The audience liked that, and applauded. As they did so, Bobby looked down at his notes, and Walli saw that he was making a theatrical mistake. This should be a two-way exchange. The crowd wanted their star to look at them and acknowledge their praise. Bobby seemed embarrassed by them. This kind of political rally did not come easily to him, Walli realized.

Bobby continued on the subject of Vietnam but, despite the initial success of his opening confession, he did not do well. He was tentative, he stammered, and he repeated himself. He stood still, looking wooden, seeming reluctant to move his body or gesture with his hands.

A few opponents in the hall heckled him, but Walli and Beep did not join in. There was no need. Bobby was killing himself without assistance.

During a quiet moment, a baby cried. Out of the corner of his eye, Walli saw a woman get up and move toward the exit. Bobby stopped in midsentence and said: “Please don’t leave, ma’am!”

The audience tittered. The woman turned in the aisle and looked at Bobby up on the stage.

He said: “I’m used to the sound of babies crying.”

They laughed at that: everyone knew he had ten children.

“Besides,” he added, “if you go the newspapers will say that I ruthlessly threw a mother and baby out of the hall.”

They cheered at that: many young people hated the press for its biased coverage of demonstrations.

The woman smiled and returned to her seat.

Bobby looked down at his notes. For a moment he had come across as a warm human being. At that point he might have turned the crowd. But he would lose them again by returning to his prepared speech. Walli thought he had missed his opportunity.

Then Bobby seemed to realize the same thing. He looked up again and said: “I’m cold in here. Are you cold?”

They roared their agreement.

“Clap,” he said. “Come on, that’ll warm us up.” He began to clap his hands, and the audience did the same, laughing.

After a minute he stopped and said: “I feel better now. Do you?” And they shouted their assent again.

“I want to talk about decency,” he said. He was back to his speech, but now he was not referring to his notes. “Some people think that long hair is indecent, and bare feet, and smooching in the park. I’ll tell you what I think.” He raised his voice. “Poverty is indecent!” The crowd shouted approval. “Illiteracy is indecent!” They applauded again. “And I say, right here in California, that it is indecent for a man to work in the fields with his back and his hands without ever having hope of sending his son to college.”

No one in the room could doubt that Bobby believed what he was saying. He had put away his file cards. He became passionate, waving his arms, pointing, banging the lectern with a fist; and the listeners responded to the strength of his emotion, acclaiming every fervent phrase. Walli looked at their faces and recognized the expressions he saw when he himself was up onstage: young men and women staring in rapture, eyes wide, mouths open, faces shining with adoration.