My Brief Friendship with JFK Jr.

Anyone who lived in New York City in the 1980s or 1990s ran into John F. Kennedy Jr. around town. Just about one of the most famous people in a city filled with famous people, he was easily the most noticeable--especially when he wasn't wearing a shirt.

When friends come to visit New Yorkers there is never a dearth of entertainment opportunities, but in those decades, getting a look at JFK Jr. was a highly valued one. I got to offer it to my guests a few times, always in Central Park where he biked and roller-bladed. Sometimes without his shirt, sometimes so bundled up he was hard to identify.

My only contribution to his history comes from an encounter I had with him on a summer Tuesday afternoon in the park--at the 85th Street entrance on the West Side to be precise. He was no longer living in the neighborhood. (For a while he lived behind me on the Upper West Side, but I am not sure if we were there at the same time. He moved down to 20 North Moore Street. The entire city knew his address.)

Our friendship began as I turned to step off the pavement and cross the roadway where JFK was sitting on his bike. He'd just finished adjusting his glove as I recall. Adjusting something. At any rate, he looked at me and I looked at him, making sure to hide any trace of recognition. (Which, when you think of it, is pretty dumb. The kid was on a stamp!)

I wanted to say:  It's Tuesday. Your mother owns a house on Martha's Vineyard. Your sister owns a house in the Hamptons. Your extended family owns a compound on the Cape.  Why are you wasting a beautiful Tuesday afternoon riding your bike around New York?

Instead, I said: You go.

JFK Jr. said: Thank you.

He biked away into the park and so ended our brief friendship. I don't think I watched him go. After all, there were so many years ahead when I'd be running into him around town. Or, so it seemed.

Clearly, we did not grow close during our thirty-second friendship, but the encounter did leave a favorable impression of him and convince me he was not so different. Why? I saw in that Friday's newspaper that he'd quit his job. When I ran into him, he had been doing what any of us would do: using up his vacation time.

I like that in a guy.

Note to Old Self:  He was truly that handsome, even without remarkable coloring.