JFK
JR., R.I.P. (August 1999)
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BY
PETER KURTH
Is
it over? Can I come out now?
On
July 17, at
Two
weeks later, I still don’t dare turn on the television, lest the screen
dissolve instantly into a slow-motion replay of The Salute.
Before
you cry out in horror -- don't. I’ve never said a bad word or held a nasty
thought about "
Should
I go on TV? Talk? Tell all? "Well, Connie, John and I had only one moment
together, but it was a very beautiful experience. I think John, butt-naked,
sends a lasting message to all Americans."
Maybe
I should sell the story to the tabs: "NAKED JFK JR. TOLD SHOCKED REPORTER
IN STEAM BATH: `HOT, HUH?’"
My
only other brush with the Shimmering Kaleidoscope That Was Camelot came one
night in
"Such
naturalness! Such risk-taking! Such strength in the face of adversity! Peter,
how do they do it?"
"Their
faith holds them together, Connie. They also have a ton of money."
I
don’t think Caroline would mind if I made a little hay out of this. My favorite
moment of the recent derangement was a split-second clip of Caroline, interviewed
last year by CBS, when some blow-dried nitwit asked her how hard it was
to try to live a somewhat normal life in this constant glaring
fishbowl!
"It
actually is not that difficult for me," Caroline replied.
What?
CUT! Not what they wanted to hear. As USA
Today put it: "It's hard to know what the principals are thinking or
feeling at such times, because the Kennedys seem to regard death and misfortune
as things to be endured and transcended."
Oh.
Six
years ago, reviewing a book about JFK Jr. called Prince Charming,
I opened by saying that "John F. Kennedy, Jr. has never done anything in
his life to deserve a biography. I hope if he reads it he’ll be laughing his
handsome head off." It was the 30th anniversary of the Kennedy assassination,
and I thought it might be tasteless to make jokes about heads coming off at a
time like that. On the other hand, it wasn’t my fault. Prince Charming contained some of the strangest lines
I'd ever read in a book:
"Caroline
and John raced around the living room, unaware of Joe's advanced
paralysis."
"Amid
squeals of delight, John unpacked his machine gun, gleefully firing it all over
the house."
"`I'm
going to get you, John,' [Bobby] cried, tickling the boy until he wet his pants
from excitement."
Which
is what we all wanted to do, right? Even the pundits are starting to say it,
now that the orgy's spent: If John Jr. had been dull and dweeby, if he hadn’t
been "The Sexiest Man Alive," his plane could have gone down twice
and the British Open would still have been broadcast as scheduled. Picture Amy
Carter getting lost in a canoe, or Patti Davis falling down a well. Even
Caroline won’t rank this kind of slobbering unless she dies in a bathtub like
Christina Onassis.
Well,
there you are. As a reporter said about one of the notes left at John-John's
door in
Somebody’d
better warn Shakespeare.
"No
people ever recognize their dictator in advance. He never stands for election
on the platform of dictatorship. He always represents himself as the instrument
[of] the Incorporated National Will. ... When our dictator turns up you can
depend on it that he will be one of the boys, and he will stand for everything
traditionally American. And nobody will ever say `Heil' to him, nor will they
call him `Führer' or `Duce.' But they will greet him with one great big,
universal, democratic, sheeplike bleat of `O.K., Chief! Fix it like you wanna,
Chief! Oh Kaaaay!'" -- Dorothy Thompson, 1935