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My friend Jack was ten feet behind Bobby Kennedy in the Chicago kitchen. His son flew to DC to watch Edward Kennedy watch Barack Hussein become president. Jack died of leukemia caught from Agent Orange exposure from a stint in Vietnam as a Conscientious Objector, serving as reporter, not soldier, but still dying before his sons were grown.

A man younger than the baby boomers stands and serves. Younger, hipper. Crowds watch him like the crowds I once joined on the Washington Mall, smashed between angry voices and raised fists. We shall overcome blared from tinny speakers- no large digital video screens then. Jack told us about the blood and the chaos in the kitchen. We knew we’d been betrayed. Innocence stripped from idealistic dreams.
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