Happy Birthday, Mr. President...

JFK would be 107 last week. What Would Jack Do Now?

May 29 was the 107^th anniversary of President John F. Kennedy’s birth in 1917.

As a 63 year old, I used to know tons of people JFK’s age. My uncles, my friend’s dads, major still-handsome-and-pretty-movie stars all were from that era. Any 107 year olds now really should be well past studying reverse mortgage options.

I remember the opening line of Arthur Schlesinger’s book about Robert F. Kennedy said something like, “1960 was a hell of a long time ago.”

Yeah. That was in 1980.

Now we’re really in helluvalong time ago world. Anyone who remembers Kennedy clearly would be around my age and up, and anyone my age is certainly eyeing the shot clock.

But 107? I can imagine/not imagine how the world looks to JFK now.

Let us begin…with the Kennedy family.

Ask not. OK, ask.

Let’s start with his nephew, the mental patient currently running for the presidency of the United States in his head, Robert F. Kennedy, Junior. Very, very junior.

This poor man, whose father was shot literally on national television, has suffered like most children have never suffered. I get that. What I don’t get is that people haven’t seen through his national therapy session we’ve all been dragged through. Imagine RFK’s father saying or thinking any of the silly crap this narcissist spews.

I can’t.

His father also wouldn’t have approved of his ratification of Trump’s craziest notions. That he didn’t get booed at last week’s Libertarian presidential nominating convention is more a reflection of his nutty views than Libertarian politeness. After all, they sensibly booed Trump, but probably for the wrong reasons. Maybe they’d even boo Ayn Rand now. Not pure enough in her delusions, perhaps.

As RFK (junior) is poised to dramatically alter the course of the presidential race, as his sibs watch in horror as their legacy is squandered like a trust fund credit card, one has to wonder what Jack Kennedy might have said as well.

Jack Kennedy was the ultimate pragmatist. Don’t have the votes, don’t try it, can’t get it through the Rules Committee environment in which he operated now seems, well, quaint. There were severe limit on presidential power then. Now, the unitary executive theory has seized the GOP, and checks and balances are an inconvenience, a trifle, a speedbump. Same for RFK, Jr., who was raised by unattainable goals flashing before his eyes.

All that promise, all the potential, all the glamour, all the sailing, all the touch football, all squandered by Jack Kennedy’s loony nephew.

A lot of the Kennedy kids have served in public office, or tried to. Off the top of my head, Bobby Junior’s brothers, sisters, cousins, and nephews alone have produced two House seats, a state senate seat, a Lt. Governor, a serious Illinois gubernatorial candidate, a brother who looked seriously at running for congress, an Ambassador to Japan, and a couple giving serious looks to U.S. Senate races. And there’s more in the pipeline.

After all, Jack Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, and Ted Kennedy at least had the grace to serve in the military (U.S. Navy, U.S. Army), run and win congressional and senate races, and otherwise took a somewhat traditional path to power.

Not RFK, The Lesser.

He saw Trump, a dilettante and a cad, win. Why can’t he?

If RFK, Jr. had taken even the most elementary route (hey, even Abe Lincoln served a lap in Congress), maybe we’d be having a different conversation. But we’re not because this emotional ruin of a scion decided to run on name I.D. and ego.

It is self-evident what JFK might have thought about Trump: no class, a weirdo, a crank, a clown. His nephew? He should be a sailing instructor, maybe. A falconer. Or maybe a guy who sells Kennedy Nutritional Supplements on late night cable. But not running for president, an office held by Dwight Eisenhower, Abe Lincoln, Franklin Roosevelt, Theodore Roosevelt, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and George Washington, who threw down the gauntlet on an imperial presidency.

Jack Kennedy’s Camelot has become Scamalot.

In the words of a great actress of her era (she’d be 98, pal), Happy Birthday, Mister President. We miss you, but you wouldn’t like the New Frontier of Lunacy we’re living in now, in part because of the kooky candidacy of your nephew.