Not since

the senseless death of Princess Diana in a car crash in

Paris nearly two years ago has there been such an

outpouring of international grief and concern as has been

expressed since the world learned of the disappearance of

a small planed piloted by John F. Kennedy Jr. Friday

night (or, for those who were not listening to CNN's

"graveyard" shift Saturday morning).

For those of us who are

aging baby boomers and political groupies, this event had

a great poignancy, indeed. More than a few of us could

not hold back the tears as we thought about another

tragedy in the long succession of tragedies stemming from

such a hopeful beginning.

The first public figure we

can remember getting excited about was this young man's

father, President John F. Kennedy, who energized an

entire generation and taught us to believe that public

service was a truly honorable profession (or, as he

actually quoted Lord Tweedsmuir as saying before the word

became a vulgarity in the minds of many, "politics

is the most honorable of vocations.")

While many of us were not

as lucky as our current President Bill Clinton (who, as a

teenager, actually got to shake JFK's hand in the White

House Rose Garden), we all followed JFK's meteoric rise

in politics and we eagerly read all we could get our

hands on about him and his family. And, we all rejoiced

for him and his young wife when the child she was

carrying during his victorious 1960 presidential campaign

arrived and it was a son.

Thus, this

"perfect" young family was complete - a

handsome father (who was also the most powerful and

influential man in the world), with a shy (but very

cultured and intelligent) beauty for a wife, and two

children, an impish son and a graceful daughter who

already projected the spotlight-avoiding young lady she

would become. Scenes of that young families' life are

part of our American heritage: JFK Jr. peering out of the

opening beneath his father's desk in the Oval Office,

Caroline holding her father's hand outside of church and

hugging him under a blanket during a chilly sail, the two

of them playing in the Rose Garden with their parents and

a dog given them by Soviet Premiere Khrushchev.

And, then, tragedy struck:

JFK was gunned down doing what he seemed to enjoy the

most, greeting voters during a campaign appearance and

died in his wife's arms. That weekend, the nation -

and, especially, our generation - mourned the loss

of our innocence.

Yet, out of those dark days

came a photographic memory etched into America's psyche

- the dead President's 3-year old son saluting his

father's flag-draped casket as it was brought out of St.

Matthew's church following the funeral mass.

In an interview with CNN's

Larry King, JFK Jr. later admitted that he really

couldn't recall the salute, but, because he had seen the

picture so much, it had become part of his memory of his

life in the White House.

After they moved out of the

White House, the President's widow did a tremendous job

of protecting her children from the prying invasion of

the media, but - in those brief snippets we did see

- we all felt like we were watching as the children

of Camelot became teenagers and young adults. (If it can

be said that a mother's success must be measured in the

kinds of children she raises, then Mrs. John F. Kennedy

was a true success and her children are monuments to her

ability to raise decent, law-abiding, children whose

lives have never been besmirched by scandal.)

At his sister's wedding,

JFK Jr. offered a toast in which he noted that since his

father's death, there had always been "the three of

them - mother, Caroline and I." The President's

widow is gone, and, now with the apparent death of JFK

Jr. this weekend, Caroline stands alone as the only one

true heir of Camelot left.

However, there are a lot of

us other spiritual heirs of Camelot - in America and

around the world - who are mourning once again and

asking, "Why, Lord, why?" But, as at that

moment when we look into the open grave awaiting the

remains of a loved one, we know there is no answer that

will salve our sorrow. There is only our faith to comfort

us and give us hope. And, so, we pray.

[Lee N. Howell is an

award-winning writer who has been observing politics and

society in the Southern Crescent, the state and the

nation for the past quarter century.]

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