Some fifteen or twenty minutes later, a police lieutenant came upon the partially hidden form of Seigenthaler, who was just beginning to stir. “Looks like you got some trouble, buddy,” he said. “Yeah, I did,” said Seigenthaler, waking to pain. “What happened?” “Well, we had a riot.” “Don’t you think you better call Mr. Kennedy?” “Which Mr. Kennedy?” “The Attorney General of the United States.” The lieutenant frowned. “Who the hell are you?” he asked. “I’m his administrative assistant,” groaned Seigenthaler, in a manner that convinced the lieutenant he was talking with a bona-fide big shot. He
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