My name is Sergeant Jordan. This is Rampart, uh, detectives. Uh, what is your name, sir?

No comment.

This is an LAPD police state from June 5, 1968. It's the middle of the night in an interrogation

at the Rampart's division in downtown Los Angeles.

All right, I have to advise you that you have a right to remain silent. And if you give up the right...

Sergeant Jordan speaks to a young man. Early 20s, short, he's a little beat up and breathing heavily.

You understand this. Now you're shaking your head. You do understand me.

All right, now would you tell me what your name is?

I want to abide by your first admonishment to the right of keeping silent the man whispers.

He won't reveal his name.

All right, sir, that is your privilege.

Uh, and what's so strange about that is that this quiet young man has just inserted himself into American history in the most explosive and public way imaginable.

He's been arrested for something that you only do if you want everyone to know your name.

Now, is this all your property here? I mean, is there any outside I don't want it to get lost?

Sergeant Jordan catalogues the items found on the suspect at the time of his arrest.

I also have a comb, a key, and a flipping here, you and your friends are cordially invited to come and see and hear Robert Kennedy on Sunday June 2nd, 1968 at 8 p.m.

The coconut grove, the ambassador.

Thank you very much.

You have two unexpended cartridges, which appear to be 22 caliber.

All right, now would you tell me what your name is?

Maybe what we're hearing here is someone who just wants to relish his last moment of anonymity.

Can you find anything we don't have to do as a bremcher?

...