May 29 would have been my father's 75th birthday. Maybe because he's not with us, I've thought a lot recently about what was important to him, and how we can make up for how much we miss him still. For years I've been reluctant to discuss this publicly; I still am. But I worry sometimes that the larger message of his life is being obscured.
I was a little girl when my father was president. I remember many of the same things people remember about me: hiding with my brother under my father's desk, riding my pony, watching the helicopters land and take off. I also remember other things that people don't know about, like the bedtime stories made up especially for me.
Adding to the fragments of my own childhood memories are the pictures and the stories I've grown up with, told by my mother and grandmother, my aunts and uncles. As I grew older I heard stories from the men who worked with him. And, like every other student of American history, I read books about him in school.
In putting these pieces together I have come to believe, more strongly than ever, that after people die they really do live on through those who love them, and I have always felt lucky that so many people, such honorable and joyous people, have loved my father. Now that I am old enough to work with some of the people who served with him, I appreciate again through them and their willingness to work in his memory how truly special he was.
But lately it has seemed to me that what I remember, have learned and know to be true about my father are being pushed aside. His name is being exploited in a way that is an insult to him and his presidency, and a disservice to all the people today who are working, in and out of public life, to make this country better. As painful as the endless speculation about the past is to my family, it is sad in a different, perhaps more important, way for others. Young people in particular have no recollection of my father and of the idealism and enthusiasm for public service that he inspired. And it is this larger idea-the shining message of his life-that is being threatened. We are already feeling the consequences.
When today's politicians are condemned just for wanting to run for office, we are missing a chance to make our government a source of pride. Our greatest leaders have also been our greatest politicians, and my father believed that polities was not only a noble profession, but the best way to solve our common problems. When I see people suffering on the street, kids hopeless in school, racial violence on TV-and I think about how short my father's life was--I'm reminded again that we don't have time to waste.
My family has always tried to remember my father by honoring what he cared about and by working for the things he believed in. But as it seemed that others were focused increasingly on his death, we asked ourselves what more we could do to celebrate his life.
One answer is the John F. Kennedy Profile in Courage Award. The award recognizes people who act with courage in a life dedicated to public service. It combines my father's knowledge of history and his desire to look to the future, his love of politics and his ability to recognize that a tough political decision based on a moral choice is an opportunity for leadership.
Courage was a virtue my father admired in public life. As a senator he wrote "Profiles in Courage," which chronicles the courageous decisions of great 19th- and early 20th-century politicians. Each year on his birthday, at the Kennedy Library in Boston, the award is presented to an elected official who has demonstrated political courage, who has stood up for what he or she believes to be right even if it means risking a career. When we established the award three years ago, people made jokes about how we wouldn't find anyone to give it to in politics today, how anyone who received it would immediately be voted out of office for doing the unpopular thing. But they were wrong.
The first award, in 1990, went to Carl Elliott, a former congressman from Alabama, who was defeated for re-election because his constituents believed his views on racial issues were too progressive. Last year's award was presented to Charles Weltner, currently a justice on the Supreme Court of Georgia, who as a congressman in 1966 withdrew from his race for reelection rather than run on the same ticket with Lester Maddox, a segregationist. This year the winner is Gov. Lowell P. Weicker Jr., of Connecticut, whose unpopular yet fiscally responsible stand in favor of a state income tax has subjected him to intense criticism, huge protests and physical danger.
I hope that by our honoring people like Governor Weicker other elected officials who may be facing tough decisions will be inspired by his example, and will make the difficult choices. It's a lot to ask, but it helps to know that people before have had the courage to do the right thing. And when we all feel we have earned our own self-respect, as well as the respect of others, we will find it that much easier to stand up the next time.
All my life people have come up to me to say that my father changed their lives. They joined the Peace Corps because of him; they worked in the inner cities because of him; they ran for office because he asked them to give something back to our country.
People feel that my father cared about them, that he led by example and that he let them know what he stood for and against. When I think about him now, I know it is all these people, and those they in turn inspire, people who share my father's vision, his courage and compassion, who are truly John F. Kennedy's greatest legacy.
Uncommon Knowledge
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
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