I knew this was probably the last time that I would see the Senator before he headed East again after the California primary. Norbie and I went up to his hotel suite on the top floor of the Fairmont that morning, and we were ushered into a room where the Senator was talking to a few campaign aides. I think Fred Dutton was there, but I can't recall who else.
The moment we entered, they all retreated to the other side of the room. I remember that the Senator was seated in a chair next to a window that overlooked San Francisco Bay, but he got up when I came through the door. He looked more tired than I had ever seen him. There were deep lines around his eyes, and his fingers and palms were swollen and scratched from shaking so many hands. A friend of mine who worked in the campaign, and whose job was to help the Senator navigate through the crowds, said when he pulled on his hand, it felt like the skin was actually going to come off. It was obvious that the campaign had really taken a toll on him, but he nevertheless seemed energized.
Recognizing how extremely busy he was, we declined his offer to sit down. I explained that I just wanted him to meet my fiancƩ and to wish him good luck in the primary.
I introduced Norbie, and they shook hands. I kissed him on the cheek "for good luck," and he looked directly at me with those piercing blue eyes. In that moment, they seemed an even deeper blue than usual, perhaps in contrast to his tanned and weather-beaten face. Seeing how exhausted he was, I wanted to take him by the hand and lead him to some safe place where he could rest and regain his strength. He seemed so fragile and vulnerable.
He asked if we had set a date for the wedding yet, and I said no-that I was hoping to work on the campaign once he won the nomination, so the marriage would have to wait. What I did not say in that momentāwhat I hadn't even told Norbie-was that, more and more, I was thinking of not getting married; that I had begun to have other ideas about what to do with the rest of my life. I would join the campaign. I would travel the country, and then later, I would set off on my own to see the world. I would go to work in the White House or join the Peace Corps. I would live on a beach in Bali and write a novel about unrequited love. I would march with Cesar. I would go to law school and become a high-paid criminal lawyer. The one thing I would not do was get married...at least not now, anyway. But I kept up the subterfuge.
Digging myself in deeper, I asked the Senator if he would come to the wedding whenever it was. He laughed and said enthusiastically, "Of course, I will!" as if I had just inquired, "Will you have another cup of coffee?"
We chatted with him for a short time longer, and I asked him to inscribe his book, To Seek a Newer World, to my parents. I'd brought it with me and intended to give it to my dad as a Father's Day present.
Then, knowing how much he had going on, we started to leave. Before I went out the door, though, I turned to look at him one more time, and the last thing I said was, "Be careful in L.A. There are a lot of nuts down there, you know." He just brushed it off and waved good-bye, smiling a weary smile. I blew him a final kiss.
Then we left, and I never saw him again.
First Great Sorrow: My Years with Robert F. Kennedy by Donna Chaffee
