Someone has described 1968 as the worst year of the century. It was,
if you were a middle class, liberal American who believed the social and
political promise of the sixties was moving toward a quick and favorable
resolution. In that critical twelve-month period all the liberal hopes
of the decade seemed to evaporate. But the year was not an unrelieved
disaster, even from the perspective of such people. It was also a time
when old evils reversed and new social forces began their long march through
the institutions. It was, in a word, the worst of years and also, in some
ways, the best of years.
The headlines of 1968 proclaimed war, political insurgency and racial
strife. No other year of the century warranted so many edge-to-edge New
York Times banner headlines.
January began with public attention still focused on Vietnam. There,
over half a million American troops were ensnared in a dirty, morally
dubious war to "contain" communism in Asia by defeating the Communist
North Vietnamese and Vietcong guerrilla attempt to conquer the South.
On January 30, at Tet, the Lunar New Year, the North Vietnamese and Vietcong
launched a coordinated attack on scores of cities, military bases, and
provincial capitals. Their most visible target was the American embassy
compound in Saigon, South Vietnam's capital, seat of American power in
As military actions the attacks failed. Communist casualties were ferocious. But the Tet offensive reversed the course of the Vietnam War. From the beginning, when American combat troops had first been landed in Vietnam in the spring of 1965, the American government had been promising "light at the end of the tunnel." Now it seemed that the government had miscalculated the enemy's strength; victory was clearly still a long way off. Nothing so shocked the American public as the Vietcong breakthrough onto the Embassy grounds. All the invading "Cong" were killed after a fierce fight, but they had won an impressive symbolic victory against vaunted American power.
Tet recharged the antiwar movement. A coalition of pre-Vietnam pacifists,
old-line political radicals, conscience liberals, new-style student activists
the antiwar forces had swung into mass action in early 1965 with the first
student-faculty teach-ins following Johnson's Operation Rolling Thunder,
the mass bombing of the North. Teach-ins soon gave way to marches and
other mass demonstrations, some of which erupted in violence. In October
1967 the anti-Vietnam forces, led by the National Mobilization to End
the War in Vietnam (the "Mobe"), led a march on the Pentagon, the headquarters
of American military power around the world. Soon after, goaded by a formidable
anti-Vietnam revolt among liberal Democrats, Senator Eugene McCarthy of
Minnesota announced that he planned to challenge the renomination of President
Lyndon Johnson in 1968.
In the early weeks of 1968 a horde of students a sprinkling of celebrities,
and a half-dozen experienced politicos descended on New Hampshire for
the first of the presidential primaries. Trimming their hair, donning
skirts and jackets, assuming a respectful mien, the "clean-for-Gene" students
mobilized the anti-Johnson and antiwar feelings among the state's Democrats.
The McCarthy peace forces startled the nation and created a credible challenge
by coming to within an eyelash of beating the president in the ballot.
In mid-March Senator Robert Kennedy of New York, President John Kennedy's
younger brother, long an opponent of Vietnam, but unwilling to take on
an incumbent president of his own party, announced that he too was in
the nomination race. At the end of the month, faced with the prospect
that he would lose big to McCarthy in the Wisconsin primary, and resolved
to try for peace once again, Johnson declared on nationwide TV that he
would not run for a second full term. In this same speech he announced
a partial halt in the bombing of North Vietnam, and soon after preliminary
peace talks began in Paris.
He was wrong. The American people, as a whole, did give the North Vietnamese-Vietcong a psychological victory. Worse, so did the foreign policy establishment, the men who had conceived the American anti-Communist containment policy in Europe after 1945 and then, later, had approved the Vietnam intervention. This small group of "Wise Men"retired and semi-retired foreign policy advisers of several postwar presidentsalong with their counterparts in the middle and upper reaches of the Pentagon and State Department, were as startled and dismayed as the general public and the media by what Tet had revealed of the Resilience of the Vietnamese Communists after years of brutal and costly war. In meetings with the president, with Clark Clifford, the new secretary of defense, and with military leaders, the Wise Men and their allies in the bureaucracy declared the war unwinnable and further escalation a mistake. The president twisted and turned to avoid their conclusion, but felt compelled to turn down General Westmoreland's request for another 206,000 Vietnam troops. Shortly after, he renounced a second full term and offered the olive branch to Hanoi. It would take five full years before the last American troops left Vietnam, but in early 1968, the remorseless escalation process ceased. Never again would the number of American combat men be greater than just after Tet.
No one in the peace movement knew of the Vietnam turnaround Tet had created
within the administration. It probably would have made little difference.
Few in the movement were patient people; fewer had much confidence in
their government's promises. Through the spring, the McCarthy and Kennedy
antiwar forces slugged it out in the primaries, each side attracting its
own special breed of followers lowers. Bobby was warm, passionate, and
aggressive, and he won the support of minorities, blue-collar workers,
and other folk susceptible to "expressive" politics. McCarthy was cool,
cerebral, and witty; he won the college students, the liberal professionals,
the idealistic white middle class. In California the two fought for the
biggest delegate bloc of all, with Bobby winning by a small margin on
primary day, June 6. That evening, just after delivering his victory statement,
he was assassinated in Los Angeles by a young Palestinian living in Pasadena
who resented his pro-lsrael policies.
Kennedy's death threw the Democratic nomination into chaos. Johnson's
heir apparent was Vice President Hubert Humphrey, the former liberal senator
from Minnesota. Humphrey did not like Johnson's Vietnam policy, but had
loyally supported it. His position made him the inevitable candidate of
the party's "hawks" and turned his name into an epithet within the antiwar
movement. Johnson's withdrawal had come too late to allow Humphrey to
enter most of the primaries, but in the succeeding weeks he had accumulated
delegates from the machine-dominated states and from places where his
long support of bread-and-butter liberal causes had created obligations.
Five organizations were at the van of the civil rights movements of the fifties and sixties. Two, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and the National Urban League, were formed before World War II and represented the conservative right wing of the civil rights movement. The Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), though organized in 1942 by pacifists, was, from the start, more aggressive in pursuing racial equality. In 1957 Martin Luther King Jr. and his fellow organizers of the victorious Montgomery bus boycott formed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). In 1960, black student activists, in the wake of the Greensboro, North Carolina sit-in efforts to desegregate southern lunch counters, created the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). Whether militant or moderate, all of these were biracial in their membership; each professed as its goal a colorblind society of "black and white together."
Though only one of five, SCLC was the most effective civil rights group,
and its leader, the Reverend King, the most powerful spokesman for black
aspirations. Kings influence depended on his dazzling eloquence and his
tactics-nonviolent civil disobedience- borrowed from the Indian leader
Mohandas Gandhi. The forbearance of his disciples, though attacked by
cattle prods, police nightsticks, and high pressure hoses, aroused enormous
sympathy for their cause among the white middle class. Martyrs made by
brutal racist southern sheriffs and Ku Klux Klanners brought white money
and even white bodies to the South to help the cause of desegregation
and political enfranchisement. By the mid-sixties, the civil rights movement,
under King's charismatic leadership, had come close to destroying the
last vestiges of southern Jim Crow and compelling the federal government
to force compliance with the Fourteenth and Fifteenth amendments. King's
preeminence was confirmed when he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in
But within the civil rights movement King was not unchallenged. By 1966
SNCC and CORE, influenced by Third World anti-colonialism, by the violent
ghetto riots of the "long, hot summers" of 1965-67, by the Black nationalism
of Malcolm X and the Black Panthers, had come to feel that nonviolence
and biracialism were feeble weapons against racial inequality in America.
Under new firebrand leaders, they raised the banner of "black power" separatism,
rejected nonviolence, and excluded whites from membership. King tried
hard simultaneously to retain the good will of the young hotheads and
of the white liberals whose support had been indispensable in breaking
down the barriers to formal equality, but the task was daunting.
King's response to his challengers was to bring the war to the North
where racism took more subtle forms of job and housing discrimination
than Jim Crow and disfranchisement. In 1966 SCLC launched the Chicago
Movement to force the city to outlaw racially restrictive real estate
covenants. King's rallies and marches tripped off violence worse than
any in the South and produced only meager results. Clearly, inequality
in the North would be a tougher nut to crack than anything yet attempted.
At the end of 1967 King tried to resolve the dilemmas of his leadership
and of the faltering civil rights movement by launching a "Poor People's
Campaign" a massive assault on poverty which sought through federal action
to benefit all the nation's poor, but especially non-whites. During the
spring of 1968, black, brown, red, and white poor Americans would converge
on Washington. There they would establish an encampment that would bear
witness to America's failures to end economic and social inequality and
would put pressure on Congress to appropriate massive funds to help the
The plan was doomed to failure. Ever since mid-decade Lyndon Johnson's
War on Poverty had been waning fast. Launched in the wake of LBJ's landslide
victory over Goldwater in 1964, it had poured hundreds of millions into
programs designed to elevate the poor primarily by helping them to help
themselves. By 1968 the war had lost its steam. Battles between Office
of Economic Opportunity officials who administered Johnson Great Society
programs and local mayors, middle class disgust with radical manipulators
of community action programs, and growing public unease over the economy,
all undermined the War on Poverty. The final blow to forward momentum
came with the imposition by Congress of a surcharge on the income tax
to help pay for Vietnam. Wilbur Mills of the House Ways and Means Committee
exacted as his price for approving increased taxes a severe cutback in
government domestic outlays. Poverty programs did not cease, but thereafter
there would be no new ones.
King would, then, be running into a legislative wall when his mule-drawn
poor people's caravans converged on Washington in May. But King himself
would never get there. In mid-March he had agreed to support a strike
of the Memphis sanitation workers, almost all black, to raise their appalling
wages. He visited Memphis several times and arrived for the last time
in April 1968. There, preparing at his motel for dinner at a supporter's
home one evening, he was shot down by a white ax-convict probably in the
pay of rich southern racists.
News of King's assassination set off a wave of ghetto riots that made
those of past summers seem like tea parties. Mobs of blacks burned and
looted stores, smashed windows, and, at times, attacked whites on the
streets. Some of the worst destruction took place in Washington, D.C.
within sight of the White House. Thousands of National Guardsmen and federal
troops were called in to quell violence in Baltimore, Chicago, Washington,
and other cities.
White liberals indulged in an orgy of guilt and contrition over King's
murder. Memorial services were conducted on hundreds of college campuses;
politicians issued statements condemning white racism; clergymen announced
that America was a society with a sick soul. Predictably, civil rights
activists took the opportunity to denounce the nation's racial regime
and demand that it be changed. King's funeral in Atlanta, the city where
he had been born and educated, was an occasion for national mourning.
Every major national politician made an appearance. King was buried at
South View Cemetery; his tombstone bore the words: "Free At Last, Free
At Last, Thank God Almighty, I'm Free At Last."
The Poor People's Campaign was a dismal failure. King's successor at
the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the Reverend Ralph Abernathy,
lacked King's prestige and magnetism. But even King would have found it
difficult to extract massive aid programs out of a nation and Congress
which were beginning to lose their faith in the economy and in expensive
federal social programs simultaneously. So long as the economic pie was
growing quickly, Great Society programs and the War on Poverty had seemed
painless. By mid-1968, the bills for the Vietnam War were coming due.
Prices had begun to rise; hence the ten percent surcharge in income taxes.
There was no chance that SCLC could get what it wanted.
Yet the campaign went on if only in tribute to the fallen leader. Hundreds
of "poor people"white, red, brown, but predominantly blackcame
to Washington in the early spring and camped out on the Mall in tar paper
and plywood shacks. They sortied from "Resurrection City" to hold demonstrations
and petition Congress and other federal agencies for action on their agenda.
It rained; it rained for days on end. Shacks leaked; campsite streets
turned into quagmires. The deluge dampened spirits as well as bodies.
It was also difficult to maintain sanitation or keep order in Resurrection
City. Local ghetto toughs, as well as some imported from Chicago and Milwaukee
on the theory that delinquents knew all about delinquency and could control
it, preyed on the law-abiding occupants. On June 25, with their permit
expired and their mission unaccomplished, the remaining poor people's
campaigners allowed themselves to be peaceably dispersed by the Washington
The SCLC would limp on, but it would never again mount a major civil
rights campaign. SNCC would soon die; CORE would sink into futility. By
mid-1968 the Second Reconstruction, dismantling the edifice of legal segregation
and restoring the franchise to black Americans, was over. Much had been
achieved, but millions of black Americans remained poor, ill-housed, apathetic,
and ghettoized. n 1968 the student New Left reached its apogee and then
began to recede. Though more than Students for a Democratic Society, SDS
was its core. Founded in 1960 and given its holy tablets at Port Huron,
Michigan in 1962, SDS at first rejected the Marxist dogmatism of the Old
Left, its faith in vanguard parties, and its vision of the proletariat
as the prime agent of change. The middle class could make a revolution,
indeed should make a revolution, for even in rich America human dignity
was affronted, human potential wasted, human capacity for joy diminished,
by an insensitive, oppressive "system." SDS quickly identified with the
civil rights and antiwar movements and, though it sought to avoid "single
issue" politics, became the magnet for campus radicals of every persuasion
and every cause seeking a home. As it grew in fame and influence on the
nation's campuses, it won a following among a wide circle of adult allies
within the intellectual and artistic communities, men and women enchanted
with its youthful élan and grace.
By 1968, under new leadership unimpressed with the democratic left's
previous bitter encounters with dogmatic communism, SDS became a self-announced
revolutionary organization. The new mood first became manifest at Columbia
University in the spring, when Mark Rudd, head of SDS's local chapter,
led a demonstration that quickly turned into an occupation of five major
Columbia buildings. The Battle for Morningside Heights in the nation's
media capital, riveted the attention of the nation. All over the affluent
Western world students were in revolt. Mark Rudd had his counterparts
Danny ("the Red") Cohn-Bendit at Nanterre in Paris and Rudi Dutschke at
the Free University of Berlin. The Columbia insurgency seemed at the time
part of the convulsive death spasm of a transatlantic deferential and
Eventually the university administration called in the New York City
police and cleared the Columbia buildings with the inevitable brutality.
But the memory lingered on. Mark Rudd and several of his lieutenants became
"heavies" in the SDS national office, and at the end of 1968 helped to
engineer a major turn-away from SDS's original vision of change for oneself
to change for the oppressed Third World both at home and abroad. The following
summer during its annual convention at Chicago, SDS would tear itself
apart over who should lead the revolution. Soon after, many of the "Weathermen"
survivors would go underground to make war against "Leviathan" while hiding
icing out in "the belly of the beast."
In early August at Miami the Republicans would nominate Richard Nixon
for president, with Spiro Agnew as his running mate. The Democrats met
two weeks later in Chicago to choose their candidates. The tumultuous
week of the Chicago convention would guarantee Democratic defeat in November
and the end of the liberal era.
As early as December 1967 the nation's dissenters had targeted the Democratic
convention as an occasion to express what was wrong with America. In recent
months the party had been the major battleground between the hawks and
the doves. But beyond that, ever since the New Deal, the Democrats had
been the vehicle of liberalism and measured change in American life, as
well as chief exponent of extending the nation's reach around the world.
The forces that converged on Chicago in August were determined either
to defend those roles or attack them, both with equal vehemence.
Heeding Mayor Richard Daley's warnings that the city would use force
to keep order, McCarthy warned his followers to stay home. Many came anyway.
So did a collection of militant antiwar people connected with the Mobe
who intended to march and demonstrate, though Daley refused to grant them
the permits they wanted.
A final ingredient in the explosive mixture was the Yippies, led by two
absurdist zanies, Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman. The Yippies were an attempt
to merge the political with the counterculture strains of sixties dissent.
Rubin himself was a product of the Berkeley Free Speech Movement who later
moved close to the hippie psychedelic culture of Haight-Ashbury across
the Bay in San Francisco. Hoffman began as a civil rights activist and
then adapted to the new hippie bohemia emerging in New York's East Village.
The two men met when Rubin came east in 1967 to lead the Mobe's Pentagon
Hippiedom had its characteristic dress (peasant cum working class), music
(acid rock), cuisine ("natural"), language (ineffable), and drug (LSD).
Its avowed values were feeling, liberation, peace, naturalness, and spontaneity,
but the 1967 "Summer of Love," when thousands of longhaired youths descended
on the Bay Area to create a summer hippie Eden, turned into a squalid,
unsanitary, violence-ridden interlude. Thereafter, the hippie thing deflated
in Hashbury but radiated in widening circles from its two initial centers
into the university districts, the local bohemian, and, as "communes,"
into the mountains of California, Vermont, and New Mexico.
The Rubin-Hoffman affiliation was a marriage made in heaven. On January
1, 1968, while coming down from a New Year's eve psychedelic high, the
two conceived "Yippie" (ostensibly the Youth International Party) to bring
the disruptive, self-dramatizing tactics of radical street theater to
Chicago. Yippies would show up the Democrats' planned "Festival of Death"'
with their own, irreverent "Festival of Life."
The official convention results were as anticipated. With Robert Kennedy
dead, the peace forces were overwhelmed. Humphrey won the nomination on
the first ballot with Senator Edmund Muskie as his running mate. But the
real drama was on the streets, where thousands of demonstrators battled
with Mayor Daley's police and the National Guard. The TV cameras caught
the violence, and for a week following, the viewing public saw scenes
of tear gas, flailing nightsticks, flying bricks, shattering glass, and
screaming young men and women with bloodied heads. A later official report
would label the events in the Chicago parks in front of the delegate hotels
"a police riot," but many viewers condemned the demonstrators for causing
the trouble and the Democrats for not keeping the peace.
But Humphrey labored under enormous initial disadvantages. As Johnson's
vice president he inherited all LBJ's opponents left and right. Peace
activists and the still larger group of antiwar skeptics believed he would
continue the Johnson hawkish policies. Though the president had aborted
the Vietnam escalation process and initiated peace talks, these had not
made headway, and many antiwar voters insisted the vice president make
some dramatic new move to show he had freed himself from bondage to his
predecessor's bankrupt Vietnam policies. After four years of unswerving
loyalty, however, Humphrey found it difficult to break the ties with the
administration. Unable to convince the public that he was more than a
Johnson clone, Humphrey could not get his campaign off the ground. Wherever
he went he was confronted by hecklers who disrupted his speeches. Money
was hard to raise, and the president, hoping to keep Humphrey from repudiating
his policies, refused to tap the financial resources he commanded to help
Even more serious was the threat to Humphrey from the right. In mid-decade
a new player, the "backlash" voter, had appeared on the political stage.
Backlash voters were predominantly white, working class or lower level
white-collar workers who perceived themselves as upright, hardworking,
self-made men and women. They resented the "limousine liberals" whose
money allowed them to escape the consequences of racial adjustment. They
resented the university students who failed to appreciate their privileged
status. They resented the militant poor and their supporters who bit the
hands that fed them. They resented the peace demonstrators who desecrated
American flags, burned their draft cards, and cheered for Ho Chi Minh
and the Vietnamese Communists. They resented the longhaired, spaced-out
hippies who rejected middle class morals and comforts and lived in libertine
squalor. They resented the left intellectuals who supported rights for
blacks, Communists, and other dissenters from mainstream American views.
Their chief spokesman was George Corley Wallace, former governor of Alabama,
the man who in 1963, had tried to bar black students from the University
of Alabama despite a federal court order and the support of the Kennedy
administration. Wallace had gone on from this incident to run in Democratic
presidential primaries in the north in 1964, on a platform that was a
litany of backlash resentments, and had done surprisingly well. In 1968
he was even better prepared and managed to get his name and that of his
new party on the ballots of most of the states.
For a time the polls showed the Wallace appeal likely to cut deeply into
Humphrey's vote. Blue-collar unionists, the core of the traditional Democratic
constituency, were drifting to Wallace despite Humphrey's long pro-labor
record. As late as September 20 the polls showed Nixon with 43 percent
of the vote, Humphrey with 28, and the Wallace-Curtis Le May ticket with
21. Equally bad, many middle class antiwar Democrats seemed likely to
sit the election out, refuse to vote at all.
Then the tide began to turn. In early October a desperate Humphrey announced
that he would end the bombing of North Vietnam completely in exchange
for forward movement in Paris toward a peace agreement. Money began to
pour into the Democratic campaign. Better yet, the union leadership awakened
to the danger of membership defection to Wallace and a resulting Republican
victory. Before long union officials were bombarding members and their
families with exposés of Wallace's anti-labor record in Alabama
and the pocketbook dangers of a Nixon win. Five days before the election
Gene McCarthy himself abandoned his sulk and endorsed the vice president.
Yet Nixon squeaked by. Recognizing the dangers of alienating moderate voters, he had chosen to avoid directly cultivating the backlash himself. This tack did not preclude a "southern strategy," promising to appoint judicial conservatives to the Supreme Court and avoid pushing the sixties" civil rights laws too hard. It also did not restrain Republican vice presidential candidate Spiro Agnew, a coarse-grained man, addicted to racial and ethnic epithets. Nixon took the relative high road, talking about "bringing us together"; Agnew talked of "fat Japs," "Polacks," and "law and order."
On November 5 the Nixon-Agnew ticket got 302 electoral and 31.7 million
popular votes to Humphrey-Muskie's 191 and 31.2 million. Wallace had gotten
13.5 percent of the total.
A year mostly of endings and reversings, 1968 was also a year of new
social beginnings. Black consciousness may have passed its peak, but the
women's movement, already recharged by Betty Friedan's 1963 book, The
Feminine Mystique, took a bold new direction. Younger women, many
veterans of SNCC and SDS, began to probe the depths of female oppression
through consciousness-raising and demand a more aggressive, direct action
approach to women's rights. By the end of the year groups like Radical
Women, The Feminists, and WITCH had sprung up in New York, Boston, San
Francisco, Chicago and other large, cosmopolitan cities. In September,
the new "liberationists" made headlines when they picketed and attempted
to disrupt the Miss America contest in Atlantic City. The demonstrators,
mostly from New York's Radical Women, did not "burn" brassieres, but it
was here that the myth originated.
During the last few weeks of the year the papers were filled with accounts of the "transition" between administrations. But the big media story was the moon race. On December 24, for the first time in history, live human beingsrasher then television camerassaw the dark side of the moon as Apollo 8, with three American astronauts, whipped around it twice and then headed back to earth. The first moon landing itself would not come until the following July, but at Christmastime 1968 humans saw their first pictures of the whole, shining earth from deep, outer space. It created a sense of wonder and perhaps a desire to escape the very earthbound cares of a year when old dreams died and new ones were at most possibilities.
Wounded American soldiers await rescue helicopter behind Viet Cong lines.
Vietnamese woman clutches a seriously wounded child.
President Lyndon Johnson declines to seek re-election and says that steps are being taken to de-escalate the war in Viet Nam.
Senator Robert Kennedy and his wife Ethel seen campaining.
Gold Medal winner Tommy Smith (center) and John Carlos
raise gloved hand in Black Power Salute during the playing of the U.S.
National Anthem at Mexico City's Summer Olympics.
Only hours before he was shot in approximately the same
spot, Martin Luther King, Jr. stands on a balcony in Memphis, flanked
by Jesse Jackson and Ralph Abernathy.
Police haul away one of the Poor People's Campaign demonstrators
from in front of the Supreme Court Building in Washington, D.C.
In Atlanta, over 300,000 people followed Martin Luther
King, Jr.'s funeral wagon drawn by plow mules.
Looters run from a burning store in Chicago during response
to King's death.
Mark Rudd speaks on behalf of students occupying Columbia
Helmeted N.Y. policeman forcibly ejects a Columbia student
Chicago's Mayor Daley delivers an angry speech at the
Demonstrators clash with National Guardsmen in Chicago.
Crew of Apollo 8Borman, Lovell, and Anders.
Earth and Moonscape viewed from Apollo 8.
I. Vietnam War and Antiwar Movement
Stokely Carmichael and Charles Hamilton, Black Power: The Politics of Liberation in America (1967)
Clayborne Carson, In Struggle: SNCC and the Black Awakening of the 1960s (1981)
Eldrige Cleaver, Soul on Ice (1968)
Charles Fager, Uncertain Resurrection: The Poor People's Washington Campaign (1969)
David Garrow, Bearing the Cross: Martin Luther King, Ir.,
and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (1968)
Lester David and Irene David, Bobby Kennedy: The
Kenneth Clark and Jeannette Hopkins, A Relevant War Against Poverty (1968)
Allen J. Matusow, The Unraveling of America: A History of Liberalism in the 1960s (1984)
Daniel Moynihan, Maximum Feasible Misunderstanding: Community Action in the War on Poverty (1969)
James T. Patterson, America's Struggle Against Poverty, 1900-1980 (1981)
Frances Fox Piven and Richard Cloward, Regulating the Poor: The Functions of Public Welfare (1971)
David Zarefsky, President Johnson's War on Poverty: Rhetoric
and History (1986)