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My most vivid memory of
Eugene McCarthy is a scene at the 1968 Democratic national convention in Chicago. At the time, I was a young political reporter for The Wall Street Journal, covering my first political convention, one that we have not, thank God, seen the likes of since. ,
Chicago was in chaos. Anti-Vietnam War protestors raged through the streets, pursued by out-of-control Chicago cops, swinging billy clubs and spraying tear gas. I was in the lobby of the Conrad Hilton Hotel on Michigan Avenue, scene of the fiercest street battles. In my mind’s eye, I see the Senator from Minnesota, the anti-war presidential candidate, with his arm around a young man with a bloody, bandaged head, consoling one of his fervent supporters, and seeking to calm the boiling emotions of the moment.
I didn’t know Gene McCarthy personally then.
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