Wonderfully written. I hope you’re doing well and am sad you dealt with personal tragedy so young but it’s beautiful you were able to help so many people as a result.
1999 was a remarkable time and I appreciated all the small details you included — there’s something about John in particular that will always call back to the innocence of that time. Thank you!
Benjamin, I'm not quite sure how I came across this essay after all this time, but what a weird and unpleasant article this is. I don't remember you—I don't remember most of that last group of interns— but if you thought George was so "brainless," why did you work there? And as for your reporting on me—I mean, yeah, it's absolutely true that I never loved my former last name. Whatever—we all have our crosses to bear. Other people (like you) fixated on it more than me. But I can guarantee you that no intern was ever reassigned for getting it wrong. I wouldn't have been okay with that, and neither would John. Nor did I go to Choate with John. As I wrote in the book you say you read, I met John when I wrote him a letter asking for a job interview. Didn't have a single connection with him. Also, I'm sorry that no one responded when you said that your mother had died. That's really unfortunate. But maybe they just didn't hear you. I mean—there was other stuff going on. Anyway, I wish you well with your career. Hope the substack is going well.
Hello Rich. I certainly am sorry if what I wrote upset or offended you and apologize for the error about the prep school connection; I've corrected that in the text and added a note to acknowledge the error. As for why I worked there, I certainly asked myself that after I'd been there for a spell. I think the moment when the editors decided to make a handgun that month's featured "American icon," or whatever it was called, was probably a key loss-of-faith moment. (One other tragedy from that year I neglected to mention is that my cousin's best friend was killed in Columbine.) I don't know why George actually had interns, except to save money on having a receptionist, since answering the phones was our only apparent purpose. There's no reason why you would remember any of us, since we mostly just sat in that little room behind the conference table. Although I was at your apartment to watch the Barbara Walters special, I believe it was, the Saturday of the weekend he died. I didn't begrudge anyone not particularly caring that my mother had just died; that fraught moment in time was clearly not about me. But the twin tragedies that I was a party to that year, one deeply personal and the other profoundly public yet largely impersonal on my part, made for a surreal experience in examining the various dimensions of grief. As for the tone of the Substack, I was looking to satirize a certain moment in American and media history while also remaining sincere that in the end, I was touched by what I came to know about the place that John held in so many patriotic Americans' hearts. Just as I was touched by how much he meant personally to much of the staff. I've thought a lot about that recently as the nation grapples with RFK Jr's impact on what remains of the Kennedy legacy. Camelot, like any halcyon moment in time, was never meant to last. And of course it has been romanticized after the fact, the rough edges smoothed over because of the tragedy that ended it and because of the natural effects of the passing years (see: George W. Bush's rising popularity). And while I read your book 23 years ago, it did mean a lot to me. As I wrote to you in a hand-written letter at the time, I appreciated that it made John into a man in my mind, and not the myth that he was for the general public. As I recall, you wrote me back. You got a lot of flak for the book at the time, I know. But I thought it was an important addition to history's account of his life. I hope you feel you have been vindicated in the end. I wish you all the very best as well.
Benjamin, thanks for this note. Rereading your essay, I think my comments were too strong; I do appreciate the gist of your remembrance, I just disliked the occasional cynical note in the piece. Also, the Choate thing irritated me because it was a point of pride to me that I didn't get the job there because I had some John connection but just on the merits. (Honestly, I felt John did a pretty good job of hiring people whom we didn't know, when no one would have blamed him for hiring people he already knew and trusted.) For what it's worth, we agree that there were some poor editorial choices in George, glib things that I considered out of sync with the best identity of the magazine. I wanted to address those things and return the magazine to the kind of substantive idealism with which it had started, but never got the chance to. Finally, I'm glad you liked the book, thank you for your kind words (then and now) about it—that took some guts, at the time— and my apologies for having forgotten you. You've jarred my memory and I do remember you now—one of the more vivid personalities in that intern group, as I recall—but there are whole parts of that time in my life that feel like a blur. Oh, and I really do think that incident with the intern didn't happen, but I guess it's possible that it did without my knowledge—interns sometimes know more about what's going on than more higher-up staffers. (Maybe Tsalem did it? He didn't like my book, but he was very loyal to me at the time, and protective.) For the record, I wouldn't have been cool with anything punitive regarding an honest mistake. I made plenty of mistakes at George, and more than once felt fortunate that I wasn't fired for them; I hope I would have paid that forward. Most of all, thanks for engaging. My well wishes are sincere. (P.S. I changed my name 20 years ago, so it always feels odd to me when people still refer to me as Richard Blow in a present context. Maybe you could fix that?)
Sorry, I’ll switch the note to “Mr. Bradley.” Regarding the intern with the phone-answering mishap, my understanding was that he wasn’t fired, he just didn’t have to answer the phone anymore. I don’t think anyone treated as more than a blip on his part. I doubt you would have even heard about it. I can’t recall who told me the story, but it was probably Tsalem. As for prep school privilege, I went to nothing but private schools myself and am only in a position to lampoon that world from the inside. How else would I have been at that job but for going to an Ivy League school and having my dad support me financially. It reminds me of the time I intended at The New York Observer and the other interns subjected me to derision for being the only one who’d gotten their internship by mailing in a resume. Everyone else just had a family member or family friend make a call.
What a beautiful memorial to your youthful summer, George, John Kennedy Jr., 1999, the whole shebang. Thank you for sharing this. You brought me right back to 1999 with your memories of Elizabeth Wurtzel, Cindy Adams, the 1/9, and the days when all interns were heirs who didn't need to earn money over the summer to go back to college. And most especially, the days when telephones were the most important way that information traveled.
One of the features of John Kennedy Jr.'s death that I thought was most appalling was that he not only killed his wife too by insisting that he fly them up to Hyannis Port, but he also killed her sister--thus destroying an entire family's future. Imagine the agony of their parents. The men in that family really used up their wives and/or abused or killed them (or other women, Mary Jo Kopechne).
Thanks for your kind words! I always wondered what in the world Rory Kennedy's wedding must've been like. There was an absolutely terrible film called Evening about 15 years ago with Glenn Close that had a somewhat similar plot involving a family death the weekend of a wedding.
Wonderfully written. I hope you’re doing well and am sad you dealt with personal tragedy so young but it’s beautiful you were able to help so many people as a result.
1999 was a remarkable time and I appreciated all the small details you included — there’s something about John in particular that will always call back to the innocence of that time. Thank you!
Beautiful writing. Your empathy for the callers is such a lovely note of grace.
Benjamin, I'm not quite sure how I came across this essay after all this time, but what a weird and unpleasant article this is. I don't remember you—I don't remember most of that last group of interns— but if you thought George was so "brainless," why did you work there? And as for your reporting on me—I mean, yeah, it's absolutely true that I never loved my former last name. Whatever—we all have our crosses to bear. Other people (like you) fixated on it more than me. But I can guarantee you that no intern was ever reassigned for getting it wrong. I wouldn't have been okay with that, and neither would John. Nor did I go to Choate with John. As I wrote in the book you say you read, I met John when I wrote him a letter asking for a job interview. Didn't have a single connection with him. Also, I'm sorry that no one responded when you said that your mother had died. That's really unfortunate. But maybe they just didn't hear you. I mean—there was other stuff going on. Anyway, I wish you well with your career. Hope the substack is going well.
Hello Rich. I certainly am sorry if what I wrote upset or offended you and apologize for the error about the prep school connection; I've corrected that in the text and added a note to acknowledge the error. As for why I worked there, I certainly asked myself that after I'd been there for a spell. I think the moment when the editors decided to make a handgun that month's featured "American icon," or whatever it was called, was probably a key loss-of-faith moment. (One other tragedy from that year I neglected to mention is that my cousin's best friend was killed in Columbine.) I don't know why George actually had interns, except to save money on having a receptionist, since answering the phones was our only apparent purpose. There's no reason why you would remember any of us, since we mostly just sat in that little room behind the conference table. Although I was at your apartment to watch the Barbara Walters special, I believe it was, the Saturday of the weekend he died. I didn't begrudge anyone not particularly caring that my mother had just died; that fraught moment in time was clearly not about me. But the twin tragedies that I was a party to that year, one deeply personal and the other profoundly public yet largely impersonal on my part, made for a surreal experience in examining the various dimensions of grief. As for the tone of the Substack, I was looking to satirize a certain moment in American and media history while also remaining sincere that in the end, I was touched by what I came to know about the place that John held in so many patriotic Americans' hearts. Just as I was touched by how much he meant personally to much of the staff. I've thought a lot about that recently as the nation grapples with RFK Jr's impact on what remains of the Kennedy legacy. Camelot, like any halcyon moment in time, was never meant to last. And of course it has been romanticized after the fact, the rough edges smoothed over because of the tragedy that ended it and because of the natural effects of the passing years (see: George W. Bush's rising popularity). And while I read your book 23 years ago, it did mean a lot to me. As I wrote to you in a hand-written letter at the time, I appreciated that it made John into a man in my mind, and not the myth that he was for the general public. As I recall, you wrote me back. You got a lot of flak for the book at the time, I know. But I thought it was an important addition to history's account of his life. I hope you feel you have been vindicated in the end. I wish you all the very best as well.
Benjamin, thanks for this note. Rereading your essay, I think my comments were too strong; I do appreciate the gist of your remembrance, I just disliked the occasional cynical note in the piece. Also, the Choate thing irritated me because it was a point of pride to me that I didn't get the job there because I had some John connection but just on the merits. (Honestly, I felt John did a pretty good job of hiring people whom we didn't know, when no one would have blamed him for hiring people he already knew and trusted.) For what it's worth, we agree that there were some poor editorial choices in George, glib things that I considered out of sync with the best identity of the magazine. I wanted to address those things and return the magazine to the kind of substantive idealism with which it had started, but never got the chance to. Finally, I'm glad you liked the book, thank you for your kind words (then and now) about it—that took some guts, at the time— and my apologies for having forgotten you. You've jarred my memory and I do remember you now—one of the more vivid personalities in that intern group, as I recall—but there are whole parts of that time in my life that feel like a blur. Oh, and I really do think that incident with the intern didn't happen, but I guess it's possible that it did without my knowledge—interns sometimes know more about what's going on than more higher-up staffers. (Maybe Tsalem did it? He didn't like my book, but he was very loyal to me at the time, and protective.) For the record, I wouldn't have been cool with anything punitive regarding an honest mistake. I made plenty of mistakes at George, and more than once felt fortunate that I wasn't fired for them; I hope I would have paid that forward. Most of all, thanks for engaging. My well wishes are sincere. (P.S. I changed my name 20 years ago, so it always feels odd to me when people still refer to me as Richard Blow in a present context. Maybe you could fix that?)
Sorry, I’ll switch the note to “Mr. Bradley.” Regarding the intern with the phone-answering mishap, my understanding was that he wasn’t fired, he just didn’t have to answer the phone anymore. I don’t think anyone treated as more than a blip on his part. I doubt you would have even heard about it. I can’t recall who told me the story, but it was probably Tsalem. As for prep school privilege, I went to nothing but private schools myself and am only in a position to lampoon that world from the inside. How else would I have been at that job but for going to an Ivy League school and having my dad support me financially. It reminds me of the time I intended at The New York Observer and the other interns subjected me to derision for being the only one who’d gotten their internship by mailing in a resume. Everyone else just had a family member or family friend make a call.
What a beautiful memorial to your youthful summer, George, John Kennedy Jr., 1999, the whole shebang. Thank you for sharing this. You brought me right back to 1999 with your memories of Elizabeth Wurtzel, Cindy Adams, the 1/9, and the days when all interns were heirs who didn't need to earn money over the summer to go back to college. And most especially, the days when telephones were the most important way that information traveled.
One of the features of John Kennedy Jr.'s death that I thought was most appalling was that he not only killed his wife too by insisting that he fly them up to Hyannis Port, but he also killed her sister--thus destroying an entire family's future. Imagine the agony of their parents. The men in that family really used up their wives and/or abused or killed them (or other women, Mary Jo Kopechne).
Thanks for your kind words! I always wondered what in the world Rory Kennedy's wedding must've been like. There was an absolutely terrible film called Evening about 15 years ago with Glenn Close that had a somewhat similar plot involving a family death the weekend of a wedding.