George frowned. In his inaugural speech as governor, Wallace had said: “Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.” But then he had been speaking to white Alabamans. Who was he trying to impress today? Something was going on here that the Kennedy brothers and their advisers had not yet understood.

Wallace’s speech was long. When at last it was over, Katzenbach once again demanded that Wallace obey the court, and Wallace refused. Stalemate.

Katzenbach then left the scene—but the drama was not over. The two students, Vivian Malone and James Hood, were waiting in a car. By prior arrangement, Katzenbach escorted Vivian to her dormitory, and another Justice Department lawyer did the same for James. This was only temporary. To register formally, they had to enter the Foster Auditorium.

The lunchtime news came on television, and in Bobby Kennedy’s office someone turned up the sound. Wallace stood at the lectern, looking taller than he was in real life. He said nothing about colored people or segregation or civil rights. He talked of the might of central government oppressing the sovereignty of the state of Alabama. He spoke indignantly about freedom and democracy, as if there were no Negroes being denied the vote. He quoted the American Constitution as if he did not spurn it every day of his life. It was a bravura performance, and it worried George.

Burke Marshall, the white lawyer who headed the civil rights division, was in Bobby’s office. George still did not trust him, but Marshall had become more radical since Birmingham, and now he proposed resolving the stalemate in Tuscaloosa by sending troops in. “Why don’t we just go ahead and do it?” he said to Bobby.

Bobby agreed.

It took time. Bobby’s aides ordered sandwiches and coffee. On the campus, everyone held their positions.

News came in from Vietnam. At a road junction in Saigon a Buddhist monk called Thich Quang Duc, doused in five gallons of gasoline, had calmly struck a match and set himself alight. His suicide was a protest at the persecution of the Buddhist majority by the American-sponsored president Ngo Dinh Diem, who was a Catholic.

There was no end to the travails of President Kennedy.

At last the voice on Bobby’s speakerphone said: “General Graham has arrived . . . with four soldiers.”

“Four?” said George. “That’s our show of force?”

They heard a new voice, presumably that of the general addressing Wallace. He said: “Sir, it is my sad duty to ask you to step aside under orders from the president of the United States.”

Graham was the commander of the Alabama National Guard, and he was clearly doing his duty against his inclination.

But the voice on the phone now said: “Wallace is walking away . . . Wallace is leaving! Wallace is leaving! It’s over!”

There was cheering and handshaking in the office.

After a minute the others noticed that George was not joining in. Dennis Wilson said: “What’s the matter with you?”

In George’s opinion, the people around him were not thinking hard enough. “Wallace planned this,” he said. “All along, he intended to give in as soon as we called in the troops.”