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Saturday, November 22, 2003

Confessions of a red diaper baby who bought the JFK myth…

In the Fall of 1960 my father, who was a Democrat and a labor union official, brought home a big campaign button that read “if I was 21 I’d vote for Kennedy.” He told me to wear it to school and I did. Lots of kids in Shaker Heights wore campaign buttons to school and the administrators didn’t seem to mind.

Three years later I was in English class when the announcement came over the public address that the president had been shot and that he was dead. I was in disbelief then as much as I was when I learned that it was Saudi fanatics and not right-wing militia types who downed the twin towers.

What I knew of JFK at that time and what I liked about him was the product of his public relations apparatus. His passion for football. The president who could read 1800 words a minute thanks to the Evelyn Wood speed reading course (which turned out to be a lie). The vague notion of the New Frontier, Kennedy’s youthful image that was packaged with it. And the great visionary organization of its time, the Peace Corps.

At Shaker High School the buzz among my black schoolmates focused on Kennedy’s commitment to civil rights. When I look back today, I don’t think of JFK in terms of Cuba, or the missile crisis, or Viet Nam or womanizing. On a more personal level, I remember that while Kennedy was president, my father’s union, Plumbers Local #55 in Cleveland, Ohio admitted its first black members. AFL-CIO president George Meany had been a plumber and there was plenty of resistance. Thanks in part to Kennedy’s labor secretary, Arthur Goldberg, blacks in the north were able to work in high wage craft union jobs, helping organized labor to be more inclusive.

Living for many years in Europe and South America and traveling back to the United States, I juxtaposed the emotions of Germans and Argentines, French and Uruguayans with the myriad of conspiracy theories and right wing revelations designed to discredit the Kennedy presidency and the Kennedy family. Mythos or not, from Berlin to Buenos Aires, millions of the “Kennedy generation” wonder what the world might have been like had he not been lost. Ask someone on the street in Buffalo, New York or Birmingham, Alabama and they probably wouldn’t give a hoot. Other folks hooked on right-wing talk shows might say his sex life was a threat to national security.

Over the years I’ve determined that Kennedy wasn’t a great leader not because of the sexual profile he and his brothers inherited from their father, but because he didn’t really have enough time to consolidate power and lead. Nor did he pretend to lead, like our current leader does. Not every speech was a fund raiser or a photo op. When JFK went to Dallas, he walked into opposition territory…into the valley of the shadow of death.

All the talk about mobsters fixing the West Virginia primary, rigged vote counts in Chicago, Dr. Max “the speed doctor” who accompanied Kennedy to Vienna, Sinatra and Giancana and Cuba and the secret documents that will be classified long after most of us will be dead. All the TV documentaries and books and articles, and websites and newsgroups. And then there are Doris Kearns and Dick Goodwin who attempt to set the record straight.

Several years ago, a few weeks after Oliver Stone’s JFK came out, I was having drinks with Sid Zion at the bar of the Yale Club, just below the photo of Poppy Bush in his Yale first baseman’s outfit. After a few drinks the subject turned to the movie. Sid puffed on his Macanudo and said “you know, old lady Schiff chartered a plane and the night he was shot I was sitting in the plane with the rest of the New York press corps. We were all going down to investigate. There we were, ready to taxi out to the runway and then the plane turned around back to the gate. Somebody made a call.”

And, here, on the 40th anniversary of his death, it seems that there is still more information out there telling us why people would want to kill JFK instead of telling us who killed him…



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