I hadn’t discouraged his work for the McCarthy campaign. And when Bob announced his candidacy, late in the game, I didn’t reveal how I felt about the two Democratic candidates... that I considered RFK way more electable than that aloof cold fish Eugene McCarthy. Richard Nixon, who had been batting away all comers in the Republican primaries, was a tough, seasoned candidate who’d be hard to beat, though his lack of charisma would be a boon to a Kennedy running against him.
We were in the living room of my pink-stucco bungalow, a modest little number with rounded beige and brown furniture, vaulted ceiling, fireplace, and sliding glass doors onto a patio. I was on the couch and my son stood ranting and raving before me.
“Haven’t we had enough of these goddamn Kennedys? Eugene McCarthy puts his career on the line, takes on a sitting president and shows America that evil S.O.B. LBJ is vulnerable! Your Bobby sees what Senator McCarthy has pulled off and decides to just, just... horn right in!”
“I’m not going to argue with you, son.”
“Of course not, because you know damn well that Bobby Kennedy doesn’t have a single solitary idea, much less a plan, on how to get us out of the goddamn Vietnam quagmire!”
I sighed. “McCarthy can’t beat Nixon, Sam. Hell, he can’t beat Hubert Humphrey for the nomination. But Bob could beat ’em both.”
Sam was pacing now. “How long ago was it your ‘Bob’ was saying he’d back Johnson, despite all the anti-Vietnam talk? He’s a phony, Dad. A goddamn fucking phony. Just another politician. Another Kennedy.”
The last thing I wanted in the world was for my son to go to Vietnam. But sometimes I thought the military wouldn’t be such a bad experience for him.
Of course, he’d have to live through it.
“This isn’t worth us working ourselves into a lather,” I said. “Bob is an old friend, and he’s in a jam with his security guy dropping out. This is just a job, a favor really, for a friend.”
His chin crinkled; he looked like a baby with a mustache. “Are you going to vote for McCarthy if he gets the nomination?”
“Are you going to vote for Humphrey if he gets it?”
His eyebrows rose and hid in his hair. “Fuck no! Why even vote in that case?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To save your spoiled ass?”
He threw his hands up in sullen surrender. “I’ll get my things. You’re heading back to Chicago tomorrow, right? I’m going back home now. Good fucking bye.”
I could have told him what I believed would happen, which Bob Kennedy surely already knew. Even if Bob won delegate-rich California, that left New York, where many resented the way he’d put his presidential bid above his senatorial duties. Bob did not have a lock on the convention by any means, but even if the Kennedy magic and emotion didn’t sway the delegates to him, he could almost certainly squeeze the vice presidency out of Humphrey and move that old liberal away from Johnson’s war policy and onto the RFK anti-war view.
The presidency would be Bob’s, though maybe not till 1976 — a year that had a ring to it. But what did I know about politics, except that aldermen could be bribed?
Sitting next to me on the beach with his knees up, Bob said casually, “I’m thinking of offering McCarthy secretary of state.”
“Gene or Joe?”
Bob’s laugh was short but explosive. “A dead secretary of state would be easier to handle.”
Even now Bob took heat over his time as a counsel on McCarthy’s infamous investigative committee; but he’d always stayed loyal to Tailgunner Joe, who was a longtime friend of the Kennedy family. Less well-known was that Bob had gathered the facts that guaranteed McCarthy’s censure by the Senate.
“With everything at stake,” I said, “you seem pretty cool-headed to me.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“Oh?”
He was looking at the sea or maybe his kids or both. “Much as I dislike campaigning, it’s going well. I get a good feeling from the people — finally they’re not wishing I were Jack... or imagining I am him. I think I’m finally out of my brother’s shadow. Making it on my own.”
“You are, Bob. You really are.”
His eyes turned shyly my way. “Nate, I, uh... know we’ve had our differences. The, uh, Marilyn situation in particular. All the Castro nonsense. My judgment wasn’t always... well, I appreciate you putting that behind us. Still my friend. Helping me out.”
“Don’t work so hard,” I said. “I already stopped and voted on my way here.”
That Bugs Bunny grin. “Ah. But how did you vote?”
I allowed him half a grin in return. “That’s between me and my conscience. Of course you know what my conscience is.”
A nod brought his hunk of hair in front along with it. “That gun you carry. An ancient nine millimeter Browning, isn’t it?”
His look said he remembered the weapon’s significance: my father killed himself with it when I disappointed him by joining the Chicago PD and dancing the Outfit’s tune for a time.
“I think your father would be proud,” he said, “of how you turned out.”
“Not sure you’re right. But your father surely must be pleased.”
“Hard to tell. Hard to tell.”
The old boy’s ability to speak had been impaired since his stroke almost ten years before.
Bob’s eyes went to the sea again. “But, uh, about that conscience of yours. The artillery I mean.”
“What about it?”
“You still carry it?”
“I do.”
“I don’t want you doing that tonight.”
My laugh was reflexive. “Well, surely Bill Barry’s been packing all this time.”
“No.” The voice was firm, the blue eyes on me now, ice cold and unblinking. “I haven’t allowed it and he’s honored my request.”
“Well, I’m not about to!”
His chin neared his chest. “Look, there’s no way to protect a candidate on the stump. No way in hell. And if I’m lucky enough to be elected, there’ll be no bubble-top bulletproof limo like Lyndon’s using. What kind of country is that to live in? Where the President is afraid to go out among the people?”
I was shaking my head, astounded. “Jesus, Bob, what kind of morbid horseshit is that?”
He stared past me with a small ghastly smile. “Each day every man and woman lives a game of Russian roulette. Car wrecks, plane crashes, choke on a fucking fish bone. Bad X-rays, heart attacks and liver failure. I’m pretty sure there’ll be an attempt on my life sooner or later, not so much for political reasons but just plain crazy madness. Plenty of that to go around.”
I guess I must have been goggling at him. “If you think somebody’s going to take a shot at you—”
The blue eyes tightened. “I won’t have everyday people getting caught in my crossfire. Not for discussion, Nate. If you want out, I’ll understand.”
The girlish cries from the water’s edge turned suddenly into screams, shrill and frightened and punctuated with Mary’s “Daddy! Daddy!” while Courtney called out, frantic, “David’s in trouble!”
And the boy was too far out there, floundering, much too far, and Bob sprang to his bare feet and accidentally caused a wall of the sandcastle to crumble as he flew across the beach and ran splashing into the water and dove into the crashing waves.
The undertow had the child. His sisters were dancing in the surf again, but a wholly different dance now, fists tight and shaking. I got to my feet feeling as helpless as the young girls. So much tragedy had visited this family! Dread spread through me like poison.