In 1968 I was introduced to politics.

It started when my sister Mary gave a brooding 10-year-old, Senator Bobby Kennedy’s book, “To Seek A Newer World” and said, “read it”.

The book was an epiphany. It opened my eyes to a world that respected and demanded service not selfishness. It was a blueprint for hope and lifetime purpose.

I was hooked.

1968 was also a presidential year and Kennedy was running for the Democratic nomination against, most formatively, Vice President Hubert Humphrey of Minnesota.

Because South Dakota, along with California, was holding its presidential primary on June 5 that year, the last primary day of the campaign, Kennedy had campaign offices in the state including one in my hometown of Mitchell.

I became a fixture of that office. For a couple hours a day, I hung out with volunteers and fetched water or other meaningless necessities for them. I had never felt so important.

When the calendar turned to June 5, I was staying with my Aunt and Uncle in their home 12 miles from my own. Uncle Barney was a Humphrey fan and we settled in to watch early returns as we bantered with each other as to who supported the superior candidate.

As a kid, however, I was long asleep before the California election results were tabulated, and was oblivious to the fate of my life-guiding hero.

Upon awakening very early on the morning of June 6, I found Uncle Barney already awake and sitting like a ghost sipping a cup of silence at the kitchen table.

I rushed to him pleading for immediate results – who won South Dakota and California – his guy Humphrey or my guy Kennedy?

Uncle Barney turned to me with tears in his eyes and said that while “my guy” Kennedy had won both South Dakota and California, that no one had won because devastatingly Senator Kennedy had been shot and killed in California following his victories.

The innocent child in me asked why they shot my guy not his. Uncle Barney simply gave me a long and understanding hug.