7/20/99

Another Rambling Editorial from Jose

GAINESVILLE -- As anyone who is not incommunicado knows, on Saturday, John Kennedy, Jr., crashed his small plane into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Martha's Vineyard. While we all cling to a sliver of hope that, by some miracle, he and his wife and sister-in-law may have somehow survived, our hearts and minds fear the worst...more so as time passes.

Like so many people throughout the world, I have always admired "John John" for his poise and dignity, particularly in difficult circumstances. I remember his sense of humor with the merciless press when joking that he would pass the bar, eventually, even if it was when he was 95, and the elegant way he told the world about the death of his beloved mother. He was three years old when he lost his father; I was five. Like him, the things I know about my father are from the stories I've been able to gather from those who knew him best. When he launched "George," I remember thinking "this guy could sell ice in the North Pole, but will the magazine be real political news or just fluff?" And it turned out to be a GOOD magazine, one that filled a market niche and proved that when John John failed the bar, it was probably more a result of his lack of passion for the practice of law than it was a result of intellectual shortcomings, as suggested by so any commentators.

Of all of the John John stories we've heard over the years, I was reminded of one this weekend: the infamous shamrock tattoo. In a tribute to his Irish heritage and with a mischievous grin, John Kennedy Jr., the unofficial prince of America, the ultimate White Boy, decided to get a little tattoo reminding him always of his Irish roots. The family cringed in horror as the press got wind of it, and the mischievous grin remained, with a wink at the camera thrown in for good measure.

Here in North Florida and throughout the south, the bumper stickers and tattoos expressing that the person is "Proud to be an American" is often accompanied by decals or tattoos of Confederate flags or other bumper stickers about "nuking Miami" and the like. The south -- the U.S. region in which I have lived most of my life -- has a rich cultural heritage and a cornucopia of traditions which have made it a very special place, but let's face it: most folks spell Jose with an H around here. Truth is, after you go south of Ocala, you are pretty much heading the other way culturally...(to South America, some cynics would say!) Whatever your opinion, it is clear that there just not as much intercultural interaction regionally as perhaps in other parts of the country. Rural America -- south and otherwise -- continues to generally be a place populated by whites and African-Americans, where only English is spoken and where the "us and them" mentality towards foreigners in this country is most often visible.

Technically, I suppose it is fair to say that to say that you are "proud to be an American" should mean that the person IS indeed "an American", meaning the bearer of a U.S. passport. But is that U.S. born American any "more American" than a naturalized citizen? I mean, after all, unless they are direct, full-line descendants of Native Americans, SOMEBODY, somewhere, sometime, was an immigrant, too, right? I've been a U.S. citizen now for about 30 years, and although my passport lists my birthplace as Cuba, I sure don't FEEL any less American...I will concede that my professional role perhaps makes me more sensitive to this issue, but I trust you see my point:

When do YOU become an American? Is it the moment you take your oath of citizenship, the moment you lose your accent, the moment your first child is born in this beautiful land, the moment you obtain your first Blockbuster card....when? Or is being a true American a rare privilege reserved for those born on the nation's soil?

Humility, a sense of humor, tolerance, ambition, and an unquenchable thirst of self improvement were the hallmarks of John John, one of the truest Americans I have ever read about, watched, and related to. While his untimely end leaves many of us searching for answers, the fact is that he was on his path, doing the things he loved to do. As he rollerbladed his way through Manhattan to the waves and high fives of the Everyman smiling at a glimpse of him, this American Icon, in the ultimate American City, followed his heart.

It will be awhile before the media lets us forget this tragedy, and I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I really get troubled by the fact that one good man's death is more newsworthy than the slaughter going on in faraway places, at least as far as the media is concerned. On the other, as I turn 38 today, I have thought a lot about John John and the challenges he so bravely and nobly faced. It makes us reexamine just how fleeting time can be, and it makes us think about our journey through this world. (Since I am in the middle of getting my Private Pilot's license, you can imagine the other thoughts going through my mind these days...)

Perhaps the miracle will unfold and John John will magically reappear, bruised but alive to answer the questions of a cheering world. But I am realistic, and I know that's not likely. In the Kennedy compound, as the family has done so many times before, a group of the nation's elite is gathered, comforting each other. These Americans are proud to have preserved their Irish legacy, while wholly embracing the beliefs and philosophies that make this nation the most sought after by immigrants from the world over.

Say a prayer for John John tonight, and remember his shamrock tattoo. Preserve your culture while holding dear the principals and foundation that first led you to want to live in America, and balance both in your heart. Like John John, there are many of us who are proud to be Americans, despite our having been born oceans away...

Jose