On this day in 1968

Bobby Kennedy was assassinated. I had gone to bed before it happened, but I remember the next morning. I sat on the front stoop of our Jersey City tenement, watching my father standing out in the middle of the street -- drunk, unkempt, unshaven, awake all night, driven a bit insane I believe now -- screaming over and over again at the top of his lungs "They shot Bobby! They shot Bobby! They shot Bobby!!!" And crying, crying endlessly like some baby in a wrinkled business suit, something I'd only ever seen him do once before -- in November 1963.