Shabbat shalom.
We are busy this weekend with family, so I am taking a different approach for this week’s post. Instead of the usual news recap with my smarmy commentary, I am reposting a story taken from StoryCorps, a story which emerged from tragedy, but a story which I think reflects a message of gratitude worthy of sharing on this Thanksgiving weekend.
If you haven’t heard of StoryCorps, it’s an organization that’s been gathering individual stories from across America for over 20 years and collects all of them in the US. Library of Congress. StoryCorps’ online archive now has the single largest collection of human voices ever gathered.
Here is the story.
On June 5th, 1968, as many of you may remember, Bobby Kennedy won California’s Democratic primary, and that night after his victory speech at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles, Kennedy was shot. In a famous photograph taken just seconds after, Kennedy lies on the floor with a teenage busboy kneeling beside him, cradling the senator’s head.
That busboy’s name was Juan Romero, and he came to the United States from Mexico as a kid. At StoryCorps, just before the 50th anniversary of Bobby Kennedy’s assassination, Romero came to remember the night that Bobby Kennedy was killed and how he met Senator Kennedy the night before when he delivered his room service.
They opened the door, and the senator was talking on the phone. He put down the phone and says, “Come on in, boys.” You could tell when he was looking at you, that he’s not looking through you, he’s taking you into account.
And I remember walking out of there like I was 10 feet tall. The next day, he had his victory speech. So, they came down the service elevator, which is behind the kitchen.”
I remember extending my hand as far as I could, and then I remember him shaking my hand, and as he let go, somebody shot him. I kneeled down to him and put my hand between the cold concrete and his head just to make him comfortable. I could see his lips moving, so I put my ear next to his lips, and I heard him say, “is everybody okay?”
I said, yes, everybody’s okay. I could feel a steady stream of blood coming through my fingers. I had a rosary in my shirt pocket, and I took it out thinking that he would need it a lot more than me.
I wrapped it around his right hand, and then they wheeled him away. The next day, I decided to go to school. I didn’t want to think about it, but this woman was reading the newspaper, and you can see my picture in there with the senator on the floor. She turned around and showed me the picture, and says, “this is you, isn’t it?”And I remember looking at my hands, and there was dry blood in between my nails. Then I received bags of letters addressed to a busboy.
There was a couple of angry letters. One of them even went as far as to say that if he hadn’t stopped to shake your hand, the senator would have been alive. So I should be ashamed of myself for being so selfish.
It’s been a long 50 years, and I still get emotional, tears come out. But I went to visit his grave in 2010. I felt like I needed to ask Kennedy to forgive me for not being able to stop those bullets from harming him.
And I felt like, you know, it would be a sign of respect to buy a suit. I never owned a suit in my life. And so when I wore the suit and I stood in front of his grave, I felt a little bit like the first day that I met him.
I felt important. I felt American and I felt good.”
Juan Romero died just a few months after the 50th anniversary of Bobby Kennedy’s assassination. After hearing the story, a listener wrote into StoryCorps with a related anecdote. The letter started by saying that Robert F. Kennedy was his personal hero.
“So on the 50th anniversary of his death, I took the subway to Arlington Cemetery to pay my respects. I made it just before the gates closed. At RFK’s grave, I sat down next to an older Hispanic man on the wall opposite. “Bobby was important to you?” He asked. I told him yes, before asking why he was here.
“I’m here to pay respects to an old friend, he said. I was the one holding his head when he died.
I remember that his eyes were wet with tears. He still had his suitcase from the airport. He had flown over for the anniversary, and like me, had just made it in time. As he left, he shook my hand. “It’s good to know that he’s remembered, he said. Anyway, I thought you might like to know that Juan Romero got to say goodbye one last time.”
Have a great Thanksgiving weekend everyone! And remember, be safe out there. I hope everyone is ok.
Brad out.
Jew News Review 