RIP Ethel Kennedy
I was surprised to read last night that Ethel Kennedy, widow of RFK and mother of RFK Jr., had died at ninety-six – but that was only because I had not realized that she was still alive. Ninety-six is old but it’s not unbelievably old; however, my perception was that she belonged to an era so different from our present one that it seemed impossibly distant.
Here is her son’s beautiful tribute to his mother:
My mom, Ethel Skakel Kennedy, passed peacefully into Heaven this morning. She was 96. She died in Boston surrounded by many of her nine surviving children and her friends. God gave her 34 grandchildren, 24 great-grandchildren, and the energy to give them all the attention they… pic.twitter.com/X6yr1yZ5DK
— Robert F. Kennedy Jr (@RobertKennedyJr) October 10, 2024
My mom, Ethel Skakel Kennedy, passed peacefully into Heaven this morning. She was 96. She died in Boston surrounded by many of her nine surviving children and her friends. God gave her 34 grandchildren, 24 great-grandchildren, and the energy to give them all the attention they required. He blessed her with a rich and eventful life. Even as she declined in recent months, she never lost her sense of fun, her humor, her spark, her spunk, and her joie de vivre. She wrung joy from every moment, but for 56 years she has spoken with yearning of the day she would reunite with her beloved husband. She is with him now, with my brothers David and Michael, with her parents, her six siblings, all of whom predeceased her, and her “adopted” Kennedy siblings Jack, Kick, Joe, Teddy, Eunice, Jean, Rosemary, and Patricia. From the day she met my father, her new family observed that she was “more Kennedy than the Kennedys.” She was never more enthusiastic about the afterlife than when she considered that she would also be reunited with her many dogs, including 16 Irish setters — all conveniently named “Rusty.”
The cognitive dissonance that allowed her to keep two inconsistent truths in her heart at the same time without budging made my mother a collection of irreconcilable convictions. Among these was her ironic combination of deep — nearly blind — reverence for the Catholic Church and irreverence toward its clerics. She was at once starstruck by America’s presidents, all of whom she came to know personally, and at the same time skeptical of government and toward all figures of authority. She balanced her contempt for pretension and hypocrisy with a boundless tolerance for error and mistakes in others.
God also endowed her with a perpetual attitude of gratitude that fueled her taste for adventure and an irrepressible buoyancy in a life beset by a continuous parade of heartbreaking tragedies. Her sunny optimism eventually brought my shattered father back to life following the assassination of his brother and then helped her children to thrive after her husband’s assassination five years later.
Among her most defining qualities were moral and physical fearlessness. She was a peerless equestrian and held the high jump record on horseback, jumping 7?9? on a Quarter Horse. Critics named her among the best female amateur tennis players, and she was a competitive diver. But she did every sport well — from football to skiing, waterskiing and kayaking. Her disciplined stoicism and her deep faith in God enabled her to endure over ten years of pregnancy without complaint. She also suffered the murders of her husband and Uncle Jack, and the early deaths of two of her children. Various air crashes killed both of her parents, her brother, her sister-in-law, and her nephew John. She never enjoyed flying, but her worry never stopped her from boarding a plane. While giving short shrift to her own monumental suffering, she always showed intense compassion for others.
My mother invented tough love, and she could be hard on her children when we didn’t live up to her expectations. But she was also intensely loyal, and we always knew that she would stand fiercely behind us when we came under attack by others. She was our role model for self-discipline, for resilience, and for self-confidence. She deeded to each of her 11 children her love of good stories, her athleticism, her competitive spirit, and the deep curiosity about the world, and the intense interest in people of all backgrounds, which caused her to pepper everyone she met — from cab drivers to presidents — with a relentless cascade of questions about their lives. She also gave us all her love of language and for good storytelling. I credit her for all my virtues. I’m grateful for her generosity in overlooking my faults.
That’s quite a beautiful tribute from her son. RIP, Mrs. Kennedy.
I also had forgotten she was still alive until a few weeks ago when I was reading something about RFK, Jr. which mentioned her in the present tense.
You’re certainly correct about her belonging to a past era; very distant and almost unrecognizable from our own. Also, it just *seems* like she should have been older (and likely long deceased) because she was so young during Camelot. She was 32 when JFK was elected and just 40 when her husband ran for President and was killed.
Again, an almost unrecognizable era from today. But honestly, the 1980s, 90s and even the early 2000s are pretty unrecognizable as well. We were still a nation then, albeit one with fractures growing deeper. Obama certainly succeeded in his promise to ‘fundamentally transform’. By the time he left office, America as a coherent nation was pretty much gone. I think it’s entirely gone now. And I have serious doubts it can ever be restored, even if Trump wins (which he likely will) and even if he is able to slightly succeed at draining the swamp.
Anyway, long digression.
A family friend cooked for the Kennedys in Hyannisport one summer. (They recruited him; he did not seek out the job.) At one of our annual Christmas Eve dinners, he gave us the lowdown. The Kennedy stories were perhaps influenced by his choice of desserts for that dinner: liqueurs.
There was one Ethel story that remained with me, decades after the telling. As the cook, he also shopped for the food. One day, Ethel came storming into the kitchen.
“This lettuce you buy is #%#@#$!”
“I bought Romaine lettuce because it is Union-picked lettuce. You cannot purchase Iceberg lettuce that is Union-picked.”
“WELL!” And Ethel stormed off.
After that he purchased iceberg lettuce, and heard not a further peep from Ethel.
He thought well of Jackie, because of her concern for her children.
His final words: “The Kennedys present themselves as rich people with consciences. They are merely rich people.”
Not everyone in New England loved the Kennedys.
His final words: “The Kennedys present themselves as rich people with consciences. They are merely rich people.”
==
Knew my share of Rustbelt patricians during my upbringing. The vintage would be the same as that of Ethel Skakel, b. 1929 + / – 6 years. I never knew one who used foul language except in stag settings, much less in speaking to a household employee. Perhaps that tendency only kicks in if you have Kennedy sums of money…
Art Deco:
Or perhaps the story was embellished by the teller. Not Gringo; I mean the original teller.
RFK, Jr. is a truly remarkable man,as this obit he wrote shows, despite his various leftist tilts.
As a litigator, he demanded proof that vaccine preservatives were 100% safe, which I think is fine, for a litigator.
But nothing is 100% safe, and to flat be anti-vaccination is a failure of reason and knowledge of facts.
He is an attorney, not an immunologist.
But he has endorsed Trump!
There is nothing really contradictory about “reverence for the Catholic Church and irreverence toward its clerics.” The clerics are human beings, not angels! Rest in peace, Mrs. Kennedy.
Gringo quoting a story he heard about Ethel:
Art Deco:
Neo:
I happened five decades ago. I doubt the teller embellished what he heard from Ethel. It is more a case of memory. My memory, while pretty good (relatives always ask me for confirmation on dates, etc.), isn’t perfect. I don’t recall Ethel’s precise wording. IIRC, her wording was more idiomatic than formal English. It could have been “This lettuce tastes like crap.” It wasn’t “This lettuce is tasteless.” I intended “#%#@#$” to convey a negative, idiomatic expression, not necessarily swearing, but possibly swearing.
The teller has written books, journal articles, and managed a website. To the best of my knowledge he has never published anything about his time in Hyannisport. The reach of the Kennedys is long.