It was back in the early 70′s. We were in Washington protesting the war. Groups of scruffy little hippies were marauding through the Capitol Building, rushing into Congressmen’s offices, falling on the floor and announcing that this was a die-in. Their secretaries would look at us startled or shrug. I had fifteen minutes of fame – my mom spotted me lying there on the floor on the cover of the New York Times Sunday Magazine and showed it to me with great glee the next time I was home.
But back to the marauding. Someone spotted him. “That’s Ted Kennedy!” We all rushed over and were suddenly surrounding him, a motley crew indeed. He towered over us. But he was totally freaked out, his shoulders hunched in, fear on his face. He had no idea what to do or what was going to happen. One of the girls spoke to him, a deep hippie sweetness and wonder in her voice. “Are you scared of us? Don’t be scared of us. We won’t hurt you.” My reaction was “Wait a minute! We’ve got him on the run. Don’t give it away!”
Did any of us have anything else to say? I can’t remember. We wandered away, probably to fall on someone else’s floor.