May 8, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
He didn’t win. The Senator placed third, which is exactly how I feel. Third rate. We found out early in the evening, though they were trying to warn us all day. Ron kept saying things like, “There won’t be a New Hampshire miracle here.” Becca told him not to be so negative. Ron said that he was just being honest and realistic.
Like Ron, I have to be honest and realistic too. I didn’t do my best here in Indiana and I regret it. I let myself get distracted. Instead of working hard, I thought I should have fun. I’m not saying that my efforts would’ve changed anything, but knowing that I didn’t do my best doesn’t help. It makes me wonder how many others didn’t do their best. A bunch of us must’ve dragged down the campaign.
So now, the cleanup committee has finished picking up all those paper plates and cups. The room has been vacuumed. They’re going to move the headquarters down the street, to a storefront. I don’t know how many volunteers will remain.
Benjamin and I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the basement. We didn’t talk about the election. Instead he told me that things weren’t always going to be like this. He’s not always going to be a doorman. He wants to go to college someday, if he isn’t drafted first. He thinks about living in the country, but wonders if he’d be bored. Maybe I think about the same things?
I didn’t tell him what his family said, or about those hateful girls. I didn’t tell him that people wouldn’t like us together. There was no point. He’d tell me that I shouldn’t care what people think.
It’s hard to know when you should be honest and realistic and when you should go out and change things.
