1968: Witnesses to History | Newsweek Boomer Files

They Were There

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"This Day, I Had This Weird Feeling"
Tom Corey, a Vietnam veteran, on the day he was shot in the neck and paralyzed: Jan. 30, 1968, the first day of the Tet Offensive.

"I went to Vietnam in May 1967. I was 21. When we got off the aircraft you could hear mortar rounds in the background. The smells and the heat of the place were totally different from anything I'd known. I don't know exactly how you describe the smell of war. The next day we went to the range and sighted our rifles, and the day after that we were out doing patrols. A guy came up to me and said, 'If you do drugs we'll kill you.' I walked point a lot. I preferred it. They usually didn't take out the point man when you walked into an ambush. Being in front though meant you had to look out for a lot of booby traps. We walked into a major battle a couple times. I was wounded on the first day of Tet, Jan. 30. I woke up that day and just had a feeling that something was going to happen to me. Some days you go into battle and you're psyched, but this day I had this weird feeling. I remember trying to shake it and put it somewhere else. I had a squad to oversee. The enemy had just taken over a village near Dong Ha, and we were getting fired on as we were flying in. The choppers didn't go all the way down, and we had to jump out to the ground it was so hot. After about 45 minutes of airstrikes and artillery shelling, it was time to go. I took my rifle and laid it on the dike and was looking into the tree line, a couple hundred feet away, and saw a muzzle flash and that's the round that hit me in the neck. It was brief, but before I lost consciousness I remember thinking it was the end. It severed the main artery in my jugular. I was dead when they loaded me onto the chopper. They flew me to Japan. Getting out of the chopper I woke up for a couple seconds. It was night and snow was falling. I remember the cold snow hitting my face before blacking out again."

"We Were So Confident"
Tim McCarver, St. Louis Cardinals catcher, on the 1968 World Series and on catching Bob Gibson.

"People remember it as one of the most exciting World Series, but if you look at the games there were some real lopsided scores. The at-bat I remember the most was the last out of Game 1. Willie Horton was up. Gibson had just struck out Al Kaline and Norm Cash. The last pitch was a slider that was supposed to be outside, but Gibson got under it and it stayed inside and backed Horton off the plate. He actually thought it was going to hit him, and he grunted as it passed him, but it was a strike. That's how much break Gibson had. I was merely a conduit to Gibson; it's flattering to consider I had anything to do with it. Anybody could have called a game for him. Any set of fingers I put down would have been right. But I think our dependence on him led to our downfall. We were so confident in what he could do, we knew we weren't going to lose Game 7. We couldn't get to Lolich; no one could touch him. Gibson still pitched a hell of a game, and I think we would have won if not for Curt Flood misjudging Northrup's fly to center field. He catches that ball had it not rained the previous night in my view, and mine was the best view of all-I had him right in my sights. Was there any sense of letting down Bob? Nah, ballplayers don't think like that. We didn't let anyone down, we just lost."

"It Was Very Unnerving For Me"
Eartha Kitt, actress, singer and cabaret star (and Catwoman in the Batman TV series), on being invited to a White House ladies luncheon hosted by Lady Bird Johnson on Jan. 18, 1968.

" I was sent an invitation by Lady Bird Johnson that said, 'What Citizens Can Do to Help Insure Safe Streets.' A car was sent for me and I walked into the White House by myself. The ushers at the door were in white gloves, and that made me feel like I was in the South again, which wasn't a good feeling. Before the lunch, people were just standing around talking about the weather. At lunch we were all sat around these big tables, about 10 per table. It was, of course, all women. I remember the ladies at the table with me were more curious about the china we were eating off of than what we were there to talk about. It was very unnerving for me. I felt the women were a little nervous, too, because of the atmosphere. After dessert the question was asked: what can be done about the beautification of America? And they went around the room, calling on people to give their opinion. It was mostly about planting trees and flowers and such. I raised my hand several times and Lady Bird kept saying, 'You'll get your turn, Eartha.' When I finally did I repeated the question that was supposed to be the topic, and everything got quiet. They were all fine to keep talking about planting seeds along Route 66, but I was there to say the real work needed to be done through the educational system. I was the last person to speak, and as soon as I finished, everyone disappeared. One lady who remained came up to me and said, 'I have eight sons and I would gladly donate them all to Vietnam.' I said, 'I'm sorry, I can't talk to you.' When I got outside, suddenly I didn't have a car anymore. I had to take a taxi back to the hotel. That about said it."

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Cuba, Vietnam. Laos, Cambodia, Iran, Nicaragua, Somalia, Iraq. Let our friends, allies and the innocents die, by the millions if necessary. Just so long as they are not Americans. We are the Democratic Party, and for 50 years, from the Bay of Pigs to the Basra Highway and beyond, we have never met a fight we could not pressure our government to run away from, or friends and allies we could not abandon. It's the story of our generation. Only the French are more defeatist than we, but together America, we can change that and become number one. And its change we can believe in. Come on America, and vote Democrat. Together, we can re-live that pride we haven't felt since the 1970's. If we just blindly pull together, we really can make this like it is Jimmy Carter's lost second term. Yes we can!

I can remember watching television on April 4th, 1968 with my brother Steve when a special bulletin announced the shooting of Martin Luther King, Jr. I remember him innocently asking my mother if she thought it would be the headline in the following day's paper. I can also recall hearing the words "cerfew" and "riot" on the radio and learning what they meant. I know my mother told me MLK, Jr. was a good man.

I was with my family on vacation in Texas on the way to my great-grandmother's house. We were traveling in a little 1962 Chevy II station wagon. It was later in the evening because it was cooler (the car had no air-conditioner) and I remember the radio suddenly announced that Robert Kennedy had been shot. I don't really remember the adults discussing the matter in the car the remainder of the trip, but the next day as I sat watching the news with my 78-year old great-grandmother, she mentioned she also had experienced some of the pain the Kennedys must have felt. My grandmother's youngest son had died the previous August in a
brawl over a woman and her daughter had committed suicide in 1953. I suppose the news had reopened wounds never quited healed in my grandmother as she herself would enter the hospital later that summer with congestive heart failure. I remember going to see her in her hospital room before continuing our vacation to my paternal grandfather's house on the gulf coast . It was there while visiting that we recieved word that she had died. We packed up and went back to the little town she had lived (Holiday, Tx)
and said goodbye.
From there we went back to my aunt's house in eastern New Mexico to stay for a few days before going home to Las Vegas, NV. My 17 year old cousin, Billy wanted to come and stay a couple of weeks with us as my oldest brother and he were just a year apart and were close. My middle brother, Steve was to have a 15th birthday party in the mountains north of Las Vegas on July 23. My brother John and a couple other boys were in the cab of a pick-up truck with Steve and Billy in the bed of the truck. I was riding in a separate car with a family friend behind the pick-up. It was on the way to Mt. Charleston when the truck flipped over and threw the boys in the back out, severly injuring my brother and killing my cousin Billy. I remember my mother screamed when she heard. I have not been to Mt. Charleston since.

Later that summer, my first girlfriend moved with her family back to Ohio.

Christmas 1968 was one of my favorite memories as we spent it in northern New Mexico at my aunt Pat and uncle Jack's house. I had never seen so much snow. My 16-year old brother John played Santa and my brother Steve was physically recovered. On Christmas Eve, I remember watching the newscat of Apollo 8 and the reading from Genesis by the astronauts. Things were looking up. I was 11 years old and I remember it all.

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Posted By: Nowforthetruth @ 10/25/2008 5:06:15 PM

Cuba, Vietnam. Laos, Cambodia, Iran, Nicaragua, Somalia, Iraq. Let our friends, allies and the innocents die, by the millions if necessary. Just so long as they are not Americans. We are the Democratic Party, and for 50 years, from the Bay of Pigs to the Basra Highway and beyond, we have never met a fight we could not pressure our government to run away from, or friends and allies we could not abandon. It's the story of our generation. Only the French are more defeatist than we, but together America, we can change that and become number one. And its change we can believe in. Come on America, and vote Democrat. Together, we can re-live that pride we haven't felt since the 1970's. If we just blindly pull together, we really can make this like it is Jimmy Carter's lost second term. Yes we can!
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- Report Abuse
Posted By: gordonruth @ 11/17/2007 1:33:20 PM

I can remember watching television on April 4th, 1968 with my brother Steve when a special bulletin announced the shooting of Martin Luther King, Jr. I remember him innocently asking my mother if she thought it would be the headline in the following day's paper. I can also recall hearing the words "cerfew" and "riot" on the radio and learning what they meant. I know my mother told me MLK, Jr. was a good man.

I was with my family on vacation in Texas on the way to my great-grandmother's house. We were traveling in a little 1962 Chevy II station wagon. It was later in the evening because it was cooler (the car had no air-conditioner) and I remember the radio suddenly announced that Robert Kennedy had been shot. I don't really remember the adults discussing the matter in the car the remainder of the trip, but the next day as I sat watching the news with my 78-year old great-grandmother, she mentioned she also had experienced some of the pain the Kennedys must have felt. My grandmother's youngest son had died the previous August in a
brawl over a woman and her daughter had committed suicide in 1953. I suppose the news had reopened wounds never quited healed in my grandmother as she herself would enter the hospital later that summer with congestive heart failure. I remember going to see her in her hospital room before continuing our vacation to my paternal grandfather's house on the gulf coast . It was there while visiting that we recieved word that she had died. We packed up and went back to the little town she had lived (Holiday, Tx)
and said goodbye.
From there we went back to my aunt's house in eastern New Mexico to stay for a few days before going home to Las Vegas, NV. My 17 year old cousin, Billy wanted to come and stay a couple of weeks with us as my oldest brother and he were just a year apart and were close. My middle brother, Steve was to have a 15th birthday party in the mountains north of Las Vegas on July 23. My brother John and a couple other boys were in the cab of a pick-up truck with Steve and Billy in the bed of the truck. I was riding in a separate car with a family friend behind the pick-up. It was on the way to Mt. Charleston when the truck flipped over and threw the boys in the back out, severly injuring my brother and killing my cousin Billy. I remember my mother screamed when she heard. I have not been to Mt. Charleston since.

Later that summer, my first girlfriend moved with her family back to Ohio.

Christmas 1968 was one of my favorite memories as we spent it in northern New Mexico at my aunt Pat and uncle Jack's house. I had never seen so much snow. My 16-year old brother John played Santa and my brother Steve was physically recovered. On Christmas Eve, I remember watching the newscat of Apollo 8 and the reading from Genesis by the astronauts. Things were looking up. I was 11 years old and I remember it all.