He Was America's Prince...

(3 of 4)
The last radar signal came at 9:39, just south of Aquinnah. When they had not turned up by 2:00 a.m., a family friend reported them missing, and the search began about an hour later. The FAA began checking airports along the route. At 7:30, once the sun was up, the Coast Guard and Air National Guard combed the waters from Long Island Sound to Cape Cod Bay.

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear, the tent on the lawn looked like fluffs of whipped cream, the flags snapped at full staff, the caterers and florists prepared for the 275 guests due for the 6 p.m. ceremony. But by 8:30 a.m. the family was on the phone, calling the wedding guests, telling them not to come. And as it has so many times before, the Kennedy compound became the gathering place for friends and relatives haunted by fear and grief. They held Mass on the porch, with about 50 family members and three priests praying "for the safety of the loved ones," as well as for Rory and Mark.

Guests at the Sheraton Tara could just sit and wait, hang out in the bar, look around emptily and hug one another for a long time. Neighbors tied yellow ribbons around the trees and telephone poles near the compound. "We were thinking today would be the fun part of living next door to the Kennedys," said neighbor Carolyn Quinn. Late in the afternoon the caterers left, their uniforms still on hangers in cleaner bags.

Around the country the news spread and the vigil commenced. President Clinton was kept informed of the search's progress and began calling family members. Neighbors began leaving candles and flowers outside the TriBeCa building where John and Carolyn lived. The crowd at Yankee Stadium, where John had spent Thursday evening, had a moment of silence before the game. Churches held special Masses and prayer services, including one in Connecticut for members of the Bessette family, who were contemplating the loss of two of their three daughters.

Staff members at George magazine poured into the office, just to be together. "It's incredibly somber and sad here," said one. "We're watching this stuff on TV and it's all so surreal." Kennedy's corner office remained closed and locked. From his office windows, he had a distant view of the Statue of Liberty; on the walls were pictures of his wife and his father and mother, as well as political bumper stickers and a few photos of Kennedy himself when he was younger.

A whole generation born after President Kennedy died never had to answer that question, "Where were you..." The unfinished presidency haunted the country for years; in polls for decades after, people ranked Kennedy as the greatest of Presidents, leading historians to wonder whether people gave him credit for doing all the things he never had the chance to do. And to the extent that the man and the myth lived on, it lived through the family, and above all through the son who bore the name and the charm and the burden.

People seemed to admire John simply for the poise with which he moved through the crowd of echoes and expectations that followed him everywhere. "It's very good to be the son of a legend," Larry King observed to his guest one night. "It's complicated," John replied, "and it makes for a rich and complicated life"--as though he knew that he mattered less for anything he did than for what he meant to us.