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- Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Valley&State Backpage O&E Sports Archives Classifieds Faith&Beliefs Obituaries Revels March 15, 2004 Portrait of a picture By Kurt Hartmann For the Tidings "Senator Robert F. Kennedy (D-NY) carried his campaign to Monterey yesterday and drew the largest crowd in history for a political rally on the Monterey Peninsula." So read the first paragraph of the lead story of the The Monterey County Herald on Monday, March 25, 1968. More than four years had passed since the assassination in Dallas, and if the Kennedy mystique had begun to wane at all, it was instantly revived, at least locally, when it became known that Bobby Kennedy would appear at the Monterey airport as part of his effort to succeed his slain brother as President. His plane, in transit to Los Angeles, was to set down briefly in Monterey on a radiant Sunday morning. I was then the publisher, editor and among the linotype operators of a weekly newspaper serving a community suburban to Monterey, and urged on by my children, went to observe and photograph the event. We arrived at the airport early in hopes of claiming an advantageous observation post - which presented itself in the form of a long ladder leaning against the administration building. Like cat burglars the three of us clambered to the roof, prankishly pulling the ladder up behind us. In rapid succession throngs of spectators arrived - mushrooming to over 8,000, according to police estimates. The crowd's mood had grown festive, with much singing and chanting, when suddenly it became eerily still, slowly surging forward as a jetliner descended from the north, touching down, then slowly rolling toward and falling silent not far from the waiting assemblage. Quickly the plane's door opened, disgorging a retinue of reporters and photographers. And then, almost as though on cue, the crowd roared its greeting to the surprisingly fragile figure standing on the ramp, his abundant hair windswept, his reserved smile revealing the toothy family trademark. Flanked by grim-faced men, their watchful eyes hidden behind tinted goggles, Robert Kennedy waved to his admirers, briefly reaching down to children scampering toward him. A modest lectern appeared and the drone of introductions was under way. At last the senator stepped forward, and within another moment the raspy yet beguiling voice, the familiar vocal rhythm so reminiscent of his brother, the call to service and the plea for peace in Vietnam. Within a glimmer it was over. Accepting yet another hug, then a look of benign astonishment as he was hoisted to the shoulders of husky make admirers, in another moment he regained his feet, then vanished into the plane. From my perch above the crowd I spotted a friend, a photographer for the Herald. "Get anything?" he shouted to me, and momentarily oblivious to competitive considerations, I tossed him several film cassettes along with verbal permission (aware that my own paper would not be published for another four days) to use anything his editors wished. It was the next morning's Herald that I viewed with amazement, for splashed above the fold on page one was my credited photo stretched across five columns - the caption: "Kennedy rides the crest of a wave of hands outstretched at Monterey Airport". Less than three months later, in Los Angeles, he lay mortally wounded, yet another victim of assassination dementia. Within days of his death I was deluged - mostly by strangers - for copies of the picture - and produced them in my modest darkroom at a chaste price. On an impulse, accompanied by a brief condolence note, I sent one to the sole remaining Kennedy brother, Edward, at his Senate Office address. In the confines of my dark room several weeks later I heard the metallic intercom squawk of the secretary's voice: "There's a long-distance call for you." With an unmistakable Boston inflection a voice announced "This is Edward Kennedy in Washington." He was Irish prodigal in thanks and informed me that the photograph now adorned his office wall. Within an eye-blink, or so it seemed, the years is 1972 and Richard M. Nixon is seeking re-election. Opposing him is Democrat George McGovern, whose Monterey supporters announce a campaign visit by Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., scholar, aid to President Kennedy and twice recipient of the Pulitzer Prize. I am invited to a soiree for Dr. Schlesinger and asked to bring a copy of the picture, which he has seen and requested. Flattered, I package a print but succumbing to cupidity, attach a bill for the customary $25. At the gathering I am introduced to the great man and hand over the picture. I am, however, unable to generate the temerity to ask for payment, nor does he muster the decorum to offer it. The years fleet by and by 1978, I have forsworn newspapering and am now the proprietor of a bookstore, spending many an evening shelving newly arrived volumes. Weighty at 1,066 pages are freshly minted editions of "Robert Kennedy and His Times" by Arthur Schlesinger Jr. Avidly I scan the pages, particularly the glossy center ones of Bobby as a young sailor, football player, politician and although woundingly cropped, a full page photo, "The crowd reaches out, California 1968" - my airport photo. Thought published by a prestigious firm in Boston, there is no evidence of the customary credit line - not to speak of the no-less customary photographer's honorarium. This time I fail to convince myself to turn the other cheek but fire off a demand for explanations. The reply is both swift and conciliatory, containing an apology, assurance of proper credit in subsequent editions - and a check. More than 30 years have lapsed since my daughter and son and I were on that rooftop, since we witnessed a brief moment of joy and hope and, perhaps naivet�. For all that time the photograph has been a part of my home, and now and again a visitor inquires about its origins. Most recently, however, just a little more than a year ago, there is a phone call from a man in New Jersey who asks whether I am the photographer of the crowd shot in the Schlesinger book. He seem overjoyed when I respond in the affirmative, simultaneously lamenting that I was the fourth person with my name he had phoned. He reveals himself as a Kennedy era aficionado and inquires both whether I would send him a print of the picture and its price. I respond in the affirmative and quite the price - $25. There is a brief silence, which I intrude by asking "Is that too much for you?" "No, no," he responds, "That's anything but too much, and please add something for the cost of shipping." From the tone of his voice it was apparent he felt he had received a bargain. And perhaps he did. But, albeit in a different sense, so had I. DailyTidings.com Home Page Valley&State | Backpage | O&E | Sports | Archives | Weather | Classifieds Columnists | Faith&Beliefs | Obituaries | Revels | Subscribe | Contact Us Copyright 2004 Ashland Daily Tidings and Ottaway Newspapers All Rights Reserved Site Search: .:Advertisements:. RESOURCES - Mail Tribune News - ODOT Road Cams