The Kennedy clan is a dynastic “firm,” a wholly owned subsidiary of the Democratic party that has weathered a torrent of mind-boggling tragedy and scandal. But through it all, Kennedy Inc. was held together by stead-fast fealty — and though the mystique may have lost luster over time, the family bond never broke.
Until now. The dynasty is crumbling before our very eyes.
Amid the ruin stands Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the most recognizable of all the living Kennedys and the fourth to run for president. He is also the first Kennedy to be publicly branded a family pariah.
Given the former Bedford resident’s controversial beliefs and counterintuitive theories, the exile seemed inevitable — and the final apostasy came in August when he suspended his quixotic campaign, renounced his allegiance to the party machine, and threw his support to Donald Trump, whom he once called the “worst president ever” and “barely human” but now believes has “changed as a person.”
Shockingly, a Kennedy had become a hero of Fox News and readers of Breitbart.
The family was incredulous.
“Heartbroken,” said Max Kennedy, imploring voters to ignore his older brother’s endorsement. Other siblings cried “betrayal,” lamenting that the alliance with Trump was “a sad ending to a sad story.” The harshest condemnation came from Jack Schlossberg, the 31-year-old grandson of John F. Kennedy who called his cousin a liar, steroid abuser, and “a prick.”
Kennedy had gone too far. No individual is bigger than the corporation — a truism learned by Prince Harry and Meghan when they bucked the British Royal franchise and found themselves all but disowned. Attack the corporation and the next thing is a ticket to Siberia.
Kennedy all but said the Democratic Party left him, not the other way around. It was no longer the party of solid principles he was introduced to as a precocious 6-year-old at the 1960 Democratic National Convention — the party of his father and his uncles. In some respects, he was right about that. But to throw it over for Trump was an unpardonable sin, particularly in the eyes of those members of the clan who want to remain on the Democratic shortlist for ambassadorships and other plum assignments.
“The dynasty is crumbling before our very eyes.”
The rich are not like the rest of us, and that is an understatement when it comes to the Kennedys. Tens of thousands of books have been written about them, 13 on Chappaquiddick alone. Pick up any book that touches on members of the third generation and in the index you will read a gamut of pain under the heading of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. — the list includes heroin addiction, divorce, a spouse’s suicide, and the 1968 death of his father at the hands of an assassin.
No wonder Kennedy believes a parasitic worm has eaten a portion of his brain. Do you laugh or weep for this man?
It has not always been thus. At the turn of the century, Kennedy was a promising, bright star who, in a 1995 New York Magazine cover story, was dubbed “The Kennedy Who Matters.” He earned praise and admiration for his environmental advocacy, particularly his work on behalf of Riverkeeper and the massive legal effort to fight polluters of the Hudson River (chronicled in this magazine in 2016 when he was a Bedford resident). He had fulfilled his Uncle Ted’s hope that some members of the family’s third generation would rise to prominence and “make a difference in people’s lives.”
But at 70, Kennedy is no longer young, despite his shirtless flexing of muscles in a Putinesque video. His voice, cruelly crippled by a rare neurological disorder, is hard to listen to — even when the things he says are worth hearing.
Crucially, he turned a corner on eccentricity and there is no turning back. He will never be president. Instead, he will likely occupy the fringe of the American scene, popping up here and there like a recurring character in a Kurt Vonnegut novel.
No doubt this will be a cause for celebration for some. But for those of us who were raised on Kennedy mythology — and let’s face it, Camelot was a myth — it is a cause for sadness.
On Nov. 22, 1983, I was assigned to write a story about the 20th anniversary of JFK’s assassination. At Arlington National Cemetery I interviewed a man whose job was to take care of the Kennedy gravesite and the famous eternal flame.
Contrary to popular belief, he said, the gas-fed flame technically was not eternal. It often blew out during a strong wind. His task was to reignite it.
Another gray November has arrived. The flame is flickering. RFK Jr. is leaning into a heavy wind.
The opinions and beliefs expressed by Phil Reisman are his alone and do not necessarily reflect those of Westchester Magazine’s editors and publishers. Tell us what you think at edit@westchestermagazine.com.
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