I will not list my claims to near fame (I am not sure any would fit into Andy Warhol's "15 minutes" realm even if greatly stretched!!). However, I have received a phone call, signed books, and corresponded with RB over the years. What an honor!

Now, if I might share a flash of memory that remains, for whatever reason, as vivid as any youthful experience I can recall. (Hopefully, this is not too much of an off topic tangent.)

This happened to me as a 4th grader on a day Robert F. Kennedy visited my hometown. We were told he would be stopping for a few minutes to say hello to our student body and teachers (parochial school, k-8).

We were released before his arrival and waited alongside a neighborhood street for what proved to be a several car escort (police, local politicians, etc.).

The car he was riding in was a 1962 or 63(?), blue Chevy Impala convertible. When it pulled in front of our school and stopped next to the sidewalk, everyone of the 100 or so kids ran, yelling - against all previous warnings and instructions from the good nuns, to surround his vehicle. RFK was seated in the back seat with another man, and the driver sat alone in the front seat. It was a perfectly clear day - for some reason late spring comes to mind.

Mr. Kennedy stood up in the back seat (as the roof was down) and then stepped up and onto the trunk section of the car. He was a very vibrant young man, I remember. He made several light-hearted and friendly comments, shaking hands, waving and simply enjoying the moments.

I was pressed right up against the side of the wheel well (rear, passenger's side) and so I was able to shake his hand. Then the really indelible moment occurred!

Amidst all the exchanges and commotion, I caught a flickering of a small object falling to the car and right at his feet.

No one else observed the silver cuff-link that had fallen from his shirt sleeve (he was not wearing a sport coat). I reached out and picked it up. Holding it in my hand (I see it now clearly!!), it was rectangular with the entire face of the top design reading "PT109"! A gift, no doubt, from his brother.

I called his name to get his attention even above all of the hubbub. He looked down and saw I was reaching my hand up. He had not realized it had come unfastened. I still hear his thick Massachusetts accent when I think of him saying, "Oh, well! Thank you very much!"

The whole scene only took a few brief moments. Things move fast in life and yet, after 35 odd years, I guess, they can also stand completely still.

We all backed away when he said he needed to be leaving. And then he left.

I can recollect that evening at dinner telling my mom and dad about what had happened. But after that, it remained stored away to be replayed only when something sets the camera back in motion (an article, picture, or strangely a post about Ray Bradbury!!??)

The other Kennedy impression I have as a kid (not long after this episode - possibly the autumn of that very same year, 11/22/63!) was being called into the hallway with everyone else in the entire building and being informed President Kennedy had been killed. Then we were told to gather our belongings and prepare to walk home. We did so crying all the way!




[This message has been edited by fjpalumbo (edited 12-13-2002).]

What a cool story. Can't think of too many Kennedy connections with Ray Bradbury, except that he wrote at least one story, "By the Numbers," set in the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles, where Robert F. Kennedy was killed. An issue of LIFE magazine about that event also contains an article by Bradbury; my copy is a beat-up library discard. I have too many brushes with greatness to count, but undoubtedly the one which made the greatest impression as a kid was meeting many of the Kennedys, including eight of Robert F. Kennedy's children. Also present were Art Buchwald, Muhammad Ali, and Roger Mudd, who was playing tennis. Years later when my dad would see him on TV, he'd say, "There's your tennis man."

fjpalumbo/dandelion:

Well, I've got no Kennedy story, but I've got a "dummy me" story.

Me being the dummy.

Very briefly, it goes something like this. I don't remember how long ago...but it was quite a few years ago, when Ray had a play at the old Colony Theater in Los Angeles, on Riverside Drive. I was in the lobby and Ray was there also. So when I spotted him, I went over to him and said "Hello", and Ray says, "Hey, Nard I'd like you to meet Stan Freeberg." Whereby I said, "Oh, How do you do," and shook the hand of Stan Freeberg.

I didn't know who Stan Freeberg was.

And so I just turned back to Ray and said something trivial, and afterwards began walking away, while, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them both looking at themselves with the shrug of the shoulders that said, Wow...there's one big dummy for you.!

End of story.