BOBBY
Jack Kennedy sought America’s heart, and embraced it with warmth, humor, and glamour. Bobby quested for America’s soul and targeted its conscience. Jack could instantly detect the political fault line in an issue, but remain coolly detached. Bobby embraced issues with a passionate intensity which consumed his every thought about government’s role.
When he walked onto the lawn at Gracie Mansion in 1964, to begin his Senate campaign, we saw a still-changing Bobby – bearing the incredible burden of that day in Dallas, but finding his own mark as a national politician. I remember writing that I had never seen so much sadness as we all detected in Bobby’s eyes. We could see the transformation from being his brother’s campaign manager, a hard-nosed gunslinger in the campaign, to a more discerning attorney general, still pursuing his brother’s agenda, which was as much his as Jack’s. Now, he was alone with that legacy. And, it changed him.
The first few weeks of that campaign against Senator Ken Keating saw strides and stumbles, which the press reported. I was to learn first-hand how much the professional politician in Bobby loathed those mistakes.
During the campaign, Keating’s people challenged the Justice Department rulings on the disposition of the assets of the German chemical giant I G Farben, which included Badische Anilin, Bayer, Agfa, and Hoechst, and its American subsidiary, General Aniline, which made Agfa film and other well-known products. I had read the history, including the Nuremburg trials of Farben directors, and wrote a piece affirming the sagacity of Bobby’s decision as Attorney General.
Those stories and some questions I posed to his campaign staff led to a meeting with Bobby in his suite at New York’s Carlisle Hotel. Surprisingly, he was alone. Bobby thanked me for the GAF stories, as well as a piece I wrote after spending a day on the campaign trail with Rose Kennedy, and I proceeded to my new questions. Abruptly, he asked for the list of prepared questions from which I was reading, and produced a sheaf of position papers, which I could draw on as though he had answered the questions. I thought the interview was over, and I had somehow irritated him, but Bobby had a different agenda.
Bobby wanted to know why I had criticized his campaign – not in an angry fashion but an imploring one. A few TV ads were bad; he never looked at the person with whom he was supposedly having an impromptu talk about issues of concern to New Yorkers. He missed a meeting of upstate publishers; he was tired and his staff didn’t tell him they were waiting. Finally, after several minutes, Bobby asked what I thought was the root of his problem. Somewhat hesitantly, I asked, “Does anyone on your staff ever tell you no?” He laughed, called press secretary Ed Guthman (later managing editor of the Los Angeles Times) to come into the room, then said, “Ed, I want you to say no.” Guthman looked at Bobby then me, and not knowing why, said “No.” That broke the ice and the interview ended on a high note.
I saw Bobby many times on the campaign trail, and rode with him on a few occasions when he came back to New York as Senator, then again in meetings in Albany.*
All the while, he was evolving as a spokesman on many issues, notably Viet Nam, civil rights, poverty and education. He thought LBJ was wrong on Viet Nam, but his heart went out to the men and women who fought that war. He surprised me on one occasion, commenting on my brother’s Bronze Star earned in that war.
The last time I saw Bobby was on television, delivering that short “on to Chicago” speech at the Ambassador hotel after winning the California primary. Then he was killed.
I joined the group of New York officials who were invited to St Patrick’s Cathedral and, as we walked past his bier, and looked at his staff and political associates, many of them my age, I was moved by a profound sense that my generation had lost not just a prospective leader but our political conscience.
From time to time, I go to Arlington (they have a spot for me), and I go to Jack Kennedy’s grave site, then walk around the path to where Bobby is buried – and remember a time when we thought politics was an honorable profession, and our generation could change the world. RFH
*PS. Before working in the Rockefeller Administration, I saw Bobby, then a Senator, at a closed-door Democrat policy session in upstate New York. I walked in with some Assemblymen and took a seat at the far end of the last row. Unfortunately, Toby Foote, an RFK aide, spotted me and went to the dais to report. Assembly Speaker Tony Travis banged his gavel, and said there was a reporter in the room, who had to leave. Six people stood up – besides me. At the front of the room, Bobby was laughing, then told an aide to tell us he would meet the press outside.
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