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Broken Glory: The Final Years of Robert F. Kennedy
Bobby Kennedy's last campaign—an homage to a leader who might have changed history and a reconstruction of the conspiracy to stop him.
June 6, 2018, is the fiftieth anniversary of the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, and there are still unanswered questions about whether his murder was the result of a conspiracy. Broken Glory is a graphic history told in epic verse of Bobby Kennedy's life and times leading up to the fateful 1968 election campaign, with 100 illustrations by artist Rick Veitch. It encompasses the story of his convicted killer, Sirhan Sirhan, as well as a large cast of characters that includes Lyndon Johnson, J. Edgar Hoover, Richard Nixon, and Eugene McCarthy, who first challenged the sitting president of his own party, and it recalls the major events that made 1968 a turning point in American history: the Tet offensive and battle of Hue, followed soon after by the My Lai massacre, the Memphis sanitation workers strike, the assassination of Martin Luther King, and the riots that ensued. The authors illuminate the evidence for a conspiracy, fostered perhaps by elements of the CIA, that fielded a second shooter and made of Sirhan Sirhan a patsy, mirroring the part played by Lee Harvey Oswald in the assassination of John F. Kennedy, an event that haunted JFK's younger brother until his dying day.
June 6, 2018, is the fiftieth anniversary of the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, and there are still unanswered questions about whether his murder was the result of a conspiracy. Broken Glory is a graphic history told in epic verse of Bobby Kennedy's life and times leading up to the fateful 1968 election campaign, with 100 illustrations by artist Rick Veitch. It encompasses the story of his convicted killer, Sirhan Sirhan, as well as a large cast of characters that includes Lyndon Johnson, J. Edgar Hoover, Richard Nixon, and Eugene McCarthy, who first challenged the sitting president of his own party, and it recalls the major events that made 1968 a turning point in American history: the Tet offensive and battle of Hue, followed soon after by the My Lai massacre, the Memphis sanitation workers strike, the assassination of Martin Luther King, and the riots that ensued. The authors illuminate the evidence for a conspiracy, fostered perhaps by elements of the CIA, that fielded a second shooter and made of Sirhan Sirhan a patsy, mirroring the part played by Lee Harvey Oswald in the assassination of John F. Kennedy, an event that haunted JFK's younger brother until his dying day.
- GenresHistoryNonfiction
376 pages, Hardcover
Published May 1, 2018
8 people are currently reading
49 people want to read
About the author
Ed Sanders
138 books80 followersEd Sanders is an American poet, singer, social activist, environmentalist, author and publisher. He has been called a bridge between the Beat and Hippie generations.
Sanders was born in Kansas City, Missouri. He dropped out of Missouri University in 1958 and hitchhiked to New York City’s Greenwich Village. He wrote his first major poem, "Poem from Jail," on toilet paper in his cell after being jailed for protesting against nuclear proliferation in 1961.
In 1962, he founded the avant-garde journal, Fuck You: A Magazine of the Arts. Sanders opened the Peace Eye Bookstore (147 Avenue A in what was then the Lower East Side), which became a gathering place for bohemians and radicals.
Sanders graduated from New York University in 1964, with a degree in Classics. In 1965, he founded The Fugs with Tuli Kupferberg. The band broke up in 1969 and reformed in 1984.
In 1971, Sanders wrote The Family, a profile of the events leading up to the Tate-LaBianca murders. He obtained access to the Manson Family by posing as a "Satanic guru-maniac and dope-trapped psychopath."
As of 2006, Sanders lives in Woodstock, New York where he publishes the Woodstock Journal with his wife of over 36 years, the writer and painter Miriam R. Sanders. He also invents musical instruments including the Talking Tie, the microtonal Microlyre and the Lisa Lyre, a musical contraption involving light-activated switches and a reproduction of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa.
Sanders was born in Kansas City, Missouri. He dropped out of Missouri University in 1958 and hitchhiked to New York City’s Greenwich Village. He wrote his first major poem, "Poem from Jail," on toilet paper in his cell after being jailed for protesting against nuclear proliferation in 1961.
In 1962, he founded the avant-garde journal, Fuck You: A Magazine of the Arts. Sanders opened the Peace Eye Bookstore (147 Avenue A in what was then the Lower East Side), which became a gathering place for bohemians and radicals.
Sanders graduated from New York University in 1964, with a degree in Classics. In 1965, he founded The Fugs with Tuli Kupferberg. The band broke up in 1969 and reformed in 1984.
In 1971, Sanders wrote The Family, a profile of the events leading up to the Tate-LaBianca murders. He obtained access to the Manson Family by posing as a "Satanic guru-maniac and dope-trapped psychopath."
As of 2006, Sanders lives in Woodstock, New York where he publishes the Woodstock Journal with his wife of over 36 years, the writer and painter Miriam R. Sanders. He also invents musical instruments including the Talking Tie, the microtonal Microlyre and the Lisa Lyre, a musical contraption involving light-activated switches and a reproduction of Da Vinci's Mona Lisa.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
June 6, 2018
I'm grateful whenever anyone has the courage to write a book that tells dangerous truths, especially about American history during and after the creation of the CIA at the end of WWII. Like so many, I have a deep passion for the authentic leaders of the 1960's whose lives of prophetic courage were snuffed out by the lawless militarists they dared to oppose. President Kennedy, the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Robert F. Kennedy (D-NY) were murdered by the U.S. national security state. Evidence, investigations, and legal proceedings in each case were grossly sabotaged by the FBI and the on-site urban police departments (Dallas, Memphis, NYC, and L.A., respectively), in support of a bogus official narrative that protected the actual planners and perpetrators. Some of those went unidentified; all went unpunished, and to this day there are a few thousand intellectual prostitutes whose "respectable" task is to repeat the official lies and marginalize (ignore, mock, trivialize, pathologize, pity, or revile) their dissenting opponents.
These histories form major elements of my worldview, and the tragically charismatic figures at their centers have shaped my sense of human nature at its best. One of my own books is a poetry collection, fifty 14-line elegies for President Kennedy called Limousine, Midnight Blue. Another is my blank verse translation of Sophocles' Three Theban Plays (Oedipus, Antigone, Oedipus at Colonus), which is dedicated to the memory of Robert F. Kennedy. So when someone writes a long POEM about the murder of RFK, I become immediately interested. With his new book "Broken Glory: The Final Years of Robert F. Kennedy," Ed Sanders does the USA a service by telling the truth: that the RFK Assassination was not the mad act of yet another lone nut; it was, in the words of former FBI Agent William Turner, "a CIA hit, from start to finish." For Sanders' courage in telling this truth--and for his clear and compelling account of the King Assassination, in this same book--I have great respect, and gratitude.
As a literary work, however, "Broken Glory" is a disappointment. Almost all of it is simply expository prose, lineated as verse. Most of the book comprises chunks of other people's discourse, quoted directly from historical documents (speeches, FBI reports, interviews, depositions); these are mostly well-chosen and well-assembled, but it's not at all clear why Sanders chose to put it all onto the page as verse. It's prose. Maybe Sanders thought he was emulating the political-historical poetry of Peter Dale Scott, who is both a real historian and a real poet, whose many works in both genres (i.e., books of historical scholarship, and books of poetry about history) are brilliant and important. In "Minding the Darkness," "Listening to the Candle," and other works of historical poetry, Scott often quotes from prose documents and lineates those quotations as verse, which Sanders does throughout "Broken Glory." But Peter Dale Scott's historical poems always have many dimensions: personal experience, philosophical reflection, religious thinking, ethical wisdom, and above all, poetic language. By contrast, Sanders' "Broken Glory" offers very little poetry, and is marred by the impulsive sloppiness ("first thought, best thought," remember?) which the Beats and the Yippies associated with authenticity. A few examples:
p. 68, "the upmost loyalty..." The word is utmost. Upmost is not a word.
p. 70, "the doursome J. Edgar Hoover..." The word is dour. Doursome is not a word.
p.132, "sleazesome..." I guess this word is a deliberate invention, but it's lost on me.
When Sanders does go for poetry, the results are not strong. Of 4-4-68, the day of Dr. King's execution, he writes: "The dire day of Dream-Doom / whirls with hidden fury / years & years later, / for an evil that Evil wants kept in the cauldron / evil'd forth that bright spring Southern day..."
The book's finale occurs on its final two pages, with a sudden switch to short lines:
Sung
Oh, won't somebody please tell me why
the guns aim so often to the left
It wounded the nation
in countless ways,
wounded her history
the rest of her days.
It wounded the future
Like Lincoln amort
Or Roosevelt sinking
and the A-bomb's retort.
Tell me again why the guns
always aim to the left?
with gun powder ballots
& voting with knife-heft
I'll stop there; you get the point. This is a mess--the capitalization, the lineation, the punctuation, and the meter are each in disarray. The word choices are unfortunate (amort... knife-heft).
Each of us is a product of his times, and I know Ed Sanders is a very different sort of poet from Peter Dale Scott, or Robert Lowell, or Yeats--poets who have tried to write a poetry of public life (epic) in an idiom of privately felt passion (lyric). Surely his artistic aims and his ideas about poetry are so different from mine that I am making the mistake of judging his good orange as a bad apple. It seems to me his style might be best appreciated by readers who love Allen Ginsburg or William Burroughs, writers whose breezy contempt for craft was widely regarded as liberated and liberating, rather than lazy and vain. That said, I'll put aside my criticism of Sanders' poetry and close with some recognition of the politics, where I think this book succeeds.
The flap copy has a bio of Sanders which notes, "He was also a founding member of the satiric folk-rock band The Fugs as well as the Yippies." Now, I was born in 1968. Sanders was at the heart of the counterculture which I only glimpse in books and films. I don't know what I'm talking about. But from my perspective, the Yippies were a very white, middle class, male bunch of folks who believed that the best way to stop the War in Vietnam would be a relapse into the pseudo-political surrealism and Dada which the French had enjoyed fifty years before then. Ancient Rome's insane Emperor Caligula was thought to have appointed his favorite horse to the Senate--a tyrant using an absurd gesture to mock the powerlessness of the old aristocracy. The Yippies outside the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago nominated a pig for President--in doing so, they were apparently mocking the militarist juggernaut which the presidency had become since the murder of JFK. But weren't they also emulating Caligula, mocking the whole process instead of working to reform it? Eight years later, the Yippies nominated "Nobody for President." RFK once reminded his audience that Plato used the word "idiot" to refer to people who had no interest in the political life of their own cities. RFK was serious. Fred Hampton was serious. Helen Caldecott was serious, and she still is. Bernie Sanders was serious, and he still is, though he can laugh when the time is right. I wasn't there; I was a baby. I don't claim to understand what it was like to be a draft-age man in 1968. But from my perspective, it seems as if things might've gone better if more folks shifted their focus from dropping acid (which the CIA fed them through Timothy Leary) to investigating the political assassinations (as did Vincent Salandria, Peter Dale Scott, Mae Brussel, et al.) that had made possible the whole disaster. That respect for structure and institutions--as necessary and stable frameworks for a living charisma, not dead substitutes for it--might also have spared us a few million lines of distastefully uninhibited "free verse." But I digress.
On page 124, Sanders seems to transcend his youthful identity with a wise hindsight born of experience: "On May 7 / RFK won his first primary in Indiana. / The Yippies in New York, / eager for confrontation at the Democratic Convention, / I remember were glum that Kennedy was able to reach out to the people / in ways that war-painted dope-jousters / could not..." Wow. Interesting.
I'm very impressed by the sobriety, the moral imagination, and the introspective courage it must have taken for a (former?) Yippee to celebrate, with love and grief, the life of Senator Robert F. Kennedy--a suit-wearing, wealthy, erudite, populist aristocrat who had once been the chief law enforcement figure in the U.S. government, later transformed by loss and agony, and compelled into a prophetic vocation by the depth of his nature.
These histories form major elements of my worldview, and the tragically charismatic figures at their centers have shaped my sense of human nature at its best. One of my own books is a poetry collection, fifty 14-line elegies for President Kennedy called Limousine, Midnight Blue. Another is my blank verse translation of Sophocles' Three Theban Plays (Oedipus, Antigone, Oedipus at Colonus), which is dedicated to the memory of Robert F. Kennedy. So when someone writes a long POEM about the murder of RFK, I become immediately interested. With his new book "Broken Glory: The Final Years of Robert F. Kennedy," Ed Sanders does the USA a service by telling the truth: that the RFK Assassination was not the mad act of yet another lone nut; it was, in the words of former FBI Agent William Turner, "a CIA hit, from start to finish." For Sanders' courage in telling this truth--and for his clear and compelling account of the King Assassination, in this same book--I have great respect, and gratitude.
As a literary work, however, "Broken Glory" is a disappointment. Almost all of it is simply expository prose, lineated as verse. Most of the book comprises chunks of other people's discourse, quoted directly from historical documents (speeches, FBI reports, interviews, depositions); these are mostly well-chosen and well-assembled, but it's not at all clear why Sanders chose to put it all onto the page as verse. It's prose. Maybe Sanders thought he was emulating the political-historical poetry of Peter Dale Scott, who is both a real historian and a real poet, whose many works in both genres (i.e., books of historical scholarship, and books of poetry about history) are brilliant and important. In "Minding the Darkness," "Listening to the Candle," and other works of historical poetry, Scott often quotes from prose documents and lineates those quotations as verse, which Sanders does throughout "Broken Glory." But Peter Dale Scott's historical poems always have many dimensions: personal experience, philosophical reflection, religious thinking, ethical wisdom, and above all, poetic language. By contrast, Sanders' "Broken Glory" offers very little poetry, and is marred by the impulsive sloppiness ("first thought, best thought," remember?) which the Beats and the Yippies associated with authenticity. A few examples:
p. 68, "the upmost loyalty..." The word is utmost. Upmost is not a word.
p. 70, "the doursome J. Edgar Hoover..." The word is dour. Doursome is not a word.
p.132, "sleazesome..." I guess this word is a deliberate invention, but it's lost on me.
When Sanders does go for poetry, the results are not strong. Of 4-4-68, the day of Dr. King's execution, he writes: "The dire day of Dream-Doom / whirls with hidden fury / years & years later, / for an evil that Evil wants kept in the cauldron / evil'd forth that bright spring Southern day..."
The book's finale occurs on its final two pages, with a sudden switch to short lines:
Sung
Oh, won't somebody please tell me why
the guns aim so often to the left
It wounded the nation
in countless ways,
wounded her history
the rest of her days.
It wounded the future
Like Lincoln amort
Or Roosevelt sinking
and the A-bomb's retort.
Tell me again why the guns
always aim to the left?
with gun powder ballots
& voting with knife-heft
I'll stop there; you get the point. This is a mess--the capitalization, the lineation, the punctuation, and the meter are each in disarray. The word choices are unfortunate (amort... knife-heft).
Each of us is a product of his times, and I know Ed Sanders is a very different sort of poet from Peter Dale Scott, or Robert Lowell, or Yeats--poets who have tried to write a poetry of public life (epic) in an idiom of privately felt passion (lyric). Surely his artistic aims and his ideas about poetry are so different from mine that I am making the mistake of judging his good orange as a bad apple. It seems to me his style might be best appreciated by readers who love Allen Ginsburg or William Burroughs, writers whose breezy contempt for craft was widely regarded as liberated and liberating, rather than lazy and vain. That said, I'll put aside my criticism of Sanders' poetry and close with some recognition of the politics, where I think this book succeeds.
The flap copy has a bio of Sanders which notes, "He was also a founding member of the satiric folk-rock band The Fugs as well as the Yippies." Now, I was born in 1968. Sanders was at the heart of the counterculture which I only glimpse in books and films. I don't know what I'm talking about. But from my perspective, the Yippies were a very white, middle class, male bunch of folks who believed that the best way to stop the War in Vietnam would be a relapse into the pseudo-political surrealism and Dada which the French had enjoyed fifty years before then. Ancient Rome's insane Emperor Caligula was thought to have appointed his favorite horse to the Senate--a tyrant using an absurd gesture to mock the powerlessness of the old aristocracy. The Yippies outside the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago nominated a pig for President--in doing so, they were apparently mocking the militarist juggernaut which the presidency had become since the murder of JFK. But weren't they also emulating Caligula, mocking the whole process instead of working to reform it? Eight years later, the Yippies nominated "Nobody for President." RFK once reminded his audience that Plato used the word "idiot" to refer to people who had no interest in the political life of their own cities. RFK was serious. Fred Hampton was serious. Helen Caldecott was serious, and she still is. Bernie Sanders was serious, and he still is, though he can laugh when the time is right. I wasn't there; I was a baby. I don't claim to understand what it was like to be a draft-age man in 1968. But from my perspective, it seems as if things might've gone better if more folks shifted their focus from dropping acid (which the CIA fed them through Timothy Leary) to investigating the political assassinations (as did Vincent Salandria, Peter Dale Scott, Mae Brussel, et al.) that had made possible the whole disaster. That respect for structure and institutions--as necessary and stable frameworks for a living charisma, not dead substitutes for it--might also have spared us a few million lines of distastefully uninhibited "free verse." But I digress.
On page 124, Sanders seems to transcend his youthful identity with a wise hindsight born of experience: "On May 7 / RFK won his first primary in Indiana. / The Yippies in New York, / eager for confrontation at the Democratic Convention, / I remember were glum that Kennedy was able to reach out to the people / in ways that war-painted dope-jousters / could not..." Wow. Interesting.
I'm very impressed by the sobriety, the moral imagination, and the introspective courage it must have taken for a (former?) Yippee to celebrate, with love and grief, the life of Senator Robert F. Kennedy--a suit-wearing, wealthy, erudite, populist aristocrat who had once been the chief law enforcement figure in the U.S. government, later transformed by loss and agony, and compelled into a prophetic vocation by the depth of his nature.
November 16, 2018
I hold Ed Sanders' investigative poetry in the highest regard. As he's done with earlier books, he takes a topic and researches deeply to gather the data from which he unspools a history.
For this latest volume, his scholarship tackles the last years of Robert Kennedy, particularly his break with Democratic leaders (mainly over their Vietnam policy), his decision to run for the presidency and the campaign leading up to its final moment on June 5, 1968 at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.
The events unfold like a Cubist painting, with evidence sourced from numerous eyewitnesses, court transcripts and reporting at the time. The narrative flows as if we're viewing it looking out the window of a moving railway car. Only we're jolted back at several moments for rewinds to hear from another perspective, Rashomon-like.
It's a pleasurable and eye-opening ride and gathers the momentum of a whodunnit. For as the ample evidence he provides from numerous eyewitnesses proves, Sirhan Sirhan was not the lone assassin. Sanders' evidence of government interference (Manchurian Candidate-like programming) is less convincing than his factual reportage, but there's enough here to wish for further inquiries.
However, while the facts are gathered and a sober picture emerges of the events and circumstances, Sanders is less successful this time in illuminating the glory that was Robert Kennedy and what his principled struggle meant to many in the nation. The narrative as a whole doesn't transcend the facts. Readers are left to make sense of the impact and to supply their own grief to the mangling of a movement.
A series of full-page graphic images by Rick Veitch are scattered through the epic and complement the word stream with stark, stunning respites.
In his intro, Sanders offers up praise to "bardic mentors" Charles Olson and Allen Ginsberg, but I'd contend thanks might go more prominently to Charles Reznikoff whose books from decades past, such as Testimony and Holocaust, are clear stylistic and strategic predecessors.
For this latest volume, his scholarship tackles the last years of Robert Kennedy, particularly his break with Democratic leaders (mainly over their Vietnam policy), his decision to run for the presidency and the campaign leading up to its final moment on June 5, 1968 at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.
The events unfold like a Cubist painting, with evidence sourced from numerous eyewitnesses, court transcripts and reporting at the time. The narrative flows as if we're viewing it looking out the window of a moving railway car. Only we're jolted back at several moments for rewinds to hear from another perspective, Rashomon-like.
It's a pleasurable and eye-opening ride and gathers the momentum of a whodunnit. For as the ample evidence he provides from numerous eyewitnesses proves, Sirhan Sirhan was not the lone assassin. Sanders' evidence of government interference (Manchurian Candidate-like programming) is less convincing than his factual reportage, but there's enough here to wish for further inquiries.
However, while the facts are gathered and a sober picture emerges of the events and circumstances, Sanders is less successful this time in illuminating the glory that was Robert Kennedy and what his principled struggle meant to many in the nation. The narrative as a whole doesn't transcend the facts. Readers are left to make sense of the impact and to supply their own grief to the mangling of a movement.
A series of full-page graphic images by Rick Veitch are scattered through the epic and complement the word stream with stark, stunning respites.
In his intro, Sanders offers up praise to "bardic mentors" Charles Olson and Allen Ginsberg, but I'd contend thanks might go more prominently to Charles Reznikoff whose books from decades past, such as Testimony and Holocaust, are clear stylistic and strategic predecessors.
Read
November 1, 2018Billed as a “graphic history,” this is simultaneously a long poem – perhaps an epic – a complex conspiracy theory (including a digression on the death of Martin Luther King), and a celebration of social democracy (in its nascent form). Ed has real metrical delicacy. Opening at random:
There were jubilant young men in Kennedy strawhats
& women in white blouses
red Kennedy sashes
& blue skirts
At first, there was trouble with the microphones on stage
The way the “red white and blue” are reordered, and staggered across the page (with the inconspicuous ampersand) is inconspicuously wise. And the collapsing of “straw hats” into one word moves the rhythm forward. You can tell that Ed is a highly accomplished songwriter, even from this arbitrary selection.
July 26, 2018
Another in Ed's unending series of history/investigation in poesy, backed by decades of research.
September 23, 2018
🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 more evidence that the CIA did it* and now in verse form!
* Dear NSA, CIA, and any other 3 letter acronyms reading this : I am merely parroting the author who I do not know personally and with whom I have no association. I think all the employees/assets/contractors of the Company** are swell.
** I have no personal knowledge of said Company*** and even if I did I would still think all its employees/assets/contractors are swell.
*** I also have no personal knowledge of the Farm or the Fort and would like to take this opportunity to thank all of the 3 letter acronyms for doing what is necessary**** to keep the USA #1!
**** I also wholeheartedly believe- nay, KNOW - that Oswald, Ray, and Sirhan were lone gunmen***** and not government patsies, even though the 3 of them together couldn't plan and carry out a successful catered picnic.
***** Upon further review, I do not bestow any stars upon this obviously fictional account. May God bless you and the United States of America.
* Dear NSA, CIA, and any other 3 letter acronyms reading this : I am merely parroting the author who I do not know personally and with whom I have no association. I think all the employees/assets/contractors of the Company** are swell.
** I have no personal knowledge of said Company*** and even if I did I would still think all its employees/assets/contractors are swell.
*** I also have no personal knowledge of the Farm or the Fort and would like to take this opportunity to thank all of the 3 letter acronyms for doing what is necessary**** to keep the USA #1!
**** I also wholeheartedly believe- nay, KNOW - that Oswald, Ray, and Sirhan were lone gunmen***** and not government patsies, even though the 3 of them together couldn't plan and carry out a successful catered picnic.
***** Upon further review, I do not bestow any stars upon this obviously fictional account. May God bless you and the United States of America.
December 17, 2018
Very difficult book in which to follow the timeline as it jumps back and forth and between people. The author puts forth the argument that Sirhan was programmed by previous telephone calls to make hypnotic assassination possible.
The author also claims that there were at least 2, maybe 3 assassins in the kitchen of the Ambassador hotel. There were 8 bullets fired and none of the bullets recovered from RFK were fired from Sirhan's weapon. The fatal bullet was fired from less than 4 inches from RFK's rear skull while Sirhan was never closer than 4 feet from RFK.
I was so glad to be done with a most confusing book.
The author also claims that there were at least 2, maybe 3 assassins in the kitchen of the Ambassador hotel. There were 8 bullets fired and none of the bullets recovered from RFK were fired from Sirhan's weapon. The fatal bullet was fired from less than 4 inches from RFK's rear skull while Sirhan was never closer than 4 feet from RFK.
I was so glad to be done with a most confusing book.
April 2, 2021
I absolutely hated this book. I approached it with so much hope. Being a graphic novel, I hoped that this was something that I would one day share with my students. There aren't a lot of solid pieces of evidence in this book. There are snippets of works from others chaotically strung together throughout the book. There is also a lot of conspiracy. I love conspiracy, but this goes a little far. I wish we had some more solid evidence. The timeline for the book is also confusing and possibly false. The author jumps around from year to year and person to person. I wouldn't reccomend this to anyone.
June 8, 2018
A very different type of book filled with lots of data, statistics and interesting items about the last year of Bobby Kennedy's life. Having lived through this tumultuous time it was quite a throw back to those days. Some of the information contained is disturbing and makes it quite clear why Robert Kennedy, Jr. is saying there was a conspiracy in his father's death. For Kennedy family fans, worth your while to read - but in a different style that regurgitates some of the same data several times from different sources.
January 21, 2019
A fascinating, infuriating, poetic examination of 1968 and the State-sponsored murders of MLK and RFK (and JFK as well, by necessity). Sanders pulled together accounts from dozens of witnesses and over a hundred researches to present a clear picture of the facts of RFK’s killing, and infers startling and terrifying theories from said facts.
“And so, after JFK, MLK, & RFK
The history of the United States
was irrevocably changed
in the direction of violence
and transgression.”
“And so, after JFK, MLK, & RFK
The history of the United States
was irrevocably changed
in the direction of violence
and transgression.”
August 18, 2022
what did I just read. please don't read this.
February 20, 2023
If you want to pill your friend on the RFK assassination, give them this book. By writing in poems, Sanders is able to reduce usually dense writing on the assassination into the most peculiar facts that makes for a quick read. Is it the most thorough book on the topic? Definitely not. Is it a good and well researched intro? Definitely.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews