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Were you there when they shot MLK? RFK?
WORLD Magazine folks are prepping a feature section remembering the Summer of ’68. Were you there? The oldsters among us (I was a philosophical giant of 7 in 1968) are writing up memories of where we were in The Year That Changed America and humming “Abraham, Martin, and John” as we go. Where were you in 1968? How have the tumultuous events of that year shaped who you are today?
Topic: Culture, WorldMagBlog
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back to top40 Comments to “Were you there when they shot MLK? RFK?”
My parents were 12.
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I was 6, I remember nothing of either event. The first news event I have any memory of was the moon landing the following year. My parents were strong supporters of civil rights as far back as I can remember. But I don’t remember much that far back.
My big concern the summer of 1968 (and at least two more summers after it) was swimming lessons at the town pool, which I was very nervous about. Even after I learned to swim, I was terrified of diving in headfirst, so it took me three years to make it out of the beginner class where diving was required.
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Um – not born yet. But I know we will be telling the stories of “where were you when 9/11 happened” to our children, who weren’t yet born when it occurred.
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I was at work both times – working nights for RFK and days for MLK. In Sister Furnace’s choir practice for JFK – 5h grade. She was pretty hot for a sister
We had a great choir and made records to sell so we could raise money to travel when we sang. Can’t remember going anywhere though.
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Spending a year in Germany in school. I was politically inert back then, but sensitive to America’s image and after RFK was shot I remember sending a simple postcard back home to my parents–”What the h is going on back there?”
It wasn’t until Kent State, a couple of years later (and a few whiffs of tear gas and a night in jail in DC) that the niggling feeling that anybody who REALLY shakes up the establishment is fair game for both the government and the lunatic fringe set in.
I have said repeatedly to friends that I will be surprised if Obama makes it through the campaign without someone taking a shot at him. Though in his case it won’t be his politics…
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I don’t remember exactly when MLK was killed, except for the riots.
I couldn’t sleep one night and was laying on the couch with the lights off listening to music on the radio. They interrupted the program with the news. I turned on the TV to watch the commotion.
It was a period of intense discord in our nation. I initially thought the shooting was by a right-wing nut. (no pun here)
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I was 8 in ‘68. It was a big year for me: I got my first dog, a Westie named Kippy; I had a crush on my second grade teacher, Miss Burton; and my namesake, Mickey Mantle, retired from baseball. I vaguely remember the assassinations, but I sort of remember seeing news reports on TV the morning after Bobby Kennedy was shot. I recall being impressed that a former pro football player, Rosey Grier, was the one who nabbed the shooter.
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I was 2 years old, so no one can blame me for anything other than soiling my pants (and that would have been unrelated to either assassination).
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I was a few months shy of 16 and sitting on the sofa in the living room watching television by myself when I heard about the shooting of MLK, Jr. My mother and sister had gone to the doctor. The news person interrupted the television program, but news reporting wasn’t like it is today. If this occurred today, there would be no going back to the tv program. The previous summer when the riots occurred in Newark, NJ and we were on vacation at the Expo in Canada, my father drove home non-stop because he had been afraid the rioters would drive through our town looking for trouble and my college-aged sister was home alone. He was similarly worried the evening of the shooting that my mother and sister wouldn’t get home safely because of what had happened during the riots.
Several months later, RFK’s shooting, holds no memory for me. I can see news reports in my head, but those were after the fact. I do remember the funeral and Teddy Kennedy’s voice cracking when he eulogized his brother. It still affects me when I hear it today.
I, too, wasn’t into politics all that much, but my sister was devastated when Kennedy was killed because she had planned to vote for him. I don’t remember riots after MLK, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t occur in NJ. I know we weren’t allowed to go to Newark by ourselves, but when I started school at Rutgers a few years later, I decided I didn’t want to be involved in the anti-war stuff which was big on campus in 1970 so I left school. (Years later, I was home watching tv and remember seeing Alvarez, the first POW get off the plane. At the time I thought it was alphabetical, but it was because he was the longest-serving POW.
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I was living in Los Angeles with my family and I turned 12 several days after RFK was shot. A precocious reader even then, I remember the enormous headline across the LA Times the next morning and I read the whole story. I felt fearful–how could such an awful thing happen to such a nice man with all those kids?
I vaguely remember King being killed–again from the front page of the paper with that famous photo of Jesse Jackson and the other guy on the hotel balcony pointing in the direction the shots came.
I listened to Tom Brokaw’s Boom on tape several weeks ago and enjoyed remembering those times. I especially liked how he ended the book–with Jim Lovell’s reminiscence of orbiting the moon. Lovell said many people wrote to him later and thanked him for closing out a tumultuous year with a warm reading of Genesis 1.
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I graduated from high school in ‘68—from the only high school in our city considered to be racially integrated and which sported national honors of recognition as a result. We actually had every race and economic level represented because of the unique location and school attendance boundaries.
The shooting of MLK was difficult at our school, but not as difficult as at another school where the population was predominately black. We had some wannabe rioters who broke a window and made a lot of noise in a nearby shopping area. There also was a lot of skipping classes to stand around in threatening looking groups, but nothing really serious ever happened. Fortunately, wiser heads, of all races, prevailed—we had a black “Head Girl” and a white “Head Boy” as student elected leaders—and we had several assemblies where we celebrated our inward similarities/strengths rather than our outward differences.
Considering what we read about stuff happening elsewhere, we were later amazed when we realized just how well we all got along—even to the point of commiserating with each other over the loss. Looking back now and considering how some still seem to struggle makes it all the more amazing. It wasn’t hard to get along then and in fact seemed only natural. I still can’t understand why it is difficult for some now.
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I was…oh wait. I wasn’t born yet.
My parents were just a little older than Luke’s. But my grandma can tell some great stories about the Chicago riots.
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I was in diapers. This sort of reminds me of the time back when I was teaching high school (my first year, back in 1990-91) and all of the other teachers were sitting around in the lounge one day discussing where they were when JFK was assassinated. I waited until they finished and then told them that my parents hadn’t even met yet.
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The only thing I remember are some unkind jokes about the events by a friend of my father’s.
Actually, every nearly president from FDR up has been shot at by somebody.
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That should be “nearly every president”.
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“Were you there when they shot MLK? RFK?”
“They?”
I was in LA. I recall the pain and confusion but was too young to understand why I felt it for total strangers. I recall the riots that rose out of this strange sort of public pain.
Assassinations are terrible. But I think the media made tons and tons of money obsessing endlessly on such terrible events. I think there was some exploitation going on.
Andy Warhol understood this phenomenon. He made lots of money in the name of “art” by plastering out public pictures of Jackie Kennedy after her tragedy and Marilyn Monroe after her suicide. He made tons of money also going to morgues to get pictures for his compositions that would shock people’s sensibilities in the name of “art.”
I think the media play a similar game and don’t feel an ounce of guilt in the process.
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I was in high school in 1968. It was a sad time, in general. I don’t remember that much about either death. I remember every detail about the day JFK was shot.
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I was a 6-year old living in inner-city Detroit (Seven Mile area) in the summer of ‘68. “Sock it to ‘em Tigers!” was the rallying cry, as Denny McClain was on his way to winning 31 games and the Tiger were on their way to winning the World Series.
I vaguely recall the MLK and Bobbie Kennedy shootings. I more vividly recall that several families on the block had older boys in Vietnam and that the War was a constant topic of conversation between our Moms on the porch. When us kids were around, they whispered details about their letters home. The show “Wonder years” pretty much nailed how life was back then.
We moved out of inner Detroit to Iowa that August. An absolutely brutal move for a kid following a pennant race. Adding insult to injury was the fact that Iowa (and the entire midwest) was dreaded St. Louis Cardinal territory. Ahhh, but the Tigers-Cardinals World Series that year was an absolute epic! Mickey Lolich three wins helped us prevail in seven games over Bob Gibson and Co. We still love you Mickey!
The previous summer (1967) the race riots in Detroit were so bad that my father sent my Mom, my sister and I away to live with my grandparents for the entire summer.
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To Travis
They were not race riots, it was black people rioting.
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I was 7 and living in Stockton CA when they were killed. When RFK was killed my father was overjoyed and had all his friends over for a big party. I remember them fondly recounting him (RFK) writhing around on the floor like a poleaxed steer.
When MLK was shot the only thing my parents said was essentially “good riddance to the Marxist SOB!”
I had a terrible time trying to understand why my parents and church were so happy about them being killed but my teachers weren’t happy at all.
That was the beginning of my political awakening.
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KI, I remember every detail of the JFK assassination, too. That one was very different for me, and even though I was younger, that was the shocker.
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one
I remember the shooting of JFK. My parents owned a small motel at that time. I was the desk clerk. We stayed in our living quarters, which were attached to the motel office, when not needed at the front desk. I was in the living room, and our maid came rushing to the door to the door, with a stricken expression.
“They’ve shot the President! Turn on your TV.”
The video of the shooting played over and over, accompanied by the hushed tones of the reporters. The President in his car. Maybe I remember John Connelly moving around, or else I just remember them commenting on him later. Then Jackie in her pink suit, rising. During one of the re-plays, an announcer said there was blood on her suit. I don’t remember if I actually saw that or not. The Secret Service men swarming.
It was one of those “larger than life” events. Something which affected the emotions of just about everyone. We weren’t as blasé, or accustomed to violence as we are today.
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two
I remember the televising of the funeral. Jackie kneeling at the casket. The repeated poignant shots and remarks about Caroline and little Jon-Jon. It must have been the first time I saw a “catafalque” [sp?], maybe even the first time I knew that word. I also remember the scenes from the shooter’s position, and Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald, rumored to have been so Jackie Kennedy wouldn’t have to go through the agony of a prolonged and vivid trial. I don’t know when the idea surfaced of a possible “conspiracy.”
I remember seeing news clips of RFK, but though I think I must have been concerned at the time, wondering if our country was safe anymore, it didn’t leave as embedded a memory as JFK. (I only saw the re-runs, not the immediacy of its happening at the moment. It may not have gotten as much air time, either.)
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three
Again, I only heard of MLK’s death after the fact. I then saw clips of his life, and I suppose of his death or the aftermath. Today, I have less memories of the freedom marches, the sit ins, the “I have a Dream” speech, the Norman Rockwell painting of black children being escorted to school – stories often repeated over the years.
Black persons were very rare in our white rural area in the West. We didn’t have threats of rioting, nor did we have a cohesive large group with extreme bitterness over the race question. People may have had feelings either against, or for,, the white supremists, or the Negroes, But in retrospect, I suspect many of us had no understanding of the intensity of emotion on both sides, or of the degree of shame and degradation felt by the oppressed. We had our own battles and concerns here, other issues that lighted fuses of anger, and seemed to touch us more directly. I admit I was insulated enough that I don’t know what most of the people in our region thought about events after MLK’s death. It seemed incomprehensible to me that people were rioting.
Just for the record, we are still an area with few blacks. However, our African-American Sheriff is popular, considered a fair man, and has been re-elected several times.
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Yep, I was around in the summer of 1968. Let’s see, what was I doing? Celebrating my first birthday, enjoying my newfound ability to walk, trying to stay cool, and wondering why Mom didn’t have a lap anymore (she got it back when my sister was born in the fall). Can’t say I actually remember any of that, though. Oly thing I remember is how bad Bitex tasted. Yep, that I remember somehow (used to cure thumbsucking–it worked).
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I was about -17 years old.
My parents turned nine that year.
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I was 24 in 1968.
I was in community college when JFK was shot. The reaction of my instructor at the time the news came on was very interesting.
I was listening to the radio coverage when Robert was shot and heard the shots on the radio.
At the time of the Watts riot, I was working nights as a security guard and was assigned to stay inside a Sears store in Los Angeles in case it was attacked by looters. (I would have been useless.)
Fortunately for me, nothing happened where I was.
Nick Peters can’t seem to express himself in a straightforward sort of way. Did something bad happen to him involving black people? Did something bad happen to him involving Protestant black people. He seems unable or unwilling to speak in a straightforward way, and just post coy little martyrly remarks which seem to have no purpose or point.
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NJLawyer – post #9:I was a few months shy of 16 and sitting on the sofa in the living room watching television by myself when I heard about the shooting of MLK, Jr.
(j/k)
Well, remember that those of us who can do math rather quickly have realized you gave your age away.
I was 7 when MLK was shot in 1968. I really had not paid too much attention to him because I had just lost my best friend at the time due to his having a brain tumor at age 7. The shock of someone so young passing away did almost irreparable damage to my psyche.
Then a week later, my maternal grandfather died of cancer.
’nuff said.
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In my bedroom. My mother comes in and says the Martin Luther King was shot. We were big into racial justice issues down at the Methodist church — but honestly, by this time, the war was heating everything up. That was the top of mind for us. MLK was sort of old news, now against the war and no longer fighting against the Southerners (oh, I was such a Yankee in HS).
Then there were the riots; I especially remember reading about Newark and Washington DC in Life magazine. The burning of the cities seemed a continuation of the previous summers’ riots in Detroit, and Watts in 1965.
The death of MLK was the crashing of a certain idealism — even more would get wrecked in the years ahead.
The world was spinning so, then. Violence kept lapping at the cultural shore, and meantime there is this disorienting turn to drugs, sex and how do I make sense of all this with my hormone-addled 17 year-old mind?
In 1970, there finally was a song for it, Ball of Confusion by the Temptations. “That’s what it is today,” they sang. And still is.
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Theophilus: I had two of my little cousins (3&5)die around that time also. One had just stayed the summer with us, because his parents could not take care of him for that period. He got into some medicine and died of an overdose. Another had a brain tumor and went through the old cobolt treatments before he died. Maybe, that is one reason the whole period seems sad to me.
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I was 9 that summer. I don’t specifically either event.
I do remember dad getting home from work in Chicago when the rioting started here. He had his gun out on the seat of the car. He said to mom “I didn’t use it, get packed.” We hurriedly packed and went up to my uncle’s place in Upper Michigan for a week.
We watched the riots on a tiny black & white TV with bad reception adding to the sureality (at home we had a slightly less tiny black & white TV with slightly less bad reception).
Spots in the near west side of Chicago are still a mess from 1968.
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US Army
US 56693793
Spec-5 E-5 Robert T Buckles
5th Surgical Hospital, Mobile Army
16 Aug 66 through 15 Aug 68
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I was 16 in 1968 and I had gone to bed after watching the California returns the night RFK was killed. I was just drifting off to sleep when my mom, who was still up, came into my bedroom to tell me the news that RFK had been shot.
We were a Republican household, but we were all stunned and saddened that something so horrible had happened (again). Little else was talked about at my high school the next day. It was all terribly sad and jarring. I remember turning the headlights on in my parents’ car whenever I drove that week since radio stations were urging people to do that as a sign of mourning.
My mom at the time worked at the telephone company building right next door to the Ambassador Hotel where RFK was shot.
1968 was one of those historic, watershed years, so much turmoil (Chicago Dem convention) & so much tragedy with the assassinations of RFK & MLK. It really did seem like everything was unraveling.
Also, we didn’t live far from the Watts riots that happened a few years earlier. My dad was working nights back then and there were news reports that the unrest might be spreading to our neighborhood. National Guardsmen had been stationed on the roof of the Sears only a mile from our house and I still remember the ominous sight of the soldiers and their guns. The tension was just incredibly high.
Late one night when the unrest was at its peak, my mom was up late waiting for my dad to come home from work when there was a loud ‘THUMP’ at the back door. Terrified, my mom heard the sound a couple more times before she finally got up the nerve to investigate.
Peering cautiously through the window of the back door, she spotted Tom, our scrappy gray tomcat, slamming himself against the back door.
We usually kept the door ajar for Tom, but it was shut tight and locked that night. Clearly frustrated at being shut out, Tom decided to hurl himself against the door to get our attention. And that he did.
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Theophilus, by the end of next week, I’ll be 56 — for those who can’t add and subtract so quickly. I’ve taken to calling myself “an old lady,” and thankfully, I’ve been corrected quite a bit!
So many of you remember riots after MLK and RFK, but I don’t. Perhaps because I remember the riots in Newark the year before. Nor do I remember problems in school after either assassination. But the antiwar stuff was going strong back then. My father really resented the way the troops were treated. That bothered him as a vet.
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I was 11. We were a Democratic family in those days (my dad still is). I don’t remember MLK, as civil rights were not a boig issue. Since we lived in Tucson, the big issue was Cesar Chavez and La Raza Unida calling for a boycott of California lettuce. Also, we were at a rally to trun a golf course into a public park in the Mexican American neighborhood one day when a riot started. My dad grabbed my brother and me and we left hurriedly.
But on the night RFK was shot, my 18 year old sister stayed up until he was pronounced dead early the next morning. She woke us up, saying “He died” in an ominous sort of way.
About the only thing I remember of the Chicago riots was later when one of the Chicago 8 spoke at a rally that fall. All I remember is he used the ‘f’ word a lot.
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I had just finished my first year of college. There were riots in my home town that summer. There were a lot of fears about what was taking place in America at that time. There was a good deal of talk about conspiracies. Vietnam was probably the most emotionally overwhelming problem of concern to the people I knew during that time.
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Chas, do you remember what you were doing when you found out that FDR was crippled?
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NT: I was almost fifteen when he died. I was almost grown when I learned he was crippled. Does that say something about the media? Not me, the media.
As a child, though, I had more sense than most Americans. I knew in 1944 that he was too sick to try to lead the country another four years. Yet my dad voted for him. Both Churchill and Stalin were manipulating him for their purposes, not America’s.
Thank God for Harry Truman, I mean that.
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I did know, however, that the March of Dimes was supported by Roosevelt and was to eradicate “infantile paralysis”. They eventually developed a vaccine for polio.
I don’t know what it had to do with the program, but the song, “The Old Lamplighter” was a theme in 1940 March of Dimes drive.
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Thinking back some more — the summer of ‘68 and all. I’m with NJL: it was the war. Of course in Ann Arbor, you would expect us to have a little more “liberal” view. Ah, but we can’t very choose our hometowns, now, can we? This was the year of McCarthy and the peace medallion (rolls eyes); hippies were everywhere, and we were all tuned to the radio for the new band (the Who came through town on their first ever tour).
It is funny that we now mark their deaths, but of course at the time it was all about the hub-bub of politics and the war. Another reason we pray for wisdom to discern the time. Of course, that was a lesson I learned later when I was older.
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