John Forbes Kerry lived a superabundant life.
As I read his self-effacing narration of his recollections, I couldn’t help but think he must have taken the advice of legendary singer-songwriter Paul Simon who was quoted as saying that a writer should, “Find a quiet place…and use a humble pen.” It is in part because of Kerry’s unpretentious tone that I perceived his many accomplishments and experiences as all the more extraordinary.
The man’s public life was a tour de force of friendships, amazing encounters and a front row seat to the dramatic tragedies and triumphs of the last four decades of the twentieth and first two decades twenty-first centuries. His three-quarter century of personal life is equally captivating, he weaved both together in such a way that I found myself pulled into the wonderful “confluence” of his personal and public experiences. To me this was a big part of why I enjoyed Kerry’s style of storytelling.
As far as Kerry’s public life was concerned, it seemed to have begun on the days following the assassination of President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963, and it was as the black and white images of the slain president’s funeral flickered on his television set that Kerry made a life decision, which he described in this way:
“That is the night I made a commitment to myself that I would pursue a life of public affairs. I didn’t know what I would do or how I would made a difference, but I vowed I would."
For me, the moment of that quiet pact marked a “before” and “after” in Kerry’s life. Both of which were packed with unforgettable experiences. I was transported as I read his “before” childhood tales of reenacting the battles from Kirk Douglas’s film “The Vikings” at the real life location of the storied Fort La Latte on a peninsula at the southern border of the English Channel. His later stories of transatlantic voyages, school in Switzerland and the “soaring sport” of skiing captured my imagination, as did “The magic of wind and sail” of sailing, his “Search of Hemingway” at the bullfights of Pamplona, all of which were memorable. I thought I might have been reading one of my favorite “Hardy Boys Mysteries” when I read of Kerry and his friends finding a way to enter an empty Naushon Island mansion in order to unlock the mysteries of a piece of American history that was kept there.
But by far my favorite of Kerry’s “early” encounters was the occasion of his first face-to-face meeting with a sitting U.S. President.
The background story was that Kerry had become friends with Janet Auchincloss, Jackie Kennedy’s half-sister. One day Janet invited John for a day of sailing at their family home, Hammersmith Farm, in Newport. Janet mentioned that the President might be there as well, visiting to watch the America’s Cup yacht races. He describes the meeting itself this way:
“I arrived at the imposing driveway to Hammersmith Farm where a single Secret Service guy waved me through. I drove up to the front door under the covered entryway and told the one other Secret Service agent who I was and then walked into the house - no identification requested, nothing.”
He’d entered an apparently empty house.
As I read this, I tried to imagine how strange it might be to be invited to a friend’s home, then find myself wandering through the house in search of someone who might be there. After some time, Kerry finally encountered another person:
“Off to the right I could see someone in white pants and a blur polo shirt standing by the large dining room windows with a glorious view down the lawn to the water and the narrow spit that marks the entrance into Narragansett Bay and Newport. The person turned around and walked toward me, hand outstretched to say hello.
It was President Kennedy.
I reached out and said, “Hello, Mr. Kennedy.” I did not know to call him “Mr. President,” That’s how fresh and naïve I was. He didn’t flinch but said, “Hi,” and asked me what I was up to. I told him, “I’m working for your brother in the Senate race.” He said, “That’s terrific – I think it’s going pretty well,” or something close to that. Then he said, “Where are you going to college?” I told him Yale and rolled my eyes with a laugh as if to excuse myself that it wasn’t Harvard. He smiled and without missing a beat said, “Oh, that’s okay, - I’m a Yale man myself now,” He had just received his honorary degree at Yale and made his famous comment: ‘I now have the best of two worlds – a Harvard education and a Yale degree.’
To this day, I am grateful for the conversation we had and for the grace and ease the president showed to this young volunteer and friend of a relative of his.”
I found myself rereading this amazing moment in John Kerry’s life. I use the word amazing not only because of the uniqueness of this special moment itself, but also because of the way it was allowed to unfold. Like most people, my impressions are based on the images of the presidency I’ve seen in T.V., movies and the Internet. But I’ve also had the chance to hear a story of an encounter with a man who was the Vice President of the United States and was in the process of running for president.
The person who told me the story was none other than my wife Leanne.
It was in the fall of 2000 and she was on a business trip that took her to a medium sized city in Upstate New York. Her flight landed at the airport, and unknown to her it was the same airport that Vice President Gore was stopping at. It was right in the middle of his campaign for president.
Leanne told me that she was first to pass through the gate and into the main terminal, where there was a strange kind of hush hanging in the air. It was almost a “military type” sense of seriousness. She stopped walking, then took a look to her right where there were dozens of black suited men standing close by. She looked to her left to see even more serious looking security agents, and among them, about fifteen or twenty feet away, was Gore himself. They made eye contact, and a second later he smiled. She wondered if it was due to his amusement at her surprise.
Even as I write this, I’m reminded of how different Leanne’s encounter was from John Kerry’s, but even so, that didn’t diminish my amazement at how informal, easy and relaxed was this young man’s chance meeting with one of the major “history shapers” of the twentieth century.
As to another of the “after” period stories, I was enthralled by Kerry’s ability to “paint a picture” of his time of naval service during the Vietnam War. He was an officer-in-charge (OIC) of a Swift Boat at the time and was under orders to make the trip with his boat and crew from An Thoi (Cos Div. II Operations Office) to Cat Lo. He describes his experience this way:
“The start of the trip from An Thoi to the tip of the Ca Mau Peninsula was pretty smooth, but one we rounded the cape and met the northeast monsoon seas head-on, things became tough. Swift Boats were designed for the calm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, not the South China Sea. With a short bow, we’d crest a wave and, before the bow could pop up, it would run into the next one head-on, with each wave smashing against the pilothouse, breaking over the gun tub and cascading back along the boat. The gun tub was fitted with only a canvas cover. Seawater would seep through, spraying inside, dripping on whoever was steering the boat. Ultimately, everything was soaked. We did everything we could to tighten the hatches but nothing worked. The humidity was 100 percent and the windows dripped with water.
The Swift Boat travelling with us had started the journey with a non-functioning radar. No sooner did we round the point into the South China Sea than a huge wave swept over the bow, knocking out our radar too. It was such a black night that it remained impossible to judge the size of the oncoming waves. The key was to find the right speed, to try as best as possible to stay above the wave, but the waves often came at different intervals and heights. When there was a moment of hesitation on the crest of a wave, an extra push upward, we knew that the boat was going to slam down with a resounding crash, sending our spines through our skulls, inspiring a cacophony of four-letter words from the men hanging onto the decks below. The helmsmen’s seat had a seat belt, keeping him from levitating every time the boat hit a wave. If you were standing, the force of the crash could drive you to your knees.”
I closed my eyes and imagined the sheer terror I would feel in this circumstance. Soaked, shilled to the bone, sickened by the vomiting and swearing of the frightened crew and that feeling deep in my gut that this boat would crack apart, sending me screaming into the teeth of the dark and violent sea.
Apparently many Americans were similarly moved by Kerry’s written accounts of his time of service in the Vietnam War. For Kerry, it was the drama of the events themselves, his growing doubt in the ideological “Domino Theory” rationale for the war, his escalating mistrust of the senior officials, both military and civilian that were misreporting the “success” of the war and finally, the deep pain of losing friends in the field of battle. It was his friend Dick Pershing’s death in battle that galvanized Kerry’s very vocal protests of the war itself.
His written accounts, “Letters to America” also struck a chord with many people who were disenfranchised with America’s military involvement in East Asia. And after he was home awhile, the force of his war tales, combined with his vocal opposition to the war lead to a number of doors opening for him. His prospects became even clearer when he earned his law degree.
The telling of his rise from his rookie Congressional run, his role in helping the first Catholic priest to ever be elected to the House of Representatives to his days as Assistant District Attorney in the Middlesex office all move along at a rapid, but brilliant pace. As did his time as Lieutenant Governor of Massachusetts and later his successful run for the office of United States Senator.
I was moved by his story of finding his faith in the United States Senate, and was captivated by his accounts of the Iran Contra Affair. I was inspired by his dedication to helping the long distraught families of MIA and POW Vietnam Veterans get answers to the questions they had been asking for so many years when he created and headed up the Senate Select Committee on POW and MIA Affairs. As a “Senate Investigator” Kerry spent a lot of time in Vietnam and, unexpected to me, a meeting with a Gorbachev advisor named Yevgeny Primakov to help unlock clues to Russia’s involvement with American POW and MIA’s from the Vietnam War. This part of the story was particularly colorful.
It was a whirlwind tale of service as a United States Senator and later The Secretary of State in the Obama Administration. I was moved by Kerry’s tireless commitment to promoting peace though his role as a senior diplomat. I was amazed at the man’s ability to remain optimistic, even in the face of the weeks, months and even years of the “Three steps forward and two steps back” atmosphere of many of the trickiest international negotiations for peace.
John Kerry met Pope Francis, who referred to him as “The ambassador for peace” as he shook his hand. That said it all for me.
I finished Kerry’s book feeling buoyed by optimism and hope.
I highly recommend “Every Day Is Extra.”