Seinfeld, Sex And The City, Murphy Brown: his name pops up in them all. It will be 22 years this summer since he died, so a lot of people have forgotten what a big deal he was back then, especially in New York.
But John-John, as his parents and the media teasingly called him, remains the closest thing America will probably ever have to a prince.
When his plane crashed, only two years after the death of Princess Diana, it really did feel like the cruellest fairytale: the fairest prince and princess in all the lands would not make old bones.
I have always been fascinated by Kennedy, the boy who, aged three, saluted his murdered father’s coffin, and then grew up to become America’s most gilded of youths.
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