It's the politics of nostalgia.

I must admit, I think of Kennedy frequently these days. Not John, who I was old enough to feel attached to though not old enough to be aware of, but Robert. I've been trying to read some of the recent books on his political career after his brother's murder, but I can't do it without my glasses on, and if I'm wearing my glasses I'll break them when I start banging my head against the tabletop in frustration, anger and regret. You see, he was my guy. Someone with the courage to admit, on a national stage, that what he had believed before was wrong to him now. My Senator, my candidate, in the first national election I followed with any personal passion.

Most Americans my age and older remember where they were when they heard the President had been shot. So do I, but I remember with signal clarity the moment I heard that Bobby Kennedy had been shot, and I remember feeling like a punctured balloon as the hope of youth collapsed.

What a different world this might be had he lived.