Five years after the assassination of John F. Kennedy, another death in the Kennedy family announced the end of the hopes and dreams of those in the struggle against injustice, poverty, and the war in Vietnam.
Robert F. Kennedy hadn't intended to take on his brother's mantle when antiwar activists approached him about running for president in 1968. Although as a Senator of New York Kennedy had been vocal against the war and Johnson's Southeast Asian policies, and spoke eloquently about the problems of poverty and injustice in America, prompting him to tour some of the poorest areas in the country, the thought of running for president gave him pause. He had already seen his dreams wither on the vine after his brother's assassination and watched with quiet resentment as President Johnson, a man he loathed, take over White House duties, though he remained in the Johnson administration as Attorney General until he ran for the Senatorial seat in New York. But it was 1968. After failing to shore up support for his Vietnam policies following the Tet Offensive earlier that year, Johnson was one of the walking wounded. Presidential candidate Eugene McCarthy would prove that when he went up against Johnson in the early Democratic primaries, showing up as a strong second behind Johnson. Though he thought a lot of work needed to be done to make America strong again, Kennedy equivocated over his decision, until finally deciding against it. The loss of his brother was too strong. Antiwar protesters hung their hopes on McCarthy, who was unequivocal about where he stood on the war and what he would do to end the conflict.
Eventually Kennedy changed his mind and announced his presidential bid. By then, whatever good will he had amassed among progressives and antiwar demonstrators diminished significantly, but the Kennedy name still had a lot of cachet in the Democratic party and Kennedy's work as a Senator also earned him notice among voters looking for change. Kennedy ran a vigorous campaign, losing only once in Oregon, a middle class enclave unmoved by the candidate's stump speeches about poverty and racial injustice. After the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., African American voters turned their hopes to Kennedy. Believing he was the likeliest bid to win the Democratic nomination and the White House, they hoped he would bring much needed change to Johnson's civil rights and War on Poverty policies which had been sidetracked by the quagmire in Vietnam. But Kennedy's speech in Indianapolis on the night of King's assassination, calling for understanding and calm in the wake of the ensuing riots that had gripped many American cities, also earned him a great deal of respect in the Black community. His earlier work with Mexican migrant workers, standing in support of the grape strikes, headed by activist Cesar Chavez, earned him support from Latinos in California during the primaries.
On June 4, 1968, Kennedy won California in the primaries, assuring his bid as the next Democratic presidential candidate. That night, the mood was jubilant as campaign staff and supporters gathered in the Embassy Ballroom of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles to hear Kennedy's acceptance speech. No one could have known the dark cloud hovering over that night as a twenty-four year old Palestinian lurked through the hotel, carrying with him a .22 caliber pistol and a dangerous notion. The hard work and dreams staff and supporters had put in to the campaign were finally paying off. The nightmare that was the "60s, the deaths of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, the war in Vietnam, the civil unrests that seemed to erupt like clockwork in America"s worn-down and overburdened cities, could not undermine the wave of optimism that young Americans felt toward their country. Passion, justice, activism, and compassion were qualities they felt were going to pull the United States in the right direction, and they hitched their hopes for a better future onto Kennedy's wagon.
When Kennedy went downstairs to the ballroom to deliver his speech, the spirit of the night had been renewed in his rousing words. Though there was still a lot of hard work ahead (particularly in winning the nomination for the next presidential candidacy at the Democratic convention scheduled later that summer in Chicago), everything was going in the right direction. After Kennedy concluded his speech, the crowd chanted “We Want Bobby,” expressing the general mood of the night. Led off stage with his entourage by an assistant maitre d', Kennedy pressed through the crowd toward the passageway to the pantry as the crowd struck up another chant: “RFK, RFK.” No one noticed Kennedy's assassin, Sirhan Sirhan, emerging from the shadows, drawing toward Kennedy and firing eight shots. Emptying his weapon, Sirhan Sirhan had struck and wounded five people: William Weisel of ABC News; Paul Schrade of the United Auto Workers union; Elizabeth Evans, a Democratic Party activist; Ira Goldstein, a 19 year-old radio reporter; and a seventeen year old Kennedy volunteer, Irwin Stroll. But three of those shots hit and fatally wounded Kennedy, twice in the back and once behind the ear at close range. Maitre d'Hotel Karl Uecker, writer George Plimpton, Olympic gold medalist decathlete Rafer Johnson, and football great Rosie Grier, who were among Kennedy's entourage, quickly detained Sirhan, but by then the damage was already done.
Confusion and pandemonium broke out in the ballroom as word of the shooting spread throughout the crowd. While campaign volunteers and activists broke into tears and frantically asked if there was a doctor in the room, Kennedy lay on the floor of the passageway, a puddle of blood pooling beneath his head.
It was 12:15 a.m. A new day had begun.
