Mustang Bobby at Shakesville has written a moving remembrance of the worst thing that happened in the terrible, magical year I was born, 1968: the death of Robert F. Kennedy.

Unfortunately my memories of the Kennedys are mostly composed of the family’s lesser lights, but my mother still carries a torch for Bobby to this day and has shared the reasons from time to time. Since she doesn’t blog, this is the best appreciation of the man and that awful day I can find. I don’t know whether the world would be better had this assassination not taken place, but it would surely be different.

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