I met Robert F. Kennedy Jr. once. In college, a group I padded my résumé with hosted Mr. Kennedy for a speech. I remember him being a bit of a frosty prick, but he didn’t seem uniquely so. As aloof as a successful person who was born into “American royalty” might be expected to be. His vocation was saving the world via environmental activism and his voice was reedy and fragile, seemingly one solid throat-clearing away from productive use. There was a dinner held for him. It was lame and sad. A wan salad and food-service chicken breast, covered in food-service tomato sauce. During his speech, Kennedy upbraided a young idealist for his recycling, which wouldn’t accomplish much in Kennedy’s mind. Corporations wouldn’t be moved by this crunchy college kid’s quixotic trash-collection fetish.
I remember all these details from a thoroughly unremarkable speech and event and yet today I feel like my memory is somehow porous and unreliable. Because in all those bits of detail, I don’t have any memory of a straight-up horndog, macking on the finest ladies the University of Kansas had to offer. Must have been a “victory” day for RFK 2 (explanation to come).
Yesterday, the New York Post published a few scant details from a “sex diary” Kennedy allegedly kept in 2001 — a tale of sexual conquest and Catholic guilt. According to the Post, this environmental lawyer and Kennedy bro unfortunately chose to memorialize his own insane solipsism.
There are those who look at famous lawyers who leave a trail of incriminating evidence and ask why? I dream of sex diaries that dare to be read and ask, why not?…
According to his website, “Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.’s reputation as a resolute defender of the environment stems from a litany of successful legal actions.” According to the Post, Kennedy’s reputation as an insatiable lawyerly Lothario stems from a diary he kept, cataloging his various affairs and “lust demons.”
The Post alleges that the diary was found by Kennedy’s wife, who later killed herself. For a father of two and longtime married man to maintain a sex diary is sad enough. But since this is a Kennedy production, the tragedy has to border on parody.
Sexual encounters in the journal are coded as to completeness, with 10s being awarded to full-on crazy monkey sex. Or something like that. Here is a description of one fruitful day:
On Nov. 13, 2001, RFK Jr. records a triple play. The separate encounters — coded 10, 3 and 2 — occur the same day he attended a black-tie fund-raiser at the Waldorf-Astoria for Christopher Reeve’s charity, where he sat next to the paralyzed “Superman” star, magician David Blaine and comic Richard Belzer.
That sounds like the saddest dais in the history of Comedy Central Roasts.
Kennedy’s website lists his academic record thusly:
Mr. Kennedy is a graduate of Harvard University. He studied at the London School of Economics and received his law degree from the University of Virginia Law School. Following graduation he attended Pace University School of Law, where he was awarded a Masters Degree in Environmental Law.
And with all that book learning, you know he wasn’t out there banging dumb-dumbs. Nope, these were professionals in the most non-prostitute sense. And even included a lawyer:
Most women are identified only by first name in the ledger. They include a lawyer, an environmental activist, a doctor and at least one woman married to a famous actor.
There is an attorney somewhere out there telling HR this morning that she’d rather go by her middle name on the firm’s website from here on out. “No, yeah. It should read Hobart from now on. Get IT on that, stat. Thanks.”
When Kennedy was confronted with this purported evidence of a philandering past, he did what any good attorney would do. He swallowed a s**t-ton of air, steadied his now-wobbly legs, and denied the very existence of the evidence against him:
A Post reporter who questioned Kennedy Friday about the diary was first met with six seconds of stunned silence.
“I don’t think there is any way you could have a diary or journal of mine from 2001,” Kennedy then said. “I don’t have any comment on it. I have no diary from 2001.”
Well played, sad Kennedy bro. Well played.
The Post story has many more details (including the pathetic brand of Catholicism that had Kennedy guiltily declare “victory” every day he didn’t cheat on his wife), and you’re definitely encouraged to check it out. I’m sure they will milk this diary for all it’s worth and let details slowly leak out, like the prestige that slowly dissipates from the Kennedy name.
And finally, in case you labor under the mistaken impression that RFK 2 skated by on his famous name in order to pull so much tail, think again. From his website:
He is a licensed master falconer