|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Often, Happily, Right |
|---|
| The Kennedy male who everyone liked |
|
This is Dark Cloud on Wednesday, July 21, 1999. In the reign of Louis XIV, the Sun King of France in the 17th century and the prototype absolute monarch, a disgruntled nobleman – the Duke de St. Simone – kept a vicious diary in which he detailed the grievances of his class and illustrated the resentment held against the King. It seems ridiculous, read today, but what was at stake here was not whether or not nobles of a certain rank could wear feathers in their hats at certain events, but whether they could still exert any political influence with the government, and all involved – except St. Simone – seemed to know it. Louis understood the pathetic French nobility far better than they understood him, and he ran the table in any conflict with them. It was noted by historians that Kings like Louis, who were born into a world they did not create and who cannot reasonably be expected to visualize things like Democracy, or even oligarchy, ought not be judged by how much power they had but by their restraint in using it. Louis, who had absolute power, comes off well in this regard. But he paid personally. He died friendless, with ridiculous progeny, and with many enemies. Today, our nation is engaged, whether we admit it or not, in watching a soggy corpse or two emerge from the waters around the Elizabeth Islands, an area where I grew up. John Kennedy, who since the age of three when he saluted his assassinated father has held a spot in the hearts of all who saw it live on television, a spot that even Republicans cherish and allow their eyes to glisten a bit, was killed in what apparently was proof of hubris. Truth be told, Kennedy was not remotely qualified to fly at night, especially above the featureless sea, especially with a cast on his leg, especially with other people at risk. Nonetheless, it was an accident, and as the alleged crown prince of an American dynasty wannabe, he ought to be judged not by the power he might have had, or his looks, money or women, but by his restraint. He could not have understood the average person, you or I, and he cannot be blamed for that. He could be blamed if he had been an arrogant SOB. But given all that was his at birth and at the death of his mother’s second husband, what is rather startling at the death of John Kennedy is that nobody seems to have, seems to have ever had, a bad thing to say about him. Can you recall a single expository article that suggested he was a creep, that he was a lout? That he was a bad friend? He failed the New York Bar twice, but he made no excuses, and eventually made it through. Not one negative thing, which is pretty amazing given the coverage extended him. Not even Diana Spencer escaped intact, let us recall. Even Republicans, who were clearly scared of Kennedy’s seething below the surface popularity and horrific potential as a liberal politician, were his close friends. Anybody who gets a heartfelt sendoff from both Larry Flynt and Orrin Hatch must have had something going for him as an individual. Kennedy was not a great public speaker, although he did have some of his Dad’s head gestures and cadences. His voice recalled his mother’s whisper rather than the Boston street rasp of a Fitzgerald or Kennedy. He is not recalled for great wit, for great wisdom, for great achievement. He started George, a vaguely political magazine of vaguely liberal bent, but it is not a huge success and may not survive the editor’s death. He is recalled, apparently, as a good friend, a decent man. Not a single former girlfriend has a bad story. He hung with movie stars, rock stars, statesmen, industrialists, the corner butcher. Not a single bad story has ever emerged. This can be because he could still recall that salute or because he was as decent as his image. Time will tell, of course, but it is to be doubted that the basic image will change much, if at all. The only mystery is how long it will take before this death is linked to his father’s as part of the conspiracy plot. If the bodies of his wife and her sister are not found, we will be inundated with absurdity. That is something to be regretted. His wife never cashed in on her celebrity, seemed to dread it. For that matter, he didn’t either, although he never had to. He and his sister were the richest of the Kennedy clan when Aristotle Onassis died. Richer than his grandfather, actually. John Kennedy was one of the richest men in America, actually considered the best looking by a national magizine, led an exciting life with a beautiful wife and adoring friends. Worse, he seemed happy and satisfied, and looking forward always. And nobody, absolutely nobody, in thirty years of trying, can find a bad thing to say about the guy. Here was a Kennedy who got it often, who lived it happily, who got it right. His father, a miserably unhappy man in great physical pain in a profession he would not have chosen but for a psychotic father of his own, would have been proud of and happy for his son. In his absence, and the early absence of uncles, aunts, cousins, and mother, let us be.Because it may be that the only mistake Kennedy made, the only bad decision, killed his wife, her sister and himself. If that isn’t tragedy, the term has no meaning. |
| Post your views and reviews on The Boulder Lout Forum. |