Project 1968

Still Hiding at National

June 30, 1968

by Janine Stephenson

 

Who knew that an important place could be so boring? I called Mom collect last night and told her that we were having a wonderful time here in Washington. I told her that Becca and I had learned a great deal about how this country works, and that we're very proud to be a part of The Senator's National Staff. She said that they were all so proud of me and that I had grown up quite a bit over the past few months. She could tell because I don't call her as much as I used to, and though she wishes I could call more, she understands that I'm an adult. Have I found a boyfriend yet?

 

Her question made me think of Benjamin, who I haven't written or called since leaving Indiana. I wonder if he thinks about me at all anymore. Becca said that last month isn't so long ago and that I should drop a dime and call him. Or a note, a postcard. Anything. But then I told her about what happened with his family, and how they didn't want us seeing each other at all. Her eyes grew very wide. She kept shaking her head and saying, "Screw them."

 

I don't think that's right. I don't think I could disregard their fears, which were very real. I just don't know if sending a postcard would get his hopes up.

 

Baby John says that, from the sound of things, Benjamin liked how I could get him out of his circumstances. People living in poverty often dream of winning the lottery or marrying their way out of their misery. While that might be true for poor people, Benjamin had a steady job. I don't think he was poor; not in the way Baby John thinks.

 

So that's what we talked about yesterday. In fact, that's all we do at National. We're talking and we're hiding out. Ron told us that we might get a job, talking to other people. Maybe working a phone bank. Part of me still feels useless, though seeing Ron's smile lifts my spirits.

 

At least we're not in a rough space like Craig, who is forced to follow Ron around from meeting to meeting.

 

We're staying at a hotel with other volunteers. The hotel is nothing fancy, though I am grateful that it's not a dorm room. I just wish we could be more useful to the campaign.

 

Our time will come.

Saying No

June 28, 1968
by Amy

Bea pitched a fit. I guess it was predictable. She's infinitely more aware and conscious than we are. She said that taking our clothes off at the demonstration would be akin to spreading our legs for peace. Why do it?

Nothing good can come from degradation. There's nothing positive about humiliating ourselves. It won't make them take us seriously. In fact, the only reason we would do something like that would be for the enjoyment of men in the movement. And any fucker who enjoys seeing a woman humiliate herself like that deserves to have his balls taken from him. Literally.

When we went back to Glasses and Coleman to tell them no, Glasses kind of shrugged and said it was a bad idea anyway. But Coleman wouldn't let up on it. "Who told you not to do it, Bea? She's just jealous of you." And on and on and on. He was really pissed about it. I told him that if he really wanted to see a woman go topless in public, I knew of a good strip joint where Lenny Bruce once appeared. He could certainly get an eyeful for the right amount of money.

So there it is. Bea, Lesley and I made a pact that we would meet with each other before considering any other action like that. We're also going to keep an eye on how they treat the girl volunteers. It's counter-revolutionary and illogical to pass oppression along to other folks.

Stripping for Peace

June 27, 1968

by Amy

 

Coleman and Glasses think that we (Bea, Lesley and me) should go to the Induction Center tomorrow and undress in protest. In their minds, they believe stripping would distract cops and young boys appearing in front of the draft board.

 

At first, I didn't think they were serious, but they are. Coleman says that Bea is too flat chested to be truly effective, but since Lea and I are stacked we could put ourselves to good use.

 

I don't know how I feel about this. I don't know what we should do. Lesley thinks we should agree to do it, because we'd be using our special skills to help stop the war.

 

I don't know if all this is in response to the Yips and all their hijinks. Under normal circumstances, Glasses wouldn't entertain this kind of idea because he thinks that the Yips have made things difficult for the rest of us. But then, sometimes he feels badly that we end up getting criticized for not being any fun. He would like people to know that we're not stuffy like Progressive Labor.

 

I understand all this, but I'm just not sure. Lesley and I told them that we'd think about it. Coleman asked if it was because we were afraid. "Baby, I'd never let anybody hurt you," he kept saying to me. "I won't let anybody attack you or anything."

 

But that's not the problem. I don't relish the idea of a bunch of strangers seeing me naked. I don't know of any woman - besides a slut - who would get excited about it. 

 

Lesley thinks we could do it, but I want to talk to Bea first. We'll see what she says. 

Stranded at National

June 27, 1968

by Janine Stephenson

 

I find Washington to be a drag. It's dull and white and too self-important. It's also very exciting being around power. So I guess that makes me confused.

 

We're sitting here in the national McCarthy headquarters. The air conditioning is running high, which makes the office cold and barren. Whereas before, when we were surrounded by heat and sweat and young people who serenated us while we stuffed envelopes, now it's cold and professional. It's also too quiet. People talk in whispers, as if they're afraid of disturbing the peace.

 

It's all very serious. Baby John thinks that he hasn't brought the appropriate clothes for a place like this. I'm inclined to agree. He does look quite dumpy, even though he's from California. Not hippie-dumpy, but grubby dumpy. There is a difference. Someone here would think that Baby John's dirty. Really, all he needs to do is take assemble himself correctly. For instance, he probably should wear the same color socks. Whenever I've asked him about this, he tells me that there are somethings that are more important than socks. While that's certainly true, it doesn't take away from the idea that if he can't pay attention to his own feet, then how will he know where he's going?

 

So we sit here at National Headquarters where everyone is serious and older and far wiser than us and debate whether or not socks should match each other. We talk in whispers and try not to create a scene or make noise or be noticeable. Even Becca is quiet, which is quite a change because she's usually pretty loud and racuous. She brings a magazine to read and then slips it into a U.S. News & World Report, so it looks like she's studying world events.

 

When I see Ron - if I see Ron - he has his business face on. The last time I tried to talk to him while he looked like that, he told me that I should be a dear and leave him alone. He didn't say it exactly like that, but you get the idea. It was thoroughly unpleasant. Craig spends most of his time being Ron's assistant, which means working on special projects. They have yet to figure out anything special for the rest of us.

 

Which is funny, in a way. It's our campaign, but as Baby John says, our campaign isn't in this building.

Excitement and Dread

June 25, 1968
by Amy

There's a feeling of excitement coupled with dread. The vibes are off and then they're on again. I can go into Grant Park right now and find ten people who swear they're going to the convention. They aren't leaving the city... Oh no. They're definitely there and, in fact, we should all come too. But then there's this rumor...

That's how it goes. Everyone's coming but they've heard a rumor that there's going to be some kind of violence. Usually something preposterous like sex gas, which is a certain kind of tear gas that makes you want to have sex with the people around you. There is no such thing, as far as we've heard. And then, there's the rumor about the cops emitting an atrocious noise that will make you piss your pants involuntarily. That discussion sparked a debate as to whether it would just make you piss or if it would make you do something far more sinister in your underwear.

Most of these are scare tactics. Coleman is full of them. "Did you hear the latest..." I've taken to tuning him out. It's the only way.

Mostly I wish the Yips would hang loose on their rhetoric. Glasses won't say it, but he wishes the same thing. Daley's goons are trying to pin us down on their statements to the papers. We're trying to spread the word that we're two different groups. The Yips want Lincoln Park. It's not the same thing.

(Though I have to admit, it is funny how tied the city gets everytime the Yips talk to the papers. Disguising Yip girls as sex pots to seduce delegates is my favorite, though it makes Bea crazy to hear it. The only reason it makes me smile is that I keep picturing Little Toe having sex with a square from Cleveland. Funny, though I know it's counter-revolutionary.)

Dad called me last night to tell me that he's feeling the pinch, the slow turning of a large knob. He feels that he's a victim of it, but he's not sure how or why. Maybe it's time to introduce him to my good friend, Mary Jane. Though with the way things are going, he might already have her phone number.

Arriving in D.C.

June 25, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

The only thing we could see for miles were the white buildings. Everything here is white. It looks Roman, I think, and Craig says that's the point. Everything is based on something else, only we call it our own.

The area around all the white buildings is despicable. Poor, run-down, they are still recovering from the April riots. Baby John said it was 'deplorable.'

How can human beings live like that? How can we stand by and allow people in our own country to live like that? We watched a couched being dumped out of third story windows. The tenements are beaten down and the residents are beaten up. Baby John says that it's like that in every city, not just D.C. Maybe it's just me, but the irony of seeing the God-forsaken surrounding all those white buildings is just too much. Symptomatic of what's wrong with the country.

If more people saw what we did, then they'd understand. Too bad that will never happen. As soon as we got to Virginia, we kept hearing people say things like, "Those people like living that way."

That's just not logical, though it is certainly Darwinian.

- Intermission -

(For both girls and the project, this is where intermission takes place. It won't last long. In fact, it will be quite short. 

Intermissions are the only reason why you will see me commenting on this front page.

Storywise, Janine is arriving in Washington D.C. Amy is about to receive some troubling news. This second part will involve the lead-up to the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago.

Please note that the Associated Press raised Hell with bloggers last week about quoting from their stories. I stopped the news segments until I could figure out what action to take regarding the news. In the beginning, that segment was merely to provide footnotes to the story. People have enjoyed those news updates, and I look forward to continuing them after the Intermission.

As well, I've received a number of inquiries as to whether this project will take other forms at some point down the road. Short answer: Yes. Although this web project stands on its own, I plan on either bringing it back to the stage or publishing it as a book.

As always, I'm available by email at magentagreen2000 (at) yahoo.com if you have any questions or would like to talk about 1968. If you know anyone who you would like to see interviewed, please contact me.)

What Will Happen Next

June 20, 1968

by Janine Stephenson

 

I'm writing this in the back of the car. Craig is driving again, with Becca in the passenger seat. Baby John and I are in the back. We just passed Nebraska.

 

For a while, Baby John was awake. But he has since fallen asleep with a rosary in his hand. I think he's been praying. I'm not sure.

 

All of us have been listening to an AM radio station. A priest was being interviewed on the topic of "What's Wrong With America?"

 

I think that's what caused Baby John to take his rosary out. He needed to pray.

 

Some people say that there's too much violence on the television and in movies. They think that we get all of our ideas from what we see acted out in front of us.

 

Other people think its our upbringing, that we're allowed too much freedom. It's all Dr. Spock's fault.

 

But I think it's because we're taught that violence equals power. We see the war on the television and we hear about it in the news. We're told that it's alright to go to other countries and kill people. Murder is right under certain circumstances.

 

It's not. I don't understand anyone who believes in God and thinks that it's okay to kill people. It's never acceptable.

 

Craig says that the violence in our country is karmic. Becca nods her head in agreement, like she knows what he's talking about. Maybe she does, but I have no reason to think so.

 

I don't know what karma is. Baby John says that we're just reaping what we sow. He's said other things too lately, about how we're a violent society who solves all of our problems by clubbing and killing people. If we're really a democracy, or even a partial democracy, why do we have to kill people who are different from us?

 

I guess self-defense is okay, but Craig says that even that is iffy. After all, how many threats are just our imagination? Fear is a part of the Monkey Mind.

 

I don't know what Monkey Mind is, but if it means something like "it's all in our head" I can believe it. I don't think it's human nature to beat and kill people. I don't think that civil war is inevitable.

 

I just hope that the country can continue to exist. I'm just not sure what will happen next.

All the Way Without LBJ

June 18, 1968

by Janine Stephenson

 

The primaries are just about finished now and here we are, still in California. The good news is that we received our marching orders to go back east, to Washington D.C. The bad news is that we have to leave California to get there.

 

I do love it here. I love the weather, the pebbly beaches and how everyone looks so fresh-scrubbed and clean. It's fun here. Playful and happy. It's hard to be sad when it's always sunny. Plus there are so many young people like me around. Everyone seems to be from somewhere else. There's lots of good bands in town. It's so alive here.

 

But now, we're on our way back east. Baby John is coming with us, even though he doesn't know what he'll do when he gets there. Craig is relieved that someone else will be driving, though he keeps asking Baby John if he's steady on the wheel. "How good are you? How fast will you go over the limit?"

 

Craig's hair is getting long and he doesn't want to cut it. It's past his ears and, he says, there's no need to cut it since the primaries are essentially over. He might talk to people, or he might talk on the phone. But either way, he's not going to cut his hair for anyone. It's pointless.

 

It's easy to say that here in Los Angeles, where all the hip people are wearing their hair long. But when he goes back east, it's going to be different. I'm willing to bet that we'll all get our hair cut when we go back. I don't think long hair is in style in Washington.

 

In fact, I might even have to start wearing stockings again.

 

Tomorrow, we leave. Bright and early. Ready or not. And no stopping at hotels this time. It's going to be a straight through, all the way.

 

What Moratorium Really Means

June 16, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Things have been utterly confusing, mostly because the campaign continued without us. Although we were supposed to be on a moratorium, everyone traveled and got ready for the New York primary. Everyone except the few who took the campaign at its word that a moratorium meant stopping.

As Craig says, we didn't realize that the campaign moratorium was like the bombing moratorium. If we had known, we would've left for New York days ago.

Instead, we're still here in Los Angeles waiting for our next assignment. The New York primary is about a week away now, so driving there is pointless. Even if we flew, we would only be lending a minor hand to what should be a monumental effort. Chances are, we'd only be getting in the way.

So we've been hanging out with the local California staff, which includes Baby John. I have to admit, I like him, though I obviously can't like him the same way I liked Benjamin. Still, everyone assumes he and I are together and to be honest, neither of us are fighting it. When people say our names together, we don't argue. When Becca nudges me and winks, I know it's because she's waiting for Baby John and I to collapse into bed together any second. But that's not going to happen.

Still, I find Baby John to be sensitive and deep - and not in a phony way. He spends most of his time thinking about others, or trying to figure out how God wants him to be in the world. Over the past few days, he's told me that original sin has messed him up inside and that he feels permanently stained. He feels guilty for not fighting in the war, but then, he doesn't think there should be a war. He prays a whole lot, carrying his red rosary in a leather pouch in his pocket.

He'd like to do something for soldiers coming back from Vietnam, the ones with partial limbs or who cry alot. But he's afraid because he feels like he should be the one to die or be maimed instead of them.

I asked him if he wanted to go into the priesthood and he said he thought about it but doesn't feel worthy. There's only so much a priest can do in the world. Too many priests and not enough spiritual lay people.

Hopefully we'll find out today where we should go next. I'd hate to have to go back home, especially when there's so much more work to be done.

Sister Bitches

June 13, 1968
by Amy

I arrived back at Dearborn yesterday afternoon, liberated from my cast and ready for work. Glasses handed me a stack of permit applications so we could secure Grant Park during the convention. Lesley was on the phone with a donor, careful not to use his name in case anyone was listening. We still haven't located bugs, but then again, we're still looking...

Bea and I were shuffling file folders around, when Coleman poked his head in to say howdy. "How does it feel to be a two-fisted Amy?" Since Bea doesn't like him, she stiffened visibly then left the room. He continued, "So I guess you can do a whole lot more now that you have both hands back."

"I can," I replied. There wasn't much point in elaborating. I knew exactly what he meant.

"Oh yeah, when?"

I hate how presumptuous he is, how he feels like he can demand just about anything and get it. And at that moment, it annoyed me. "I don't know Coleman. You'll have to make an appointment. I'll see if I can fit you in."

"Funny, very funny. Seriously. When can I come over?"

I looked at him for a full moment. "Maybe I don't know. Maybe I don't feel like it."

"Maybe you shouldn't pester a sister, Coleman." Bea stood behind him with her hand on her hip. "It's distracting."

Coleman turned. I could tell from Bea's reaction that he had a growl on his face. "You know, I'm getting tired of your bitchiness. Why don't you mind your own business? This doesn't involve you."

Bea stiffed and gritted her teeth. "Revolution is made by bitches like me, comrade. Pardon us, we've got work to do."

Their eyes were locked in some kind of stare-down. The phone rang, so I figured it was a good time to answer it.

Cast Off

June 12, 1968
by Amy

Getting my cast off was a trip and a half. In a strange show of slight humor, Glasses said that they take a chain saw and slice it off you at an angle, so as not to nick your arm. Since he doesn't really crack a smile all that much, I wasn't sure if he was kidding. I guess it was the look on my face that made him clarify things.

What really happens is this: A crazy buzzing thing vibrates the hell out of the plaster. Then it sort of cracks a bit, and they gently peel it off you. There is no danger that you're going to get cut. At least that's what they tell you. Since I have zero trust in authority, I flinched quite a bit. Lucky for me, I was sitting next to a window when the whole thing was done. I could look out the window, onto the street and watch people going by.

After the cast came off, I washed my arm for the first time in a month a half. There's no sensation like lukewarm water rolling down your arm. I felt whole again, like I can start fresh from the disasters of spring.

As the doctor looked at my arm, he checked the records and saw the date that I broke my arm. "So, you got into a fight with the police."

I cleared my throat and explained that the police fought with me. I was minding my own business in a crowd. He smirked as he listened to my story and then closed the file. "Am I to presume that we should have a cast ready for you in August?" The nurse laughed and he told me I could go.

We left the room quickly. As I gathered my purse, the nurse tsked me and said, "Well, now that your wrist has healed, I hope you learned your lesson."
 
Maybe it was the point of her nose or the way she looked so prim in her uniform, but I couldn't help myself. "Bobby Kennedy is dead. I hope you learned your lesson."

She scowled, but at least I got my message across.

Post-Haste

June 12, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

We're on our way back to Los Angeles post-haste, as they say, since The Senator has now declared that the campaign moratorium is officially over. Baby John is driving just a wee bit over the speed limit. He says that since he makes this trek quite often, he knows where all the police hide to catch speeders.

It's hard to beat the scenery, the vineyards and fields of fruit. Avocadoes, maybe. Every now and then we pass a fruit stand. I can't tell how much they're charging because we're going too fast. Part of me wishes we could stop and then part of me knows that we need to keep going.

In between, Baby John and I talk about poverty and working for national. He's very curious as to what we do. I told him it was the same thing that he does, except we travel around the country to do it. Occasionally we train people, though I haven't been in a situation where we did that.

Baby John asked if we planned on going to Chicago and I assured him that we would be there. After all, we've come this far. There's no point in stopping now.

I don't know where we'll end up next - probably New York. I asked him if he's like to come with us. I'm sure it would be fine. Craig probably wouldn't mind the extra driver. He smiled and said he'd think about it, which surprised me. But he's never been to New York and besides, what chance will he ever get again to go?

"And I guess I'd like to continue working for McCarthy," he said, almost as an afterthought.

I laughed, and he shrugged, then laughed too. If nothing else, Baby John is honest.

Download McCarthy_Resumes_Campaign_Audio.ram (Courtesy of Minnesota Public Library)

In the News: June 12, 1968

Scene from a Bus

June 11, 1968
by Amy

I get my cast off tomorrow. Can't wait. It has hurt, itched, and otherwise prevented me from getting normal things done quickly. I can't wait.

Today while riding the bus to Lincoln Park, I tried talking to a woman on the bus about poverty. She told me that she didn't see poverty around her, but she did see a whole lot of "other people" who didn't want to work. I explained to her that it wasn't a question of wanting to work. There were people who most definitely wanted to work, but had grown up in segregated school systems and didn't have the opportunities to learn.

She sniffed and said, "You're one of those, are you? Well, that's alright honey. Those people wouldn't know gratitude if it spat in their faces. But I guess you'll have to learn that on your own."

Then she rang the bell and got off the bus.

Labels

June 11, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

When Baby John came back from the induction center, he was steamed. "Why didn't you tell me that they bombed the Berkeley center? I would've left home earlier."

Linda sighed. She thought she left a note on the counter for him to find, but maybe it was thrown out. Then she asked him if it was settled. He told her it was.

I overheard everything from the living room, and it made me wonder if that happens here a lot. You know, things getting bombed. It doesn't happen in Madison, but then I've heard stories about San Francisco and Berkeley and the whole area. Maybe it really is as wild here as they say.

Nevertheless, Baby John was anxious to get going. We loaded ourselves into the car and he took me for quite a ride. Across a big bridge (not the Golden Gate Bridge), we rode all the way into San Francisco. I didn't ask him about the induction center, yet. He seemed relieved that he was finally done with "the matter" as he called it, and I didn't want to be a downer.

We drove all the way past Market Street and then went on a roller-coaster of a ride. Through steep hills where we were almost vertical to absolutely breathtaking views of the Bay. We could see Alcatraz at certain parts, and it seemed so tiny in the distance. Colors are more vivid here - the blue of the sky, the beige of the buildings. Baby John thinks that has to do with the percentage of water in the air.

He showed me North Beach and we went to City Lights Books. I had hoped to see Jack Kerouac there, but no luck. We ate pastries at a cafe and then took off on another long roller-coaster ride. He dropped the car off near Golden Gate Park, and we walked to Haight Ashbury. People laid across the sidewalk, some asked for money. A bus of old people rolled by, staring out at us. Baby John shook his head and shrugged. A few hippies made peace signs at the bus, but got no response.

It made me think of how we've all become a spectacle, how adults don't even see us as people. Instead, we're just cartoon characters to them. Like animals in a zoo, except the zoo is us. We're not even human to them. No wonder they can send us off to war and kill people in foreign countries. They're the ones who aren't human. They've lost their humanity. All they can do now is observe and react.

Seeing that bus put me in a bad mood. We stopped at another restaurant, this one run by Hari Krishnas. I had no idea what a Hari Krishna was, and I still don't. All I know is that they don't eat meat, wear orange, gauzy robes and shave most of their hair. Except for a little pony tail in the back, which was rubber-banded.

When Baby John sat down, I figured it was time to ask him what happened at the induction center. At first, he was very vague about the whole experience but he did say he was relieved it was over.

"How is it over?" I asked him.

He sighed a bit, sounding just like Linda.

"I'll kill myself before I kill anyone else. Since they're putting the screws to conscientious objectors, I had to do something else. I don't want this thing hanging over my head. I can't deal with that either. Sooo... I told them that I had a... certain thing, that I did a certain thing in the past."

Drugs? A felony?

"No. I told them that I had a homosexual experience. I told them that I was a homosexual."

I gasped. I couldn't picture doing anything like that, especially in front of a bunch of strangers. "But that goes down in your permanent record," I told him.

He shook his head. "I feel at peace with it."

"But it's a lie. They'll find out that you're lying to get out of the draft. Lying is a sin."

He looked down. "I told them the truth, about the past. I told them what they needed to know. I made a public confession of a sin to prevent a greater sin from happening. I told my parents what I was doing, and they understood. I promised them that it would never happen again."

A period of silence came over us, as a Hari Krishna filled our water glass. He stared at me for a moment. "You understand what I had to do, right? Why I did it?"

I told him I did, and I guess I do. It made me think about those guys who purposely got arrested for felonies so they wouldn't be drafted. Which is worse, being labeled a felon or a deviant? And how messed up is it, that it's the ones who don't want to kill people who have to get labeled at all.

In the News: June 11, 1968

Starting Today

June 10, 1968
by Amy

I arrived at Dearborn bright and early. When Bea came in, she was shocked. "You're here this soon? Isn't this a little early for you?"

No. It's time. Now is the time. If anything is going to change, it's going to happen now. Things can't continue. People see it. I see it. People are getting killed and wounded and beaten. Now is the time. We need to work right now.

They want us to mourn and be sad. They want us to grieve, but we have too much work to do. And not just with those permits. Everything from the bottom up needs to be changed. It's not just about peace, it's about a different way of life.

Every day I'm going to talk to a stranger. I'm going to tell them what's going on; why we believe what we do and why they should stand with us.

I also think it's important to read more. Bea and I were talking about it. We have horrible patches of knowledge where we don't know enough theory. We believe what we believe, but we're not scholarly about it. Bea thinks - and I agree - that we need to watch and learn from our current leaders. Glasses is an amazing organizer, for instance. The man is a genius when it comes to working behind the scenes, setting things up, getting speakers. He's alright as a strategist, it's not really his strong suit. But he can see the whole picture, and that's exactly what I need.

So, I pledge to talk more, read more and learn more. Starting today...

Oakland, Zen and the Selective Service

June 10, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

All the way to San Francisco last night, I kept thinking about everything that's happened. I thought about Mrs. Stoutmiller in New Hampshire, and how we used to watch the Smother Brothers and drink hot cocoa. I thought about Dr. King and the Indiana odyssey with Benjamin and his family. I even thought about the Dow protests and how Becca punched that cop. It seems like a million years ago now.

I feel like a far different person, older and more tired. I can barely remember who I was, and that scares me. I used to want to be more experienced, and I still do. But no one told me that when you gain experience you lose something. Maybe what I lost was never mine to begin with.

Baby John brought me to his parents' house in Oakland last night. It was a large, sprawling white house on top of a steep hill. As we drove up, I got slightly nauseous. For all practical purposes, we were vertical, which was a scary sensation.

As he opened the door, I saw his parents in the living room, with drinks in their hands. They introduced themselves as Tom and Linda. I'm not used to calling adults by their first names, but they insisted.

His Mom was Twiggy-like, with a red mod dress and plastic white glasses. I felt so plain, just looking at her. His Dad wore a v-neck sweater and baggy pants. They just looked like the coolest parents ever.

We got in late, so Baby John directed me to the guest bedroom. It was quite sparse, with a bed very low to the ground. Baby John said that his parents had recently redesigned the room with a Zen motif. I have no idea what Zen is, but I do know that my Mother would kill me she ever knew I was sleeping in a bed like that. He called it a platform bed, and it had no box spring.

It's a strange experience to squat down to get into bed, but in the end, it didn't matter. I was tired.

When I woke up, Baby John had left already for the induction center. His Mom, Linda, wore a very pretty lime green mini-dress, with knee high go-go boots. I wish I had her wardrobe. She made me breakfast and told me all about how she ended up in California. Tom and Linda were high school sweethearts, and then he got drafted, so they quickly married. After the war, he ended up with a job offer in San Francisco, so they moved. Linda says that they've been happy ever since. Unlike most women, she's not bored with her lot in life. There are plenty of activities in the Bay Area, like book discussions at the public library. If they want to go to a poetry reading, they go to San Francisco. "It's heaven on earth," she said, "and you'll see when John comes back."

They all seem so confident that he's coming back, that he won't be drafted. I wonder why.

In the News: June 10, 1968

Going to San Francisco

June 9, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

No one knows what to do. We don't know when the campaign will start again - not that I'm anxious for that to happen. National doesn't know what to do because The Senator hasn't decided. They'll get back to us when they know.

Some people are scared that The Senator is going to drop out of the race. Then what will we have? Nothing. No candidate to represent us. Then what will happen? I don't even want to think about it.

Some people are going home because they're scared. What if they get shot during an assassination attempt? Even I know that's silly, but the girls down the hall from us were talking about it this morning. They're scared of seeing blood in real life.

I'm not scared of any of that. I just don't like indecision.

Craig, Becca and I have been trying to figure out what we should do with ourselves. Since we're not supposed to be working on the campaign, they would like to go on a tour of Los Angeles. Becca wants to see what the beaches look like, especially since we've heard so much about them. Maybe we could even go on a tour of movie star mansions. 

Normally, I'd love to do something like that. But now, it just doesn't feel right. Not after what happened.

They left to go hang out in Hollywood, which made me feel even worse. I guess Baby John overheard our conversation. He asked me why I didn't go and I told him. I don't want to go look at glamorous homes when everything around us is falling apart. It doesn't seem right.

He was surprised because he thought I was a "Rat Pack Radical" whatever that means. I do love the Rat Pack, but not right now. Not today.

So he asked me if I wanted to go with him to San Francisco. Northern California is very different from Los Angeles, and since I'm here, I might as well see what it's like. He's from Northern California and he has to go home to get his physical examination for the draft. He's not nervous about it because he has a plan. He didn't want to tell me what his plan was, but he was very certain that he'd be able to drive me home in a day or two.

"San Francisco is beautiful. It's a city governed by the people for the people. There's very little hypocrisy there, unlike LA. It will definitely cheer you up, and maybe it will help you decide what you want to do next. You do need to get out of here for a bit, I think."

So we're leaving in an hour. I'll write Becca and Craig a note so they don't worry. Baby John says it should take us about six hours or so to get to San Francisco. He promises that he's a careful driver. I hope he's right.

In the News: June 9, 1968

1968 in 2008: An Article Wrap-Up

Homefront

June 8, 1968
by Amy

I went home to my parents’ house to watch the train ride and the funeral on the television. Dad didn’t say much. Mother kept smoking cigarettes and shaking her head and saying, “Such a shame. Such a crying shame.”

It’s upsetting to see Dad tearing up. Mother left the room when she felt like crying. That was a relief.

I still have bouts of anger, especially when I hear commentators or politicians talk. I hate Eugene McCarthy. He’s such a prissy ass. Yesterday, he said that Kennedy’s death was everyone’s fault. We’re such a violent country, and on and on. Asshole. If it’s everyone’s fault, then it’s also his fault. Especially his fault.

If he wasn’t such an arrogant man, if he didn’t co-opt the Movement and try to funnel everyone’s hopes for peace into his lousy, weak campaign, then maybe there would be real change.

Why doesn’t anyone see the connection between death, murder, war and suppression? Why don’t they understand that corruption breeds violence?

June 8th, 1968. Robert Kennedy is dead in a box, settled now in Arlington. He’s no longer a threat, but make no mistake. This is war.

In the News: June 8, 1968

Not Right

June 8, 1968 by Janine Stephenson It doesn’t seem right. We were always told that adults would take care of us. They would make sure that nothing bad would ever happen. But so many bad things have happened already this year, and it’s only June.

I don’t know how we’re going to go on. I don’t know what’s going to happen to the campaign, or to the country.

Mrs. Stoutmiller said there has never been a year like this one. That she didn’t know what would happen next, but that she blames the President. “If Lyndon didn’t drop from the race, then none of this would’ve happened.” Then I heard her sniffle a bit.

My parents were also very upset and worried that perhaps I was in danger from working on The Senator’s campaign. I tried to tell them that we were fine. But I couldn’t tell them that no one wanted the Senator dead because I know that’s not true.

Maybe Mrs. Stoutmiller is right. If the President didn’t start this lousy war, then we wouldn’t be in the soup.

The Death

June 7, 1968 - 6:30 a.m. by Janine Stephenson We stayed outside the hospital, waiting for him to get better. We kept hearing rumors that he was dead, but we didn’t believe them. Then, at around 2 in the morning, they announced it on the radio.
“Senator Robert Francis Kennedy died at 1:44 a.m. today, June 6, 1968. With the Senator at the time of his death was his wife, Ethel, his sisters, Mrs. Patricia Lawford and Mrs. Stephen Smith, and his sister-in-law, Mrs. John F. Kennedy. He was forty-two years old."
I heard sniffling around me, and saw people wiping their faces. We stayed until the sun rose and it became light again. People sang so where ever he was he could hear us. Then we all went out for breakfast, but no one ate. We went to bed and I fell asleep for a long time.

Dead

June 6, 1968 - 3:35 a.m.
by Amy  

"Tragedy is a tool for the living to gain wisdom, not a guide by which to live." --- Robert Francis Kennedy

They just announced it on the radio. 

At least he won't be in pain any longer.

Entitlement

June 5, 2008 at 11 p.m.

by Amy

It’s hard for me to contain my anger. I don’t want to hear people whining about how confused and violent we are. When the violence is happening elsewhere, no one cares. But when the violence happens here, then all of a sudden people stand up and take notice.

Why is this happening to us? Why are all of our leaders dying? What is happening to our precious country? It’s already starting.

Being an American doesn’t give us the right to bomb kids in Vietnam with chemicals that makes their skin peel off. We cause as much suffering in the world as anyone, and yet, we don’t grasp it.

The American myth, that we are a precious people, ordained by God and that somehow, this gives us the right to behave and indulge our every whim. This American myth is a curse. We’re blinded by our own superiority complex.

I didn’t go anywhere today. I stayed in my room and made beaded bracelets. I listened to the radio for a while. The phone rang, but I didn’t answer it.

Johnson released a statement that said that the Secret Service will now protect candidates. Just a little while ago, he made another statement, telling everyone how sorry he was that Bobby was shot. The violence has to end. We have to start obeying laws. Things like that.

I wish this didn't happen to him. God, I wish it didn't. But I don't think it could've been avoided. Not with the way things are.

Prayers

June 5, 2008 at 11 p.m.
by Janine Stephenson

I called my parents collect. Mom was glad to hear from me and said that she and Dad were praying for Bobby.

The campaign has been suspended. We’re going to stay here until Bobby leaves the hospital. He will get better.

Vigil at the Hospital

June 5, 2008 at 7:19 p.m.
by Janine Stephenson

We slept on the floor of the hotel last night, in a meeting room under a table. A bunch of us. A few cleaning women gave us pillows and blankets. The women in one room; the men in another. I didn’t feel like sleeping for a while. Someone kept a radio close by, and we listened and prayed.

He’s alive. Bobby had brain surgery, but he hasn’t died.

I fell asleep, thinking about how we always thought he was the wrong one. Wrong for waiting so long to get into the race. Wrong for stealing our victory back in New Hampshire. Wrong. Maybe we were the ones who were wrong. Maybe we egged him on to run when he knew it would be too dangerous.

When we woke up, Becca’s makeup had run down her face. Her eyes were swollen. We went back to the dorm room and took a shower.

Then Ron and Craig brought us to the hospital. There were thousands of people there. They had candles and signs. I heard people in the crowd chanting and saying prayers. McCarthy people and Kennedy people and even some from the Democratic Party stood around and sang songs. We wanted Bobby to hear us. We kept hoping that he knew that we loved him, even when we hated him. We still love him, and he will get better.

A Foggy Mourning

June 5, 1968 - 12:40 a.m.
by Janine Stephenson

The Senator just came down to tell us to pray for Bobby Kennedy. Becca is crying now.

Baby John has gone on with a group to pray for Bobby in another room. Some people have taken their rosaries out to pray.

There’s also a Rabbi here who is also trying to counsel people.

Roger Mudd says that his color was good at the Ambassador. They’ve taken him to a good hospital and he will go into surgery. The reporters are optimistic, especially since the facilities are so good.

I hope everyone gets the same care as Bobby, and I hope they all survive.

People Shot

June 5, 1968 - 12:40 a.m.
by Janine Stephenson

The Senator just came down to tell us to pray for Bobby Kennedy. Becca is crying now.

Baby John has gone on with a group to pray for Bobby in another room. Some people have taken their rosaries out to pray.

There’s also a Rabbi here who is also trying to counsel people.

Roger Mudd says that his color was good at the Ambassador. They’ve taken him to a good hospital and he will go into surgery. The reporters are optimistic, especially since the facilities are so good.

I hope everyone gets the same care as Bobby, and I hope they all survive.

Hospital

June 5, 1968 --12:30 a.m.
by Janine Stephenson

They’ve turned the TV lights off. A woman is telling reporters that they’ve taken him to the hospital. She says there’s no blood on him. He wasn’t conscious.

Someone gave him a rosary and said the Act of Contrition to him. He said that there was blood on Bobby’s hand and ear. Thank goodness another Catholic was there. His eyes were looking straight up.

Oh God, I hope he’s not dying. I hope he’s okay. I hope no one dies.

They carried one of the people out on a table. Someone on the TV just said that the shooter was caught! Bobby has been taken to the Good Samaritan Hospital. He was shot four times. The head and the hip. Rosy Greer caught the shooter.

Oh God, please let him be okay.

Bobby has been shot!

June 5, 1968 - 12:25 a.m.
by Janine Stephenson

 

Oh my goodness. They’re calling for people to clear the room to get medical aid to Bobby.

 

They’re reporting that Bobby Kennedy has been wounded. There are two doctors who are tending to him. Where did he get hurt? What happened?

 

People are starting to cry here. No one is taking their eyes off the TV. No one will give the reporters any information.

 

Oh please God. Please don’t let anything bad happen. Please don’t let anything bad happen.

 

They’re telling people to run and find doctors. CBS is reporting that Bobby was “involved” in a shooting and that there’s a large amount of blood on the floor.

 

Now doctors are rushing back there with IVs. More people have been wounded.

 

Oh God. People are crying. There’s a woman here who is sobbing. No one can do anything. All we can do is watch what’s happening.

 

Cops have arrived at the Ambassador.

 

A woman has been shot. They are asking for TV people to turn their lights off. People are bringing more ice.

Oh my goodness. They’re showing someone laying down. That woman has been shot. I can see the blood. It’s awful.

 

They’ve taken Bobby in an ambulance. He wasn’t moving. He was unconscious.

 

What's Happening?

June 5, 1968 12:20 a.m.
by Janine Stephenson

 

I don’t see any famous people here. I wonder if they’re visiting with The Senator.

 

Just now, Ron touched my hand and asked me if I was still in touch with Benjamin. I haven’t been in touch with him since Indianapolis. I haven’t called him or written him.

 

Then he reached out for my hand and asked me if I would mind going on a date with him. I told him I wouldn’t mind at all. He should just ask. So he did. But I don’t know when we’ll ever find the time.

 

I wonder what’s going on at the Ambassador? There’s some kind of commotion.

 

There were so many people in the room, I bet some people passed out.

 

Now they’re calling for a doctor. Someone here just yelled for the music to stop. People here are screaming. We’re watching this on TV. People are here don’t know what’s going on.

 

Now they’re calling for people to clear the room. Ron is shouting for people to quiet down.

Bobby Kennedy Won

June 5, 1968 - 12:15 a.m.
by Janine Stephenson

Well he won. We don’t know by how much yet, but he won.

 

This doesn’t mean our campaign is over. Ron says that they still might try to strike a deal. Bobby has been trying to get The Senator join up and as a coalition against The Hump. Ron says that The Senator will never agree to it, especially since they hate each other.

 

“You’d think two Irish cats like them would get along, but no way.”

 

So here we all are at The Beverly Hills Hotel, waiting for the Senator to say something. We’ve got a row of TVs and some music playing in the background. The Senator is upstairs. I sure hope he hasn’t fallen asleep already.

 

We’re watching Bobby make his victory speech. Ron said that at least he looks better than he did yesterday.

 

Even though we lost, we’re still happy. Maybe President Robert Kennedy won’t be so bad. Baby John says that we need another Catholic in the White House.

 

I guess we’ll try to have fun anyway. Maybe there’s a famous person here. I should go try to look for one.

 

A Visit with Dad

June 4, 1968
by Amy

I took the morning off to visit with my Father at the paper. It's been a long time - over a month - since I saw him in person. Occasionally, I've been getting calls from my parents asking if I was okay. I told them I was fine, but too busy to see them. Actually it was because I still have the cast on my wrist. I should be getting it off shortly. It doesn't hurt anymore. With the heat of summer approaching, I'm looking forward to having my other hand back.

The first thing he said to me was, "Oh honey. What happened?" I told him about the Peace Parade and how I got caught up in the melee. He wasn't as concerned about that as he was about the fact that I didn't tell them. "Why on earth would you avoid us? We're your parents!" I just didn't want to deal with Mom's tears and then her demands that I quit the Movement. She's done it before and I don't ever want to get into it with her like that, ever again.

With my Dad, it was different. I felt like I disappointed him. Although people make jokes on how I can't get arrested in Chicago, that's not true. I was arrested, once, but I got special treatment because my Dad's a columnist. He's developed plenty of "good will" in the city, and I'm largely viewed as a "typical troubled kid" though I'm 23 and not really a kid.

When I told him what happened, he looked down for a long time and sighed. He said that I needed to be honest with him if I expected him to be just as honest back. "Are you sure you weren't fighting with the police?"

I said I hadn't. They had started beating people up and I was one of the people. We weren't causing trouble. After all, we were just doing what everyone else was doing around the country. There was nothing illegal about it.

He listened very carefully. Maybe it's because we were at the paper, but I could tell he was using all the journalist skills he had - making sure he got the story correctly before asking another question.

Part of me didn't want to go through the whole thing again. It still depresses me.

At the end of our talk, Dad made me promise that I wouldn't avoid him like that again. I promised him I wouldn't. Then he told me that it was time for him to be honest with me and he was only going to say this once:

"We raised you to have common sense, so I think you know what I'm going to tell you. It's going to get very bad here. What you and your friends experienced is nothing compared to what it will be like soon. The city is prepared...."

He didn't finish his sentence, but I could tell how serious it was by his tone of voice.  He enunciated so I wouldn't miss a word. The only time he does that is when he's scared.

Voting in California Today

June 4, 1968

by Janine Stephenson

 

The California primary is today, and that makes me sad. I feel like I just got here and now it's going to be time to leave. No one else is thinking about it though. Instead, everyone is rushing around planning the big celebration and dance tonight.

 

Even though my time here has been far too short, I can tell you that people in California are far happier here. There is a spirit here that "anything goes" and maybe it does. Even Baby John's bark is worse than his bite. He turned out to be a very nice person, despite first impressions.

 

Some people are beginning to talk about a McCarthy summer camp, where all the students will get together and fan out throughout the country to continue campaigning for The Senator. I haven't talked to Ron or Craig about what they would like us to do, but the thought of going back home right now bums me out. I imagine they will still need us to help them for the convention. Both Becca and I are definitely planning to go to Chicago. It will be so exciting!

 

But between then and now, I don't know. Baby John says that he will plan to continue working with poor people. I feel very attracted to helping people like that. Working with the poor is political, but then it's not. He doesn't ask for anything when he gives them food. He doesn't ask for them to vote a certain way, or to believe anything. He says that he does his best to be as loving as possible, even when they're mean. After all, anyone would be mean if they didn't have enough to eat.

 

Now is not the time to think about a month from now. Today is voting day and we're all just happy to have survived this far. Ron went to hear Bobby Kennedy speak last night and said that he was surprised by how haggard Bobby looked. He said that it scared him, and it make him feel pity as well. I can't ever imagine Bobby Kennedy looking badly and it made me wonder if President Kennedy ever looked that bad.

 

Baby John said that we should pray for Bobby because even if we don't agree with him, he is a fellow human being who cares enough about this country to run for President. He's fighting the good fight, as we are, and he doesn't want any more people to die. We should pray for both The Senator and Bobby.

 

So I did.

 

In the News: June 4, 1968

 

An interview with Elizabeth Hunter Spreen

Watt and Jesus

June 3, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Baby John apologized to me this morning for being a big idiot. He said that he should not have resented our arrival, but that we had to understand where he was coming from. He heard things about national and it was hard for him not to listen to it.

When I asked him what exactly he had heard, he said that he heard we were a bunch of jerks.

I hate that.

We went to hear The Senator's speech today in Long Beach. The Senator also took a tour of Watts, so Baby John and I thought that it would be a splendid idea to accompany him. We didn't get a chance to talk to The Senator. Instead, we trailed him as he toured the neighborhood. There were still plenty of burned out buildings. I had never seen anything like it.

Baby John helps poor people through a program at St. Mary's. It's not just about being poor though. He told me that it's actually about being hopeless and thinking that nothing will change. The big problem is for that most of those folks, nothing will change. Ever. Some of the local kids go to school in the morning without having breakfast. And they don't have good clothes or shoes. And forget about a dentist.

"It's not about politics really. It's about humanity," he sighed. "It's bizarre to me that we can bomb the hell out of another country that didn't do anything to us - half a world away. But we can't make sure our own people are being fed and get good medical care."

Baby John kicked a pebble across the street. "Destruction is horrible, but even worse is the absence of creation. If you don't take an active role in changing things for the better, then that's a sin. But you're a Catholic and so you know that already."

I didn't think about that, or about how Jesus was a revolutionary. I wonder what Becca would think about that.

In the News: June 3, 1968

Doobie Rides

June 2, 1968
by Amy

I’ve been bouncing from tea parties to convention planning and back again. Somewhere in between, I sleep and roll in the weeds. Doobie rides take the edge off. Writing hasn’t been a priority.

In the past, I’ve always allowed time to breathe and play the guitar. But my wrist is still in a cast, so that’s that. Work it is, though peace work is hardly work at all.

Little Toe says that the Yips have been meeting with the city for the past few weeks. Actually, since March or so. I was vaguely aware of this, but to hear her tell it, they might actually get their permits for Lincoln Park. At least, Daley’s gang is talking to them.

Our discussions aren’t going nearly as well. I wonder if it has to do with the Peace Parade. The ACLU and others have launched an investigation as to what actually happened that day. If they asked me, I could make it easy on them. “They didn’t want us to do it. We did it anyway. They beat us.” But I have a feeling their conclusions won’t be that simple.

Since Glasses is pragmatic, he thinks that we should prepare to run into trouble. Coleman’s mantra is: Fuck it. Fuck them and Fuck you if you don’t agree with him. If you ask me, he’s been a whole lot worse lately. Bea says I’m just noticing it.

I haven’t been hanging out with Coleman as much since I’m too busy. It’s just as well, since he’s been flirting with every other girl at the office. He tried to cop a feel off Lesley and she pulled back. I don’t know why he’s doing that, except to piss me off. The only thing he’s managing to do is repulse me. Lesley’s stacked, so what? Does he honestly think he’s making me jealous?

As for the bugs in the office, we still haven’t found any. But that doesn’t mean that we’re not paranoid. Volunteers come and go, and all we talk about is the weather. It’s funny. The Man must wonder why we’re so fascinated with the clouds. I’d love to see the expressions on their faces while they listen to some of the meaningless crap we talk about.

Church and Debates

June 2, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

Becca slept in with Craig last night. He sneaks her into the hotel he’s staying at, and they’re basically living together. Becca has even asked me if I thought they should pretend to be married. I didn’t think it was a good idea. He hasn’t asked her to marry him yet, and we all know what kind of trouble Becca got into back in high school.

She swears that with Craig, it’s different. But I think she ought to wait for it to actually be different before telling me how different it is.

So Becca wasn’t able to attend church with Baby John and I. The rest of the group met us in front of St. Mary’s. The girls dressed in jeans, which was very interesting to me. I chose to wear my standard knee-length skirt and frilly blouse. No one seemed to mind, except me.

Just as Baby John said, everyone else dressed informally. Father Anderson, who would like us all to call him Father Brian, used words like groovy and dig. He told us about the “scene” of the Corinthians and the “dude” named Peter.

I hate to be a drag, but it was one of the strangest sermons I’ve ever heard in my life. Maybe I am too square. Obviously I have a long way to go.

According to Baby John, Father Brian spends most of the week ministering to hippies and runaways. I thought that was very admirable. He looks young, and as usual, I worry that he will end up getting drafted or in trouble with the government.

Just an hour or so ago, the hippies came back. They went to Oakland to support The Senator during his debate against Bobby. As they said, “the scene was quite a trip.” The Black Panthers showed up, demanding to be let into the debate. The hippies chanted campaign slogans, and when Bobby showed up, they tried to prevent him from going into the debate. The crowd roughed Bobby and Ethel up a bit before police stepped in.

I wish I could’ve been there, at least part of me does. But I wouldn’t have had the heart to give Bobby and his wife a hard time.

I wonder if Bobby is as handsome in person as he is on TV. But don’t tell anyone I said that.

 In the News: June 2, 1968

Tell-A-Woman

June 2, 1968
by Janine Stephenson

I like California. I like how everyone is happy and young here. That’s the difference between California and everywhere else. We spent a few hours with the Tell-A-Woman part of the campaign. Each woman has to call five people and tell them about The Senator. Those five women will call five others. They says it’s because girls are talkative and spend gobs of time on the phone. I guess if it helps The Senator get elected, that’s fine. But I don’t think that women are more talkative than men. That just hasn’t been my experience. Ron asked me today if I was still in touch with Benjamin. I told that we planned to talk but that we weren’t going steady. He said, “great!” I asked him what that was supposed to mean. Maybe Ron was just like those hateful girls in Indiana. Did he really object? He said he did, but only because I should’ve been seeing him instead of Benjamin. What a jokester. Becca and Craig are spending more time together and I wonder if it’s getting serious. I suppose it is, because they’ve been seeing each other since January. She sees him more than she sees me now. I’ve kept myself busy, though I do spend more time alone. Baby John head me talking to Becca about going to church. He interrupted me and asked if I was a Catholic. I told him I was, and that we planned on going to St. Ann’s. He told me he was Catholic as well, and that a group of them go to St. Mary’s because the priest there is more with it. The sermons at St. Ann’s go on for too long and they just aren’t relevant. Then he invited me to go with them as a group tomorrow morning. I told him that I’d be happy to go. Since then, Baby John has been far nicer to me. He even invited me to watch the debate with him tonight. The Senator is going to square off against Bobby. I really hope The Senator brings his charisma.

In the News: June 1, 1968