Crying About An Election

As this is written, Barak Obama is scheduled to be inaugurated later today.

Over the weekend, I was watching CNN and a young African-American man of 14 was talking about the night of the election. He had to go to bed before the results were in because his mom told him that it was a big night, but rules were rules and bedtime was bedtime.

His mom woke him a couple of hours later and he saw that she was crying. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"Not a thing," she replied. "Obama won."

Hearing that story brought a lump to my throat and put me on the verge of a tear, both because I felt -- to a limited extent -- the joy and meaning she experienced and because I remembered another election with another kid being awakened.

That kid was me.

It was late on the night of June 4, 1968 and I was that young teenager who'd gone to bed early. It wasn't because of a strict bedtime rule, but because I was exhausted and put myself to bed. Earlier that day, I'd been at the Kennedy for President headquarters in Van Nuys, California.

At this distance in time I can't remember specifically what I did in my nameless volunteer capacity, but I believe it involved calling registered Democrats and arranging for their transportation to the polls. We worked until the polls closed and then departed the headquarters which was located across the street from a Chevy plant (what could be more appropriate for a Democratic headquarters?).

I'd been invited to go to the Ambassador for the celebration of Robert Kennedy's expected primary victory. I declined because I'd have been the 7th person in a six-person car. Being overweight at the time, I was both concerned for others' discomfort and self-conscious about my own.

As a result of course, I missed both the joy of Kennedy's victory over Eugene McCarthy (and inferentially, Lyndon Johnson, the then-despised architect of the morass in Viet Nam), and the horror that followed.

So it looked good but not certain when I went to sleep.

I awakened to my dad's touch on my shoulder. I vaguely remember asking what was wrong, because he never awakened me under normal circumstances. "They shot Kennedy."

He wasn't crying and I didn't, since big boys didn't cry back then. But I got up and watched the coverage and we were up until late. Kennedy wasn't dead, but he was in the hospital and he lingered for a couple of days.

It was a terribly sad time and when people cried, it clearly wasn't for the same reason as people have cried at the news of Obama's victory (or today during his inauguration).

Those of us who wanted RFK to win felt as I do now, that the election of someone can make a MAJOR difference.

At that time, in that place, it seemed like the end of everything good. Today, I'm thrilled as I've been since November.

I'm worried, of course, about Obama's safety, because I keep hearing people -- mostly but not exclusively racists -- say that he won't live beyond....and they finish the sentence in different ways. Of course, I heard them say that before and during the campaign, and he obviously defeated those predictions.

I'm a little more confident about his safety because I don't think that the people who wanted both Kennedys and Dr. King killed care much about Obama.

In any event, the near future looks a lot better than it did 2 years ago. Bush isn't president and Obama is. We have nothing to fear but fear itself (did someone else say that first?).

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