We keep saying goodbye to big pieces of the century, and this last is just too sad and unjust. What would have become of that unfinished life? What would have come of that promise?
Let me tell you what it was like to see him. I was in a restaurant last Thursday in Manhattan with a small group of friends who were catching up and arguing politics. Suddenly some invisible shift happened, some peripheral force entered the room--a tall man in sunglasses hobbling toward a back table. He moved briskly, as if he hoped no one would notice.
"There's J.F.K. Jr.,"...
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