A Legacy of Public Service

John Kennedy's death unleashed a wave of public emotion and a predictable flood of media coverage around the world. Indeed, it would not be too churlish to ask why--other than being a nice guy and a good-looking celebrity with a historically resonant heritage--Kennedy deserved such an outpouring. So in putting together this issue, we looked for a worthwhile lesson we could draw, both from the way he lived and the emotions wrought by his death. We decided that the most useful way to honor him was to explore what made him and, despite their tragedies and foibles, his whole family so distinctive: their strong tradition of public service. In particular, we wanted to look at the way John and some of his generation of Kennedys were finding less traditional ways to pursue worthy causes. A few months ago, he was at a fund-raising breakfast for the Robin Hood Foundation, a group that taps Manhattan money for neighborhood projects. There he toasted Hans and Ivan Hageman, two childhood friends from East Harlem who had, with Robin Hood seed money, founded a remedial school and counseling program. John recalled first meeting them 30 years ago. These guys were larger than life, he said, and they behaved in such a way that we all knew they were destined to do something important with their lives. Much the same could be said of John. Although he gracefully bore the public role that birth assigned him, he preferred acting in a quieter, more hands-on way. He would ride his bike, or occasionally blade, to visit the Hagemans' school in East Harlem and other neighborhoods seldom frequented by those whose celebrity or wealth affords them the protection of limos and entourages. Others on the Robin Hood board say he loved holding their meetings in the roughest neighborhoods, though he generally deferred to their desire for more convenient midtown locations. This month's session was scheduled for last Wednesday in his office. At the breakfast we talked about whether he would enter politics. He said he had been approached about running for the Senate but had firmly declined. He wasn't ready; he hadn't yet earned the chance. Besides, there were more interesting and perhaps useful ways to serve, including through his magazine, George, which he felt could help make public service seem glamorous again, and his charity work. He was quick to add that politics should be considered a noble calling and that he might run for office someday. But instead of a legislative job, like the Senate, he said he would prefer serving in an executive capacity. Not yet, though. He liked his life the way it was now. His wife Carolyn smiled. In this issue, we look at the way John and other members of his family have been involved in public service. Some, like his Uncle Ted and cousins Kathleen and Patrick, are doing it in the traditional family way through politics. Others, like John and some of his cousins, have followed the example of their aunts in pursuing private endeavors. Like John, they have helped redefine that tradition through an asphalt-level, intimate involvement. From birth, John Kennedy seemed to be surrounded by light. As the New York Observer noted last week, he always seemed to keep his bearings in that glare, as if guided by an inner compass. That is why it is so painful to think of his final minute as he desperately tried to find his bearings in the unaccustomed darkness, searching for a light to restore that inner compass. Now, perhaps, the memory of his life can serve as a light for others, as a point of reference on our horizons.