The Spell of the Kennedys; My Personal Experience

In 1984, I was 22 and a year into my first post-college job at an investment bank. That summer, I worked and became friendly with William Kennedy Smith whose mother Jean was the younger sister of John, Robert, and Ted Kennedy.

Mine was a permanent job, but his was an internship, so our connection ended with the summer. Some years later, he gained notoriety as an acquitted defendant in a criminal trial. This post is about the summer of 1984, and I have nothing to say about that later incident.

My memory of William was of a very low-key, friendly, polite man. He was not at all entitled and seemed genuinely grateful to have been given the opportunity to spend a summer on Wall Street. A handful of us worked in the “bullpen,” a small room crammed with a half dozen desks, a set-up which made us all fast friends.

William recognized two things about me. That I was shy and that I took to the work at hand naturally. So I remember him being especially nice to me and frequently asking me for advice about the assignments he had been given.

After a month, the fact of his Kennedy-ness faded from the forefront of my mind until he invited me to a weekend at his parents’ home in the Hamptons. And shortly before that weekend, I was reminded, awkwardly, of the special, if not unique, place of the Kennedy family in modern American history.

Trivial Pursuit was a popular game in the early 1980s. William was on the opposite team and I picked a card with the question  “Who Killed Bobby Kennedy?” If I had been quick, I’d have said the card was illegible or that the question had already been asked or used any excuse, lame or not, to pick a different card. But I wasn’t quick, so I read the question and was immediately embarrassed and apologized. To his credit, William brushed away my apology, answered calmly, moved his team’s token forward, and the game went on.

So, onto the weekend at his parents’ house. At some point, I had a panic attack, manifested by an immobilizing headache. Maybe it was similar to the syndrome afflicting tourists to Florence so overwhelmed by the profundity of great art, they retreat to their hotel rooms to recuperate. I was then and have always been an avid amateur historian, and the Kennedys of course loomed large not only in the history I had read, but in the culture. This was 1984, a time before social media, before the Kardashians, before reality TV, and the Kennedy family was the closest thing we had to a family of influencers, whether they liked it or not.

Just being in the presence of Jean Kennedy Smith (a gracious hostess) made me nervous. I didn’t know what to say at the dinner table other than answer her few polite questions. I do remember they played a game of “what would be the job you’d least like to have?” I think I answered “toll booth collector.” After dinner, we went to the “Lem Billings Room,” to watch a movie. Jean explained the room’s name: “Lem was Jack’s best friend.”  

The family’s hospitality notwithstanding, I felt out of sorts and out of place and intimidated. I was stupefied by the living history I’d been thrust into. I followed the adage that it was better to keep my mouth shut and be thought stupid, then open it and remove all doubt.  

The next day, William’s father Stephen took us out on a boat. I recall a cooler with pre-mixed gin and tonics. Once we were away from the coast, Stephen said it was time for William and I to take turns water skiing. Further panic. I had no clue how to water ski. In fact I had never skied on anything, including snow. And I’m naturally clumsy. I mustered the nerve to say I had never water skied, hoping that would end it for me. Instead, Stephen was delighted to have the opportunity to teach me.

On his command, I entered the water and failed multiple times to get up on the skis. It was hard to hear Stephen’s roaring teaching instructions over the engine. Worse, in the water, I attracted the jellyfish or “jellies” as Stephen called them.  His advice to avoid the painful stings was to stay upright on the skis, a task I simply couldn’t master.

Pain, misery, futility, and failure. Ended finally by William’s intervention. Stephen was not pleased. The Kennedys are a nautical family–––sailors in peace and war. The Roberts are not.

My panic headache occurred after the water-skiing and “jellies” fiasco. Perhaps my reaction to being surrounded by Kennedys was extreme. Maybe a reflection of my own lack of confidence at that age. An element perhaps of imposter syndrome combined with an inability to prevent my inner thoughts from commanding my behavior.

Some forty years later, specifically yesterday, I listened to an interview with RFK Jr. about his run for the Democratic nomination. He’s polling at about 20%.  And that’s what made me think about my summer of friendship with William and my weekend with his family. And the power the Kennedy legacy and legend and name had upon me.

In 1984, the Kennedy presence in American history was much more recent and hence more powerful. Maybe in 2023 it’s waned quite a bit. But as a “brand” I suspect the Kennedy name still has great incantatory power, particularly if it’s used in a way to invoke the glamorous nostalgia of Camelot.

Will people vote for a name?

In the 300+ polling places in New Hampshire, the first column of political parties is rotated on a schedule so that in one general election year, half of the polling places have the Democratic party in the first column and the Republican party in the second. The other half of polling places will have the opposite setup. In the next cycle, the order will be switched. It’s a natural experiment, which reveals that the first column has a statistically significant advantage. This is in a state where the citizens are particularly well informed about their choices given the importance of its early primary. If a column placement can matter so can a name.

So, don’t underestimate Robert Kennedy Jr., particularly if he pivots away from emphasizing his conspiracy theories. Camelot may have been a myth. But the story of the two Kennedy princes cut down in their prime still fascinates us. The name can still stir up longings for the restoration of a lost past.