Earlier this year, I had a chance to talk to Christopher Kennedy Lawford. Lawford played Charlie Brent on "All My Children" several years ago. His book "Moments of Clarity," had just been published. The book deals not only with his addiction to drugs but those of other well-known people who battled and won their fight with various addictions. Prior to the interview, it had been revealed that his Uncle Sen. Ted Kennedy had brain cancer. In the course of the interview, I asked Lawford about living in the public eye. It was about being a member of a family whose every triumph and tragedy plays out in public. The specific question was about having to learn things about your family on television in news stories or breaking news reports. Lawford had been very upbeat until then. At that question, his voice lowered. "I honestly never learned anything major about my family through television, in the radio or newspapers. Uncle Teddy always made sure we knew things before we learned it any other way." "We" is an amazing gaggle of nieces, nephews, great nephews, etc. Lawford was very somber with that answer. He knew his uncle did not have long to live. He never said it. The tone was so changed. The sadness of a world without Uncle Teddy was palpable. There was also such gratitude for an uncle who really was a surrogate father to all his siblings' children. Words were mumbled about how sad it was about his uncle's illness. Lawford responded, "It is so sad for everyone."
Also sad was this week's passing of Dominick Dunne. Before Dunne became the greatest chronicler of murder trials, he was a television producer. His credits included many episodes on the famed live drama "Playhouse 90." Shot in New York, several actors who appeared on daytime dramas also worked on "Playhouse 90." As a true-crime addict, meeting Dunne was a thrill.
Lots of times, meeting someone you admire is a let down. Not so with Dunne. His son Griffin and I lived in the same Manhattan apartment. I spotted his father in the lobby and said hello. He wore the same round glasses, his suit impeccable. His voice reeked with culture. More importantly, it reeked with interest about the person with whom he was talking. That was Dunne's magic: He really made you think that you were important. Dunne had the ability to let others think they were the "star." In the middle of our chat, Dunne asked me a question about myself. That was the wonder of Dunne. He really was interested in the other person. The other wonder was his candor. He had just finished covering the second trial of the Menendez brothers. They were convicted of brutally murdering their parents. He was unabashedly thrilled about their convictions. "I know it is not politically correct to say this," he admitted, "but I always go to a trial thinking the defendant is guilty. He was alluding to the murder of his daughter, actress Dominique Dunne. He was horrified that her killer, a former boyfriend, was given only six years in jail and was out of jail in four. "I will never forgive the system for that." Yet he was gracious when he mentioned Leslie Abramson, the Menendez brothers' defense attorney. "She was a powerhouse at that trial. I just think she is great." That was the greatness of Dominick Dunne: He was aware of the good and bad in people. Most of all in himself. I was almost fawning in praise. It was OK to be; after all, it was not an interview. The ever-honest Dunne would have none of it. "Lynda, what you think you see is not who I am. In fact, for the first 50 years of my life, I was a real jerk. My wife, Lenny, spent our whole marriage dealing with that side of me."
To find out more about Lynda Hirsch and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate web page at www.creators.com.
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