I took a brief break from my engineering job in northern California to become part of the wedding party for my cousin in Manhattan. No TV and unmindful that Bobby Kennedy was lying in state at St. Patrick's Cathedral, the bride’s church. The wedding was at the Immaculate Conception Cathedral instead because my cousin, five years younger than her, was not Catholic. After a dinner from the fabulous menu of the bride's uncle's garden restaurant and free drinks, we walked the streets that hot night down through Greenwich Village in our tuxedos and gowns, and encountered so many on the street and in a small square, so upset with another great loss of someone who cared for them and their needs so well.