By LEE N. HOWELL
Politically speaking

Not since the senseless death of Princess Diana in a car crash in Paris nearly two years ago has there been such an outpouring of international grief and concern as has been expressed since the world learned of the disappearance of a small planed piloted by John F. Kennedy Jr. Friday night (or, for those who were not listening to CNN's “graveyard” shift Saturday morning).

For those of us who are aging baby boomers and political groupies, this event had a great poignancy, indeed. More than a few of us could not hold back the tears as we thought about another tragedy in the long succession of tragedies stemming from such a hopeful beginning.

The first public figure we can remember getting excited about was this young man's father, President John F. Kennedy, who energized an entire generation and taught us to believe that public service was a truly honorable profession (or, as he actually quoted Lord Tweedsmuir as saying before the word became a vulgarity in the minds of many, “politics is the most honorable of vocations.”)

While many of us were not as lucky as our current President Bill Clinton (who, as a teenager, actually got to shake JFK's hand in the White House Rose Garden), we all followed JFK's meteoric rise in politics and we eagerly read all we could get our hands on about him and his family. And, we all rejoiced for him and his young wife when the child she was carrying during his victorious 1960 presidential campaign arrived and it was a son.

Thus, this “perfect” young family was complete — a handsome father (who was also the most powerful and influential man in the world), with a shy (but very cultured and intelligent) beauty for a wife, and two children, an impish son and a graceful daughter who already projected the spotlight-avoiding young lady she would become. Scenes of that young families' life are part of our American heritage: JFK Jr. peering out of the opening beneath his father's desk in the Oval Office, Caroline holding her father's hand outside of church and hugging him under a blanket during a chilly sail, the two of them playing in the Rose Garden with their parents and a dog given them by Soviet Premiere Khrushchev.

And, then, tragedy struck: JFK was gunned down doing what he seemed to enjoy the most, greeting voters during a campaign appearance and died in his wife's arms. That weekend, the nation — and, especially, our generation — mourned the loss of our innocence.

Yet, out of those dark days came a photographic memory etched into America's psyche — the dead President's 3-year old son saluting his father's flag-draped casket as it was brought out of St. Matthew's church following the funeral mass.

In an interview with CNN's Larry King, JFK Jr. later admitted that he really couldn't recall the salute, but, because he had seen the picture so much, it had become part of his memory of his life in the White House.

After they moved out of the White House, the President's widow did a tremendous job of protecting her children from the prying invasion of the media, but — in those brief snippets we did see — we all felt like we were watching as the children of Camelot became teenagers and young adults. (If it can be said that a mother's success must be measured in the kinds of children she raises, then Mrs. John F. Kennedy was a true success and her children are monuments to her ability to raise decent, law-abiding, children whose lives have never been besmirched by scandal.)

At his sister's wedding, JFK Jr. offered a toast in which he noted that since his father's death, there had always been “the three of them — mother, Caroline and I.” The President's widow is gone, and, now with the apparent death of JFK Jr. this weekend, Caroline stands alone as the only one true heir of Camelot left.

However, there are a lot of us other spiritual heirs of Camelot — in America and around the world — who are mourning once again and asking, “Why, Lord, why?” But, as at that moment when we look into the open grave awaiting the remains of a loved one, we know there is no answer that will salve our sorrow. There is only our faith to comfort us and give us hope. And, so, we pray.

[Lee N. Howell is an award-winning writer who has been observing politics and society in the Southern Crescent, the state and the nation for the past quarter century.]

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