It was 1968 and several good people were running for the Democratic nomination for the Presidency of our Nation. We lived in Iowa and I was selected to be a voting delegate at the convention. Because of that there were a lot of parties and gatherings in Des Moines to get to know the candidates. It was quite accidental that I was standing in a hotel entryway with Ted Kennedy and our then governor, Harold Hughes. Unbeknownst by me, a picture was taken and it appeared on the front page of the Des Moines Register the next Sunday morning. I still have a copy.
It seems so long ago. We were young, all of us. Teddy was helping his brother, Bobby, in his run to be our nomination. We all thought Teddy would be a candidate in 4 or 8 more years. But it wasn’t to be. I think I would have voted for Bobby if he hadn’t been removed by an assassin. That really hurt. Remember the song, "Abraham, Martin, and John? Then they added Bobby when they sang it. It always made me sad to hear, and remember how many ways our worold would have been different if any or all of them had lived.
One of the candidates was Hubert Humphrey. He had been an excellent and intelligent Senator. But he wouldn’t consider ending another wrong war, Viet Nam. Therefore he couldn’t win. But he had a very unusual ability. I met him at one of the shindigs in Des Moines. I said hello to him and introduced myself. About three months later, i was at the airport meeting my husband frtom a business trip he’d made. Hi plane landed, but people were not allowed to get off until some dignitary and his entourage deplaned. As we stood there waiting we saw the Secret Service men and then it was Hubert Humphrey who deplaned. As he walked by, he turned to me, and said, "hello Bertha". I was amazed that he remembered my name. Later I learned that he had an uncaqnny ability to remember people and their names. I still can’t imagine, with all the people he met in his lifetime, how he could do that.
That was an interesting time. I did not continue with politics because wealthy people paid the costs that allowed me to attend of all those fund raisers. Then they told us to vote the way they told us to, or we wouldn’t be back. That didn’t seem very democratic. So I voted my conscience and never allowed my self to go further. It was a very sweet, and sad time, 1968. The night Bobby was shot, my beloved Grandmother died in La Jolla at the age of 89.
And now my friend Teddy is gone too, and my husband and I are senior members of our world. Time passes, but memories never die.