hate war. Cutting down the nation's youth, without a chance, growing up too quickly."

The Herald, our school paper

On April 5, I wrote, "It happened again. Martin Luther King Jr's murder. Students wore black armbands, shaking their heads silently during Mr. Stephan's speech. They protested that the flag wasn't at half mast until the governor proclaimed it. They were emotionally upset. We all felt bad, and perhaps guilty for our race. We are the future who will deal with this problem. It's fortunate most felt compassion instead of victory."

On April 6, I wrote, "It seems we just all exploded happily over Hanoi's wanting a peace talk, and up, up, up went the stocks. LBJ had to stay and cancel his trip as riots broke out over King's murder and down, down, down went the stocks. I am convinced this country is a mess. Mr. Jacobson's been talking politics in class lately, and Mr. Burroughs is great on current events. I've learned a lot about him about Vietnam, stocks, the racial problem, and other problems of this Rat Race. Mr. Gasiorowski has been preparing us for sex, marriage, and other things about Adult Life and responsibilities. With Mr. Rosen we try to take this world and report all the latest facts on the Rat Race to the Rats themselves. So, in the end, you've gotta get involved. Mr. Gould tries to help your 'love life,' and Mrs. Ballmer helps you get enjoyment out of succeeding and working hard to get to the top. And Mrs. Dubois teaches teamwork. In school, they prepare you for Life."

On April 18, I went to Great Scott on Crooks Rd. with Mom to buy easy meals. Mom was going into the hospital for two weeks and I would be responsible for cooking, cleaning, and getting my brother up and to school. Every few years Mom would try another treatment for her psoriasis and psoriatic arthritis.

In May, my journalism class attended a conference for high school students held at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. We got press cards. My friends and I spent time wandering around town among the college students. I hoped to go to college, too. But I had not talked to my folks about it.

The photographer for the school newspaper and yearbook was the step-son of my Ninth Grade English Teacher, Mr. Botens. He would hang around our classroom, talking to Mr. Rosen. One time they were discussing how to photograph a person in a jar and they asked me to pose. I was wearing the Mod suit I'd bought with the money I found on my way to summer school. I liked Joe, but he was older and I thought he was too cool for me. My friend Dorothy knew him and one day we went to his house so she could return chemistry papers she had borrowed. In April she told me she asked him if he'd date me. She said he said he thought I was cute and would consider--it but he had a girl. That was bitter-sweet.

On May 15, 1968, I came to school and my friend Kathy gently broke the news that Joe had suffered a serious accident. I was stunned. At choir, my friend Peg told me Joe had died. The Girl's Choir sang Happy Birthday and I was offended, unwilling to have life go on in the midst of death. I grieved for days, recalling all my losses over the years. In the end, I decided, "So, follow his example, when he lived. Find the ambition and vigor he met life with. And die with the courage and determination he did, but only when it is time. Now you know death for what it is."

Newspaper articles on the death of Joe Botens

1969 Lancer tribute to Joe Botens

On June 5, I turned on the radio and heard that Robert Kennedy had been shot. One of my close friends was upset, saying her parents didn't understand. There was another school rally and the Principal gave another speech and a prayer for Kennedy's recovery. On June 6 I wrote, "I prayed as I fell asleep: Don't let him die, don't let him die."

October 1967 Free Press photo of RFK visit to Detroit

While Mom was at the hospital the doctors discovered that she was being harmed by the medications she was on and they took her off them, cold turkey. She became very ill, losing both weight and her hair. The family feared she would die. Dad came home from work, ate, and went to the hospital. I was not allowed to go. I stayed with my little brother.  It was an awful, stressful time.

The school year ended. The last day I walked home alone, for all my friends had left already. I was very blue. Summer of 1968 was the lowest point of my life.

The stress of Mom's illness showed in my family. I was falling into depression, moody and unhappy. My folks were short with me. There were fights. They did not understand that stress affects the whole family.

My Uncle Dave was in a horrible car accident in Annapolis. I went with the McNabs to see The Graduate. I traded bedrooms with my brother, making me nostalgic thinking about all I'd experienced while in that room. I went bike riding with my girlfriends. We saw the fireworks display at the Clawson park, just a block away from where I now live.

Mom was still not well when my July birthday came. Instead of a Sweet Sixteen party like my friends had, I was lucky to have a cake and a family gathering.

I struggled with the evil in the world, the loss of my naive belief in the innate goodness of all people. Now, I wondered if I wanted to live in such a world. I prayed to just die and then felt terror. I realized my terror was because I believed in God and feared that my prayer might be answered. I had at least accomplished one goal: I was on my way to a real faith.

One summer day I took my brother Tom and his friend Bruce McNab to show them my daily walk to Kimball. After Freshman year all I could think about was getting back to school. This summer I was nostalgic for simpler, happy days. One year had changed everything.

Bruce McNab and Tom Gochenour

Remembering The Assassination of Bobby Kennedy

In a few weeks my review of Bobby Kennedy: The Making of an American Icon by Larry Tye will post. I finished the book June 4, the day before the anniversary of his assassination.

June 5, 1968 Wednesday

I woke up and turned on the radio. A grim, somber man was talking. No music, no happiness, no funny DJ. Because at 12:15 this morning Robert Kennedy had an attempted assassination against him. It took place in the Ambassador Hotel in LA. Senator Kennedy is in surgery now--brain surgery. He had two bullets in his head. his heart, they say, is in good health. Four other people were wounded. It happened right after his speech.

When I first heard he was shot, I cried. I stopped to listen. The tension--there was little relief when I found he wasn't dead.

What's happening? Why?

Kathy was really upset about it. She told me her parents don't understand, don't care. Dorothy on the other hand talked about boys all the way to school. I had my ear glued to the radio I brought along.

Mr. Stephen gave a speech on Kennedy and held a moment of prayer for his recovery. All the heads bowed, solemn, still, not a sound in the gym. Anne Hoffman, exchange student, gave a long speech that touched the heartstrings, dripping with sentiment. It was beautiful. She cried. I could have died. 

Mr. Stephan reported that Senator Kennedy was alright, the brain surgery was over. Applause, relief, smiles with sad eyes, everyone knew, everyone cared.

So reads my diary pages from my sophomore year in high school when I was still fifteen. It was days before the end of school. I wrote that Robert Kennedy was a bright hope in a time of division, working for racial unity. I was worried about America's future: what happens when all the great men are murdered?

It had been a hard year of ups and downs for me. Friendships lost and gained, crushes on boys who avoided me and breaking up with the boy who desired me, choral concerts, classes with beloved teachers Mr. Gasiorowski (biology)  and Mr. Rosen (journalism), flunking geometry. 

And the suicide of a boy I admired, the son of my favorite English teacher, the assassination of Rev. Martin Luther King, and now Robert Kennedy. I had held a simple faith in humanity and the basic goodness of people, but that faith was coming apart. 

Two days later I was thinking about death and dying. I spiraled down into self pity and fear. Still to come was the lengthy hospitalization of my mother with me in charge of my little brother and basic household duties, Dad visiting Mom evenings. I hit rock bottom before realizing I had a (then) simple faith in God, and that knowledge changed everything for me.

But it was this event that was the tipping point, the murder of a man who represented hope. Kids need to believe the adult world will protect them, that the greater community can handle its problems and solve them. 

Later I realized it was just life. My parents lived through World War II. My grandfather was orphaned by age nine and had to fend for himself, working himself through college. My grandparents left a land where they were considered undesirable and a threat. The belief in a past Golden Age is myth.

I was actually pretty lucky, living in my suburban home with two parents, attending a great school, having home cooked food on the table every night and a K-Mart wardrobe every fall. But today I will allow myself to remember the sadness and crushed hopes on the day that Robert Kennedy was shot.