Is It Safe?

There is a terrifying moment in the 1976 thriller, ''Marathon Man''. The hero---or, victim---played by Dustin Hoffman, is strapped to a dentist chair. The villain----or, sadist----- standing in front of him is played by Laurence Olivier. Olivier, all icy venom, is a runaway Nazi looking for some vital information. He believes Hoffman has what he needs. Hoffman doesn't. He is completely unaware of what is happening to him, a victim of innocent circumstances. But, Olivier is determined to find out what Hoffman knows. He asks the weird question over and over again, ''Is it safe?'' Hoffman has no clue what ''safe'' means and pleads to the man in front of him that he knows nothing. Finally, Olivier, his character a Nazi torturer in his youth, picks up a drill and drills into Hoffman's teeth. The scene, horrible but still compelling to watch, is not for the fainthearted. I often think of this moment when I visit the dentist....... I went to the dentist today. I figured, what better way to spend a nice spring day than to have a stranger stick sharp instruments in my mouth while I drool uncontrollably. In some countries, this is a sexual practice. But, here, it is the usual marching orders of getting your teeth checked. Now, I am very lucky with my teeth. I have been blessed with strong, healthy teeth my whole life. You could read by my teeth in the pitch dark. Obviously, this is not because of taking care of my body. I have spent 50 years doing every conceivable thing to good-naturally harm my physical being. But, my teeth survive, a curious oddity. I brush my teeth everyday, like a good citizen should do. But, nothing more. They are just.....there..... a welcome companion in my endless quest for food. I must have 70 or 80 teeth in this vast mouth. More than the residents of Alabama combined. There are times when I smile that it looks like the shark from ''Jaws'' is attacking [By the way, that ''Jaws'' shark had anger issues]. So, when I put the evidence together, you would think a dentist would be a walk in the park. But noooooo!!!! I still fear going there........ The people at ''Dental Works'' make me feel at home. They are always happy to see me, as long as my insurance card is still working. The women at the desk are nice. I make sure that I always look at their teeth when I walk in. I will make a funny and they will laugh. If their teeth look fine, then I know I am in good hands. If their teeth look like the two guys in the rape scene in ''Deliverance'', this gives me pause. Fortunately, they have good teeth, which tells me that the dentist, at least, takes care of his people. I wait to go in. I always seem to wait at the dentist, they never take me on time. When I go for my regular physical at my health doctor's office, they always take me early. I chalk this fact up to my doctor being very anxious to feel my balls. But, the dentist's office makes me wait and it is agony. The nervousness gets to me. Maybe, it is intentional, a mind game being played by the dentist. Finally, I was called into the office. I took my spot on the chair. The hygienist's name was Lisa. A winsome lass, Lisa proceeded to talk my ear off for the next 45 minutes. She was pleasant. Friendly. She talked about her car needing a new transmission and how she didn't know what to do because she is no good with her hands, which scared the hell out of me as she was picking away at my teeth. Lisa said that she and her husband were trying to get pregnant but having no luck. I tried to be encouraging and optimistic between bits of drooling, saying that I'm sure that it will all go well. Of course, I don't know that it will go well, not knowing the couple. I didn't think it was wise to ask her if he is shooting blanks as she was scrapping my gums. It was around this time that I think about the ''Marathon Man'' scene. I just hope Lisa doesn't ask me if it was safe.......... There is no dignity to a dental checkup. You just sit there like a fool, while gallons of saliva come out like an oil well that has been tapped. I was getting spit from the deep recesses of my feet, I believe. All the while, the patient and encouraging Lisa, was chatting away and asking me questions. My garbled responses were hopefully seen as agreement. She said that my teeth looked good but my gums were too sensitive and were bleeding slightly. Gee, I wonder why? Perhaps, it was that sharp blade that kept sticking into them. I do like the suction hose they use to clean out the spittle. I could use that instrument on cold, lonely nights at home. And, the tasty, sweet freshener that she spread around my mouth. It tasted like Sweet Tarts. I asked her, how much for the freshener and the laughing gas as a six pack? She laughed---and then came at me again with the instrument to scrape my teeth. After she was done, she asked me about how often I floss. This is always a high point for me going to the dentist, the yearly lying about me flossing. With a straight face, I told her that I do it sometimes, but, not regularly. After a moment---knowing full well that she knew I was fibbing---- I said, ''Lisa, you are a nice lady. I'm not gonna bullshit you. I HATE flossing and I NEVER do it!'' She said she appreciated my honesty----and then, dove back into my mouth for one more round of teeth scrapping........ When Lisa finished her duties, it was time for the dentist to come in. He is an Indian gentlemen, one of those doctor's that use every letter in the alphabet for his last name. He came in, all nice teeth, and, literally, took about 90 seconds to talk and exam me. After the quick search in my mouth that my choppers were there, Dr. Alphabet pronounced me good to go. No cavities!!! The gums looked fine!!! WELL, THANK YOU!!! I will take this drive-by exam!!! See you in six months!!!! The only negative was his refusal to give me any novocaine for the road......... So, I said my goodbyes and made my next appointment for six months, which I will probably not keep. I still am nervous about going, even with the positive results. I shouldn't be, I know. When I go there, I know it is ''safe''.......

Through The Ages

Lillian sat in her room with her memories. At her age---- 90 years young----she had a lifetime of experiences that settled comfortably in her mind. Lillian thought it was a life well spent. She and her husband----the late, great Chester---- raised a good brood of children. She was proud of them. All were good kids. And, all had better kids, for Lillian became a grandmother and a great-grandmother. Lillian had seen much in her 90 years. A Great Depression. A World War. Several smaller wars. Television. The Internet. The Space Age. All of the achievements and miracles of the 20th Century, Lillian saw through her eyes. Except, one. She had never seen the Chicago Cubs win a World Series. Oh, she had seen them play in a few. But never to any successful conclusion. She and Chester regularly attended the ballgames at Wrigley Field. They sat in the bleachers, ate the cheap ballpark hot dogs, drank the warm beer. And, they bonded with their fellow ''Bleacher Bums.'' Chester was a die-hard fan who taught her the love of the game. When he passed away 12 years ago from his cancer, he made Lillian promise him that he would be buried in his beloved Cubbie blue attire. And, he was!!! It was a sight!!! Dignified Chester, a handsome man who looked like a movie star, lying in his casket, with his Cubs jersey [Number 14 for Ernie Banks] adorning his frame, as if he couldn't wait to show Saint Peter his Cubs ardor. Chester went to the next world bringing his passion with him. But, in this world, Lillian still kept the old dream alive. For both of them. As age caught up with her and she was moved to the retirement home that she was currently inhabiting, Lillian watched her Cubs. Not only for her. But for Chester. She wears one of his old Cubs shirts when she does. His smell is still there.........Two doors down from Lillian, at the home, sat Malcolm. He had just turned the ripe old age of 98 recently. Malcolm lived alone, too, with his memories. Malcolm never married----the right woman did not exist for him---- but he was well-loved by his family and friends. Malcolm has an imp personality, a sparkle in his eyes, and a ready smile that lights up the retirement home. He is the person everyone comes to for a quick laugh and a feel-good moment. He had several jobs in his life. Not because he couldn't hold one down, but, rather, being a black man, he had to make do with what he could in the pre-Civil Rights period of this nation. He was a barber, ran a small restaurant, opened his own travel agency, and finally, became a Civil Rights attorney, championing the rights of the poor and neglected. Malcolm identified with the forgotten because of the enormous barriers he had to overcome. The biggest was his inability to play in Major League Baseball. Malcolm was a hell of a pitcher. His fastball came at you like lightning, blinding all hitters and making them seem helpless at the plate. But, being black, no scouts in the majors would touch him. Major League Baseball---pre-Jackie Robinson--- was an old-boy network, meaning old-boy, rich, white businessmen, who wanted nothing to do with black players. Never mind how the Negro Leagues flourished throughout the years. Black men could not crack the color barrier. Malcolm found playing time with the Kansas City Monarchs, the premier Negro League team of its time. He played often the first few years in his twenties. But, a nasty pitching injury forever silenced his budding baseball career and he dropped out of the league at the age of 25. It was then that Malcolm started his other career, finding his spot in the world. However, old dreams never really die, they just settle uneasily in your soul, awaiting the spark of life again. Malcolm follows baseball now and his Chicago Cubs. Partly, as a fan. And, partly, for what might have been had fate been kinder to him......... Marion cries often. The other residents in the retirement often hear her sobs night after night. Marion lost her son twenty years ago, when she was 50. But, to her, it seems like it just happened yesterday. Some drunken fool killed her baby boy in his fifteenth year of life. Her son, Billy, named after her favorite Chicago Cub player Billy Williams, was the apple of her eye, the sun that shined over her soul everyday. The two of them were rabid Cubs fans, always turning into the games on WGN with Jack Brickhouse announcing. The words ''Beautiful Wrigley Field'' resounded around their picturesque home in every game watched. Most of the years of Billy's life, the Cubs were pretty awful. Only two times in his life did the Cubs win and go to the playoffs. They lost but the seed of hope always reigned eternal for both Mother and Son. That fateful night in 1996--- when the police turned up on Marian's door and told her that her world was over--- is what Marian cries about mostly. From 1996 until now, she has never been the same. Her late husband and other children tried to rally her. It was a losing cause. Marian had lost everything with her Billy. It is said that when a child dies before a parent, even God cries. Marian had no thoughts on that. She just knew with Billy, the light of life went out, never to return. As the years went on, Marian lost the will to live. And, she her mind left her. Despite the best medical treatment available to her, her family lost her. She would not---and, could not----return from her darkness of grief. Finally, the family committed her to a retirement home. They still come to see her. Every once in a while, they see a glimmer of the old Marian. Still, these are fleeting moments. She sits and stares into space. And, she weeps her agony every night. The other residents keep a respectful distance from her. They know her pain. And, they wish they could help. It is of no use. But, the patients and staff do notice one thing about Marian. A little life does come into her eyes. When the Cubs are on....... There is a bond between grandfather and grandson that is special. Generations have met, love has been passed forward from the past. Whether it is a fishing trip, a simple walk in the park, or Junior sitting on his grandfather's knee, the bond of family achieves a sainted level. When Mort takes his grandson to Wrigley Field, he feels those stirrings of family most acutely. Mort is 87. He knows his days are dwindling to a precious few. And, his grandson, Steve, is no little boy anymore. Steve is 21 now, a dangerous age for a young man. It is the age where you are too old to be under your parents thumb, but, too young to be fully launched on your own in the world. And, like most twenty-one year men, you do not want to hang out with old people. Your friends your age are your passport to the New World Of Adulthood. Who wants an old man to tell you his war stories of life? Well, Steve does. He adores his time with his grandfather. They talk about their life and women and good times and women and times from their past and women. And, they talk Chicago Cubs.Wrigley Field is their spiritual home, a golden diamond in the world of confusion. They sit in the bleachers. They yell at the players. They cheer when a home run comes by them. And, they damn the Gods Of Baseball when the Cubs fail again. Every once in a while Mort will get that look in his eyes that Steve recognizes. That look signifies that a Cubs story from the past is coming fast over his memory plate. It might be the tale of seeing Willie Mays and Ernie Banks having a home run duel in the sunshine. It might be the almost grand slam that Hank Aaron hit but the wind blew back at the last moment for an out to end the game. Or, it might be the grandest memory of all: the 1945 World Series . Mort was there. He was a young man of 19. It was the end of the War and most of the good players in the game were overseas. The Cubs basically won the National League with a bunch of 4F's. But it did count. And, Mort followed every pitch in the Series. Steve loves when Mort recounts hearing the lovely sound of Phil Cavaretta, his favorite player, hitting the ball. The Cubs lost the Series that year and have never been back. But it is about to change, they both feel. When Steve drives Mort back to the retirement community where he lives, the talk of ''Wait Until Next Year''----that tired old refrain---- is now old news. ''Next Year'' is here. And, they both will be watching it unfold together. Grandfather and Grandson, united as family and Cubs fans........ There is a room in the home where Lillian, Malcolm, Marian, and Mort live. It is the activity room, the place where the residents go to have a little fun.The sun shines in there, the view is of a vast lawn. Sometimes, on nice days, you can hear the birds singing if the windows are open. There is a piano centralized in the room. At various time during the day, you can see a few of the residents standing around it, singing the songs of bygone days, the days of their youth and good times forever lost. Malcolm has the best voice. Lillian can still ''cut a rug''. Only Marian, in her sad world, can not be reached. She remains a blank slate of emotions and feelings........ There is also a TV in the room. Sure, the sound is very loud because of the hearing problems of most of the residents. At various times, it is on game shows, music programs, nature shows, and the news. With every show comes opinions and long stories. Some roll their eyes at the long talkers, and there can be loud arguments brewing. Then, comes harmony. That happens when a certain baseball team appears on the screen. Suddenly, a visible change comes over these old people. They seem to become alert and full of energy long thought gone. The years drop from them and glints of happiness form in the eyes. Smiles become a fixture and good-natured talking to the TV happens. And, in the most remarkable response, there are moments when Marian shows signs of the woman she once was. Her eyes focus on the screen, as if a light switch into her soul has been turned on. The other Cubs fans themselves become happy because they see Marian become happy. They talk to her. Whether she hears them, no one knows. But they like to think she does comprehend what is being said. A bond has been formed, the Cubs bond. They have seen plenty of baseball before, most lousy. The tide seems to have changed, though. The 2016 Chicago Cubs hold out such promise and fun that the residents share the enthusiasm. They are all rooting for various reasons. Most want the Cubs to win for those that are no longer there to see them live. The residents are the caretakers of generations of Cubs memories and moments of glory, both past and future. They want the Chicago Cubs to go all the way this year. Mostly, they grimly believe, because they are unsure if they will be around much longer...... Something tells me that they may finally get their wish this year........ Go Cubs........

''Say A Prayer For Our Country"

Robert Kennedy got the grim news as soon as his plane landed. It was in the early evening hours of April 4th, 1968, and the Senator's plane had just landed in Indianapolis. It was raining slightly, as a cool Spring air greeted Kennedy's party. But, the news they heard was hot, red-hot. It was news that would shake Bobby to his core. Martin Luther King Jr. had been shot to death in Memphis....... Assassination was nothing new to RFK. He had lived with the prospect his whole adult life. The reason was because Bobby Kennedy was a controversial man. He had made plenty of enemies in his time in Washington. First, managing his brother Jack's successful run for the Senate from Massachusetts. Being campaign manager meant doing the dirty duty, telling ''No'' to big-time donors and businessmen who wanted to secretly control the campaign, and, by extension, the candidate himself. And, saying, ''Yes'' to those who can help the candidate get elected. Politics, as we know, is a brutally dirty game, with deals made with various devils who swim in the slime around the power brokers. A successful politician  must stay above the muck of dirty dealings. He or she must be clean, the spotless knight in shining armor. But, behind the scenes, the tricks of the trade are practiced and they are devious. This is where the campaign manager becomes the hit-man for all that is ugly. And, Robert Kennedy did what he had to. He was the ''bad guy''. He was successful doing it. John Kennedy got elected to the United States Senate in 1952, and, again, in 1958, in not small part because of Bobby........ He made enemies then, and he made even more enemies. After the 1952 election, Robert Kennedy sat on the Rackets Committee, which investigated organized crime. The prime focus in the committee was the Mafia. Going after the Mob was treacherous territory for Kennedy because his old man, Joe Kennedy, was a former big-time bootlegger and companion with those that walked on the other side of the law. Big Joe made his millions getting his hands and soul dirty. Bobby was the cleanser. But, Robert Kennedy also went after the rackets with a genuine feeling of wiping out corruption. Henceforth, his work on the committee became a crusade. The public knocking of heads between Bobby and Jimmy Hoffa became the stuff of legend. And, when Kennedy resigned his post as Chief Counsel, he had mastered the inner working of organized crime. But, he had a target on his back from the wars. He was equally loved and despised for his endeavors. It was a pattern that would follow him all of his professional life....... As Attorney General to his brother, Bobby became even more controversial. He delved into the hot topics of the day, including Civil Rights. RFK became a pariah in the segregated South, with the systematic breaking down of the Jim Crow laws. Bobby became the champion of the underdog, a strange position to take from a rich man's son. But, he succeeded and became the protector of those that had no voice. He identified with them. Maybe, it was because he was the person in his family that was forgotten when he was young. Robert Kennedy was the afterthought, someone who would never achieve the heights that his more glamorous siblings were climbing to. Bobby fought against his position as a young man, which led him into fighting for all of those who were oppressed. Make no mistake, he never completely shed his Kennedy position of influence. However----- and this is key----- he used that position to benefit those who were not as fortunate. With his positions----and bucking of established laws and bureaucracy---- Robert Kennedy became ''Ruthless Robert'', willing to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goals. He was, again, admired and feared for this passion....... Then, his brother, John, was killed in Dallas. Assassination was a topic discussed between the two brothers often. They both knew it was likely. And, they both agreed that if one of them was gonna get it, it would be Bobby. He had too many run-ins to ever think he would lose his enemies. The Mafia hated him, white segregationists hated him, old political hacks and big business had it out for him. but, this was the role he chose as his brother's protector and shield. John Kennedy was beloved. Robert Kennedy was feared. The irony was that, personally, JFK was the cool customer, able to detach himself from other human beings feelings and cares [which is one of the prime reasons he compulsively used women]. RFK identified strongly with those whom his brother dismissed. The Kennedy administration---- and their moves forward in Civil Rights, peace with the Soviets, aid to the aged----all came from the caring and persistent heart of Robert Francis Kennedy........ But, it also must be said: Robert Kennedy was no Angel. He could be mean and petty. And, he was not above doing dirty dealings. When he found out about a CIA/Mafia plot to kill Fidel Castro that had been hatched in the Eisenhower administration, he protested the ways but not the means. He kept the operation going with hit-and-run missions and sabotage. He also, as Attorney General, wiretapped his enemies and those he suspected could hurt his brother's Presidency---including Martin Luther King Jr. He nurtured grudges and could act quite petulant........ After Dallas in 1963, Robert Kennedy was a shattered man. He lost his brother and idol. He lost all of his passion and drive. Part of the grief was Survivor's Guilt. How could he go on with Jack dead? Another part, more dark, was the nagging feeling that somehow Bobby, with his punishing of enemies and political foes, had brought on JFK's death. There was a long list of people who wanted to get back at the Kennedys, the Mob on top. Did Bobby's endless pursuit of organized crime bring the fall of John Kennedy? Did his plans to kill Castro backfire and bite that hand that fed it? Was his ''ruthless'' nature responsible and the chickens came home to roost?........ Robert Kennedy, slowly, came back to the living. In 1964, he became a US Senator from the State Of New York [even though he did not live there. Charges of carpetbagging flew fast and furious]. Even more than before, he identified with the disadvantaged and the forgotten of the world. New causes seemed to come to him and he embraced them with urgency. Indian rights, children's rights, the horror of those in poverty, and, above all, a growing opposition to the Vietnam War. Once a strong proponent of the war, now, he saw the folly it had become and preached against it. To his credit, Kennedy admitted the mistakes he and his brother committed in the escalation of troops. But, RFK saw his hated rival, Lyndon Johnson, bang the war drum deeper and louder, with no end in sight and he felt he must take a stand. Nobody ever thought Bobby Kennedy would just be a US Senator. He was biding his time until 1968 and run against Johnson and reclaim the crown that was once the Kennedys....... He came into the Presidential race in the spring of 1968 with serious misgivings. He knew he was a hated man. And, the country was deeply divided, with racial and social discord running out of control. There were those who stated that Bobby was the only one who could unite the country because he had such deep support among minorities and the young, anti-war crowd. But, big business hated him, the Mafia still had a murderous rage against him, and many people still questioned how devious ''Ruthless Robert'' was. But, the affection he had among millions was genuine. He was the Last Hope for a morally mindful population. Only Bobby could save us. The open question was whether he would could outrun the ghosts of his past....... That question came into brutal focus on the evening of April 4 in Indianapolis. Those around him say that when Bobby heard the news about Martin Luther King Jr. being shot down, his face turned a pale pallor. He could have only heard the echoes from Dallas that were always so close to the surface. But, Bobby Kennedy also felt grieve for King, his onetime bugging suspect. Kennedy grew to admire the civil rights leader and championed his causes. They were never friends. They were, however, fellow travelers on the road to human rights. The reason Robert Kennedy was in Indianapolis was because he was making a campaign stop. The Indiana primary was only days away and Kennedy needed the state to try to win the nomination. The campaign had arranged appearances all around the state. That night, he was scheduled to speak in one of the worst ghettos in the country......... His advisers urged him to cancel. It was too dangerous, it was almost all black people there and who knew what the reaction would be if he showed up. Robert Kennedy had spent his whole life seeking challenges and tests of his mettle. He would go there, regardless of his personal safety. Also, perhaps, he was going because he knew that he needed to be there, to try to be of some comfort in this terrible time. He arrived as darkness had descended. The crowd was happy, applauding this genuine hero to them. It became very clear to Bobby that the people did not know a thing about what had happened. As he climbed a small platform that had been made for him to give his prepared speech, he made a snap decision. He threw away the speech and decided to speak off-the-cuff. This talk came from his heart.... "I have some very sad news and that is that Martin Luther King was shot and killed tonight. Martin Luther King dedicated his life to love and to justice between his fellow human beings, and he died in that cause of that effort. In this difficult day, in this difficult time for the United States, it is perhaps well to ask what kind of nation we are, and what direction we want to move in. For those of you who are black--- considering the evidence there evidently is that there were white people who were responsible--- you can be filled with bitterness, with hatred, and a desire for revenge. We can move in that direction as a country, in great polarization--- black people amongst black, white people amongst white, filled with hatred towards one another. Or we can make an effort, as Martin Luther King did, to understand and to comprehend, and to replace that violence, that stain of bloodshed that has spread across our land, with an effort to understand compassion and love.  For those of you who are black and are tempted to be filled with hatred and distrust at the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I can only say that I feel in my heart the same kind of feeling. I had a family member killed, but he was killed by a white man. But we have to make an effort in the United States, we have to make an effort to understand, to go beyond these rather difficult times. My favorite poet was Aeschylus. He wrote 'In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God'. What we need in the United States is not division, what we need in the United States is not hatred, what we need in the United States is not violence or lawlessness, but love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or they be black. So I shall ask you tonight to return home , to say a prayer for the family of Martin Luther King, that's true, but most importantly, to say a prayer for our own country, which all of us love---a prayer for understanding and that compassion of which I spoke. Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and to make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate ourselves to that, and say a prayer for our country and our people"....... The crowd left quietly, too overcome to do much but grieve internally. The Kennedy people also were shaken to their cores. They went to their hotel and gathered quietly, walking wounded who now had a new fear to try to not think about....... That night, in all of the major cities in America, ghettos were on fire. Rage at the King murder turned into rampant looting and arson. Property was destroyed, women raped, people beaten and killed. The story played out for all of the world to see. Every major city got hit........ Except, one....... In Indianapolis, it was quiet. There was no violence. There was no burning of buildings. There were no deaths. The city remained calm. In the deepest recesses of mourning, a beacon of light had been shown to the residents. And, that beacon was named Robert Kennedy....... A few days later, the funeral of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was held in Memphis. Thousands gathered and wept their grief. While many whites showed, most kept their respectful distance. There was still bitterness in the air and tensions ran high. Following King's casket were his family and friends and followers. And, there was also a familiar face. A white face. Robert Kennedy had been invited by the King family to march to the graveside. He, along with his wife, Ethel. They wore their emotion of sadness on their faces. While there was racial hostility in the air, when it came to Bobby, there was respect and love. And, hope. The feeling, unexpressed but very much felt, was, ''We still have Bobby Kennedy''...... Exactly two months to the day after Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered, Robert Kennedy's fate found him in a burst of gunfire at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. He had just given a victory speech in the ballroom of the hotel. It was a big win for him for he took the big state of California. After thanking his supporters, he left the podium and went through the kitchen trying to go to his room. Gunshots rang out and he went down. Whether there was just the one shooter or others has always been an open debate. The crowded ballroom converged on the shooter, Sirhan Sirhan. On the floor lay his victim, with several bullets in his body. Robert Kennedy said a few words before he lapsed into unconsciousness. The first thing he asked was, ''Is everyone ok?'' Then, those around him saw a faraway look on his face, as if he saw someone. His last word was ''Jack''........ Robert Kennedy would die on June 6, 1968, without regaining consciousness. A few days after his death, a train went cross-country, delivering his casket towards Washington, D.C. From all over, people lined the tracks, bowing their heads in silent prayer for the Last Hope. The people were of all nationalities and colors, a fine testament to a man who tried to bring people together as one. When the train finally reached the nations capital, there was a public service for Bobby. The main speaker was his brother, Edward Kennedy. Ted Kennedy's voice cracked as he spoke of his brother and the good works he did and the plans that never were to be. Finally, concluding his remarks, Ted quoted from George Bernard Shaw, the noted Irish playwright. It was a quote that Robert Kennedy had been using in his speeches as he ran to unite the country....... ''Some men see things as they are and say, 'Why?'...... I dream things that never were and say, 'Why not?' ''..............