The Joy of Not Being Jaded

By WALTER ISAACSON/MANAGING EDITOR

John Kennedy Jr. was one of the least cynical people I've ever met. When he was thinking of launching George magazine, we had lunch at a tiny Thai restaurant near his Manhattan office. I argued that getting folks inspired about politics was a daunting task. He leaned forward and placed both hands out on the table. "No, no, no," he said, his eyes wide. "People are less jaded than you think." He told me, with great passion, how much his father had relished the joy and nobility of politics and how he knew in his heart that people were ready to recapture that spirit.

He suffered a bit from being so good-looking that he became known mainly as a hunk. It was hard to play ball with him in the summer, when he always seemed ready to take off his shirt, because of the gawkers that would gather. But I was always surprised more by his solid common sense and the depth of his reflectiveness.

At his apartment or office, he would effortlessly give the impression of being just a regular guy (or sometimes just another beleaguered editor). Then you would glance at one of the pictures on the bookcase, notably the one of him crawling under his dad's desk, and remember what he had been through.

The topic that most fascinated him was how to maintain dignity and grace during times of both triumph and adversity. I asked him to talk about that at TIME's 75th-anniversary party early last year and to tie it to his father and mother.

He replied that it was his mother who had the true genius for grace and had taught him what he needed to know. And the one thing his mother would have told him, he said with a sad look on his face, was that it would be shameless for him to give such a speech about either her or his father the President.

Instead, he asked to toast former Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, an architect of America's failed war in Vietnam, to illustrate his topic. People would understand the point better if he didn't make it too personal. The important thing was to explain to folks that entering the public arena was an invitation to great sorrow but that it was a noble calling nonetheless. His toast to McNamara is reprinted below.

There are scores of moments that choke me up when I think of him. One is being with him a few days before the TIME party, when he asked if he could bring his cousin Rory as his date. He said she would enjoy the event and understand what he wanted to say. She looked so proud of him that night, and must have so looked forward to him landing his new plane and arriving at her wedding.

There will be a lot written this week about Greek tragedies and the awesomely inscrutable hand of God in the affairs of an amazing family. But this is also an excruciatingly personal tale about a very decent and solid and self-aware and funny guy, one who knew a lot about bearing great responsibility with a light but knowing dignity.

Walter Isaacson, Managing Editor