'68 - A Novel...

CHAPTER 9: SATURDAY, MARCH 9


They sat in the loge seats of the El Rey theater, watching Benjamin Braddock fumble and stumble his way into the arms of Mrs. Robinson. They laughed out loud at Ben’s social blunders, rooted like crazy for Ben and Elaine, the star-crossed lovers, and marveled at how skillfully the music of Simon and Garfunkel was woven into the story. Somewhere between the Taft Hotel and Ben’s mad dash for Berkeley, John reached over and took Bobbie’s hand, their fingers interlocking comfortably. It was one of those sweet little things he did continually that tended to melt her resistance. She squeezed his hand quickly, and then began trying to rebuild her defenses.

This was another in a series of what they’d come to refer to as “un-dates.” They would meet inside the lobby of a theater, or just happen to show up at Scotty’s Doughnuts at the same time, or meet at the Miracle Bowl to roll a few lines. John didn’t like it, didn’t understand why they couldn’t date openly, but he accepted it because it meant he could be with Bobbie. Bobbie insisted on the un-date scenario, even though she knew they weren’t fooling anyone. Anyone, that is, except their parents. She had too much love and respect for her own parents to defy them openly, but it was getting harder and harder to maintain the charade.

After the movie, she knew they would wind up driving to some secluded spot, out of sight from the world, and then the kissing and touching would begin. She hungered for it as much as John did, but she had drawn a hard line beyond which she would not go. She pleaded with him to slow it down, telling him they’d come too far too fast, but then it would start again and the words would come tumbling out of his mouth: “I love you, Bobbie. I love you.”

Bobbie wanted to let go, to just let it be, to say “I love you too,” but she held on tight, afraid that if she crossed that line, it would be like jumping from a plane without a parachute. When she was alone and he wasn’t holding her and kissing her, she could tell herself that it was wrong and stupid. He was a junior in high school, for God’s sake! He barely had his driver’s license. She was almost two years older. Maybe that was it: she was his Mrs. Robinson. His black Mrs. Robinson. The idea made her laugh, and shake her head at the same time.

His simple directness charmed and confused her at first, but she finally figured it out. John had the ability to be completely in the moment, no concerns about the past, no fear of future consequences, totally and completely focused on the here and now. It was part of the reason that he was a fine athlete: he could strike out twice, for example, looking ridiculous, then line a shot off the wall in his next at bat. She came to see that it was his greatest strength, and his biggest weakness. Especially where she was concerned. Especially when they were alone together.

They walked out of the theater, talking and laughing over scenes from the movie, heading toward his car in the parking lot. He took her hand again and she didn’t resist. Bobbie thought of the closing scene, with Ben and Elaine riding away from the church in the back of the bus, Ben a picture of hope and happiness, and Elaine’s beautiful face suddenly struck with the question: Oh my God, what have I done? She knew that except for the color contrast, John was Ben and she was Elaine. It scared her a little and she shuddered involuntarily.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said.

She looked at him then, walking next to her, so strong and sweet and sincere, the muscles in his forearm rippling as he squeezed her hand. God, he was a beautiful boy, his body sculpted by constant training for one sport or another. If there was an ounce of fat anywhere, she couldn’t see it – or feel it.

“Let’s go someplace where we can be alone,” she said. And she tightened her grip on his hand.
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CHAPTER 10: SUNDAY, MARCH 31


A few regulars sat on their favorite stools down at Skip’s, chatting and laughing, ignoring the television mounted above the bar where President Lyndon Baines Johnson was delivering an address to the nation.

“Whoa, did you hear that? Listen up guys.” Skip reached for the set and turned up the volume.

Suddenly, all eyes were glued to Johnson’s image on the screen. They watched the conclusion of the President’s remarks, and then watched the pundits and commentators appear on camera, looking like they’d been sound asleep and rudely tossed out of bed, scrambling to seize control of the moment.

“And… ah… the President said… ah… do we have that tape?.. no?.. ah, well… Dan, I believe his exact words were, ‘I will not seek, nor will I accept, the nomination of my party for another term as your president.’ Do we have that tape now? Okay, let’s roll it…”

And there on the screen flashed the replay, the image of a tired and beaten man saying in effect that he was stepping aside, that he would not run for re-election, that he was ordering a halt to the bombing of North Vietnam in hopes of bringing all parties to the peace table.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Old LBJ is throwing in the towel. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“That man’s been in the thick of it since the thirties. How’s he gonna retire? It’ll kill him.”

“I’ll tell you what’s killing him: it’s that damn war; a thousand dead American kids coming home in coffins every month. That’s what’s killing him.”

“Well, he took us into it. Wanted to ‘nail that coonskin to the wall’ and all that shit. Now he’s got demonstrators outside the White House chanting ‘Hey, hey LBJ, how many kids did you kill today.’”

“It was that damn McNamara and the brass hat generals. They sold him a bill of goods. ‘Give us the men and the bombs and we’ll have the boys home by Christmas.’ Christmas, my ass!”

“You know that Gulf of Tonkin thing was a phony. Just an excuse to start bombing in the north.”

“Now we got 500,000 men over there and Walter Cronkite says it’s a stalemate.”

“It’s a sad state of affairs when people trust Cronkite more than the president.”

“Well, I tell ya what: Lyndon was a master in the Senate. There was nobody that could get things done the way he could. As president too. You watch: we’ll never see another president work congress the way he did.”

“You’re right about that. Voting rights. Public accommodations. Medicare. Housing rights. He knew how to get it done.”

“And you’re for all that crap? We give the coloreds – or the blacks, or African-Americans, or whatever they want to be called now – their civil rights and what do they do? They burn down their own neighborhoods! Los Angeles, Newark, Detroit, you name it.”

“Hey, look: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident. That all men are created equal.’ It’s damn well time we lived up to it, and LBJ knew that.”

“So you want ‘em living next door to you?”

“I think I’d rather have them than you.” (laughter)

“Remember when he said ‘We can have guns and butter too’? Turns out he had to choose. Turns out you can’t have both.”

“Yeah, well, you can take all of his Great Society crap and shove it. Who’s gonna pay for it? I’ll tell ya who: working stiffs like us, that’s who. And we’ll all go bankrupt together.”

“Just wait ‘til you sign up for Medicare. You’ll appreciate good old LBJ then.”

“Who are the Democrats going to nominate now? McCarthy’s a one-issue guy. I don’t think he’s got the stuff.”

“Humphrey will jump in. And LBJ will probably endorse him.”

“I think Bobby Kennedy is the man to beat. When he announced that he was running, I think Johnson was really hurt.”

“Ah, geez, just what we need: a return to Camelot. The damn Kennedys think they’re a royal family or something.”

“So LBJ’s going back to the banks of the Pedernales, back to the ranch. I don’t think we’ll ever see his like again.”
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Skip went about counting the money and closing out the cash register. Over his shoulder, he could see Bobbie and Thad, the two kids from the janitorial service, stacking chairs on the tables, preparing to sweep and mop the black and white tile floor. They were both in their late teens and Skip had come to admire their work ethic. They were quick and efficient and they left the whole place – the kitchen, the restrooms, the bar itself – spotless every night. He noticed that they were playful and affectionate, their conversation light and easy and punctuated with laughter, and he wondered if they were a couple. They were nice looking kids, both of them: dark skin, dark brown eyes, trim and athletic looking, and they both wore their hair in the Afro style that was currently in vogue.

Skip remembered the call from the service that afternoon, advising him that Thad would be leaving the company; he had been drafted and would leave for basic training in about a week. The manager assured him that a suitable replacement would be assigned, and that Bobbie would continue on the job.

“Hey, Thad, got a minute?” Skip called the young man over.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your boss called today, said you got drafted, that you’ll be leaving us.”

“Yeah, I leave a week from Monday.” Thad managed a weak smile.

“Well, we’re gonna miss you around here. You did a damn fine job.”

“Thank you, sir. Bobbie is going to continue on your account. You’re a good customer. I’m sure the company will take care of you.”

“Thad, if you don’t mind my asking, are you and Bobbie a couple?”

“Me and Bobbie? Nah, she’s my cousin. We’re family.”

“Oh. Well, here’s wishing you all the best, young man.” Skip reached his hand across the bar and Thad shook it firmly.

“Thank you, Mr. Marks.” He turned and started to walk away.

“Thad, let me ask you something…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Did you see the president’s speech tonight? What do you think about that?”

Thad was a little startled. In his experience, middle-aged white men didn’t often ask black teenagers for an opinion. “Well… I think he led us into this thing. And now it’s not going so well. And he’s gonna take his marbles and go home. Where does that leave the rest of us?”

Skip thanked Thad again for his hard work and watched him walk away, back to the job of mopping the tile floor. Those words would come back to him in the months ahead: “Where does that leave the rest of us?”
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Next week: Isaac Washington and John Harris – an encounter at Wilson Park. And Uncle Walter delivers tragic news.
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