August 26, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
There is so much swirling around of people and paper that I can barely keep up with it. I am in one of the back rooms of the convention right now. It’s a windowless room with bare lights on the ceiling. There’s a fog of cigarette smoke above me. Every now and then, I look up and watch the fog gather around the bare lights.
But there isn’t much time for that. All day, I followed Ron around as he tried to contend with people shouting at him about the platform. Is our proposal – what they call a “plank” – going to be nominated? What have you heard? How can we push it through? What words do they want changed?
It looked like things were going to go well until Ron got word that Humphrey was going to back out of any deals that we’re even on the table. There would be no peace plank. Nothing. President Johnson bullied his way in and that was the end of it.
I asked Ron if it was true and he said, of course. Johnson has been doing this all along. Why would he stop now? But why doesn’t anyone know this? Why isn’t anyone telling the newspapers? Ron looked at me like I was stupid and then apologized. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You don’t have any idea what is really going on, do you?”
Someone has just come in to tell us that the convention has started. I don’t dare go out on the floor of the convention. From what I understand, it’s difficult to walk. Ron says that he think it would be a good idea for me to go, and I agree. It would be a good idea, but it may not be a practical one.
Becca and Craig are walking around the hallway. Becca said she wanted to see what was going on. I sure wish she’d come back.
