William Sylvester Noonan - Forever Young : My Friendship with John F. Kennedy, Jr.

THERE ARE DIFFERENT areas of my life in which certain people have played an important part. None have made a more substantive contribution than my parents. In my fathers case, I did not have enough time with him, yet he taught me to always do the right thing, never talk down to anyone, and be willing to go the extra mile, especially in sales, to find excellence. My mothers devotion to her faith and her God is an invaluable gift that has sustained me in different periods. The extraordinary person who restored my faith and healed my heart is my wife, Kathleen, whose steely strength and perseverance have made all the difference in my recovery. Her parents, Bob and Lorraine Maguire, stood behind me and supported my efforts to write this telling story; to them I am eternally grateful not just for their support, but also for the daughter they sculpted, and for Dennis Maguire. Finally, there are my children, for whom I have oceans of love and who will understand how much I adore them only when they have children of their own.

Thanks to the team at PenguinClare Ferraro, Carolyn Carlson, Katherine Carlson, Ann Day, and their staff; to literary agent Gary Morris; the indispensable super agent Steve Mountain and his team at Cornerstone Management in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania; and to Dr. Bob Arnot, Kevin Cullen, Aidan Browne, Richard Kearney, and Billie Fitzpatrick, who were there when this all started.

I have been blessed with many friends, some have come and some have gone: My oldest friends, my Irish mother, Mary Ruane, and husband Michael. My friend Marty Galligan, who insisted I write this book, and his wife, Nancy. Michael Grace and his associate Lauren Puglia at Adler Pollock & Sheehans Boston office. Brian and Miriam ONeill, and Peter Katsikaris and family, who run the Fells Market in Wellesley, Massachusetts. My sister, Patty Cronin, who filled in the details. Mr. and Mrs. Sargent Shriver and their son Timothy, who has always been there with good counsel and friendship in triumph and tragedy.

ONE CANNOT have grown up Irish Catholic in mid-twentieth-century Boston without, at some point, crossing paths with Americas most famous family. There were many Irish families I grew up with that were wealthier, wilder, or more religious than the Kennedys, but none more famous or powerful, and none that left a wider wake.

Long before I was born, my uncle played football with Robert Kennedy at Harvard. My father, Tom, was recruited by him to campaign in 1952 for his older brother, John F. Kennedy, then a young congressman who wanted to become a senator from Massachusetts. My father forged a personal relationship with both John and Robert; the connection evolved from Brookline neighborhoods all the way to the White House.

Tom Noonan served in the Kennedy administration and played golf with the President when I was just a young boy scrambling along the dunes in Hyannisport, so it was natural, probably inevitable, that John F. Kennedy, Jr., and I would become friends. Our friendship was rooted in the fact that our fathers were contemporaries, political allies, and friends. And the bond grew, as we did, in the shadows of these absent men. (My father died when I was thirteen.)

Our friendship extended back to the days of Secret Service protection, teenage dances, and trying to score beer. It continued into our adult life of careers and marriages. I was his oldest and most trusted friendsomething John told me many times.

My role in his larger-than-life family has become clearer to me as I think about him nowas I think, especially, about my need to write about him. I was as close to John as his closest and most trusted cousins, Timmy Shriver and Anthony Radziwill; I shared a friendship with all three. I was an usher in all their weddings, and all three were involved in mine. We were like a foursome in golf.

Since Johns death seven years ago, I have said little about him publicly, partly because comments I did make were edited down to irrelevant trivia and partly to honor Johns privacy. Recently, however, I realized that it was time for me to reveal the guy I knewthat, in fact, I had to; many of the books and articles about him do not capture John at all. For a man who spent his whole life being photographed and written about, who was largely accessible to the media and then became part of the media, Johnthe real Johnremained elusive. The myths are abundant, of course, and began from the moment he was a little boy saluting his fathers casket. They continued to his death at age thirty-eight, and now beyond.

Sitting down to write this book, however, was difficult. It is rooted in my culture and background to follow a certain edict: If you are going to say anything, dont say anything at all. This is age-old Irish advice, and its a good idea to follow it. There is, however, another cultural tradition: The Irish are great storytellers. So I felt caught between two ingrained parts of of my personality. But something else is pushing me to speak. I believe that the storiesthe true storiesof the people we love create the meaning of their lives.