Word: cars
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Driving down a deserted beach road at midnight on the island resort of Martha's Vineyard, Mass., Senator Edward Kennedy lost control of his car. The black 1967 Oldsmobile 88 careened off a 10-ft.-wide wooden bridge leading to the dunes, and overturned in a salt pond. Somehow, Ted Kennedy escaped. His passenger, Mary Jo Kopechne, 28, a pretty, witty blonde who had worked as a secretary for Robert Kennedy, was not so fortunate. Trapped in the car, she drowned...
After the accident, Kennedy returned to look for his friends, who were dining nearby. He climbed into the back of a car and asked to be driven to the Shiretown Inn in Edgartown, where he was staying. There, he said later, he walked around "for a period of time" and finally returned to his room. He did not report the accident to friends or the authorities...
...that every time we went out to dig up information on a story I was sure we were going to be shot. Civil Rights workers were murdered all the time in '66. A lady from Detroit, Mrs. Luizzo, had been killed in 1965 near Selma for riding in a car with some Negro guys. On my first story for the Courier, I and another guy were jumped by three men who tried to beat us up. We used to be stopped all the time by the local police, who committed most of the CR murders. But the biggest change...
There are exactly two different kinds of peoples in the South: those who are just past the rich-enough line so they can have air conditioning in their house, their car, and their office, and those on the other side of the line who have to sweat all the time. The air conditioned ones are fatter, pale, and old. They sweat people are rugged, skinny, and tired but tough. When we were hitchhiking into Montgomery, Ala., the air conditioned guys used to zap by with their windows rolled up not even looking at us, not even looking at anything...
...They sleep wall to wall in unclean falling apart houses, all of which are in this one small area of 14th St. because no one else will rent to them. When we first pulled up in front of the Bird's offices, immediately, before we were out of the car, the nearest hippie rushed up to sell us acid-speed-or-hash. It's the first time that's happened since when I was in Casablanca last summer where the incredibly poor arabs kept trying for a cut of your white wealth. The Atlanta guys have reasons...