At the time, my family lived in Claremont, a Los Angeles suburb about 40 miles east of downtown L.A.
When I went to bed that night, my Catholic mother stayed up late to watch the election returns.
I had morning altar boy duty, so she woke me up at 6 AM. She'd been up almost all night watching the news. She told me that Bobby had been shot.
Morning mass usually was sparsely attended, but this morning was different. (2/x)
@WordsmithFL The world might have been a different place if he had lived to become president. That was a very tragic day.
Another altar boy's mother picked us up to feed us breakfast before school. Her car radio didn't work. When I told her Bobby had been shot, she yelled at me and called me a liar. She refused to believe it.
When we arrived in her driveway, the neighbor told her it was true. She didn't apologize, though.
The next morning, Bobby died. The morning mass was heavily attended. I remember that the church bell clanged its mourning chimes for days. The church had black bunting. (3/3)