Excerpt: 'Symptoms of Withdrawal'
Sept. 27, 2005 — -- Christopher Kennedy Lawford, son of the late Rat Pack actor Peter Lawford and nephew of President John F. Kennedy, was born into a life of wealth, power and privilege. But as his new memoir details, such assets did not prevent him from becoming an alcoholic.
"Symptoms of Withdrawal: A Memoir of Snapshots and Redemption" examines Lawford's legendary parents and his life as a Kennedy, as well as his road to recovery. Below is an excerpt from his memoir.
You can always do it wrong.
That's the beauty of life.-- Anonymous
What happens when you are born with the American dream ful-filled? The dreams that drew my ancestors here had been realized forme at my birth. I was born just off the beach in Malibu, California. Myfather, Peter Lawford, was a movie star and a member of the Rat Pack.My mother's brother Jack would be president of the United States. I wasgiven wealth, power, and fame when I drew my first breath. Now what?
My mother gave birth to me in Saint John's hospital in SantaMonica, California, on March 29, 1955, on the same day that JudyGarland gave birth to her son, Joe, in the same hospital. I was namedChristopher because my mom liked the name and had a thing forSaint Christopher -- the giant Catholic saint who carried the baby Jesusand the sins of the world on his shoulders. I received a Saint Christophermedal on every birthday until he was decanonized when I wasfourteen because the church determined that the evidence of his existencewas entirely legendary. My name lost a bit of its luster on thatday, and I remember wondering if the Church might be able to negatemy existence also.
The circumstances of my birth were further extolled because Judywas up for an Academy Award that year for A Star Is Born and the presswas keeping a vigil. Western Union delivered a boatload of telegramsto my parents from those known and unknown.
We're so happy for you both. He'll be quite a boy.
Love -- Jeanne and Dean Martin
Dear friends -- I'm so happy for you both and may I say youpicked my favorite hospital for this epic event -- and I'm aman who knows about hospitals. Hello to Sister MaryDavid -- Bing Crosby
"Quite a boy."
"Epic event."
I was just out of the womb and there were already lofty expectationsfrom some pretty accomplished folk. Uh-oh! I better get my s***together.
So thrilled for you both. Love Gary & Rocky Cooper
My aunt Ethel sent a telegram that read: What a difference a daymakes. Whew. Little Ethel
She should know. She was pregnant at the time with her fourthchild, David Kennedy, who would be born two and half months laterand become my "best friend to the bitter end."
So Judy's son, Joe, and I were born on the same day to movie starparents in Hollywood, California, and the media were paying attention.From the moment I came into this world, I have had a bizarreand constant relationship with the media. They were rarely there totake a picture of me or get a quote from me, but I was always in themix -- in the glow. I have known many people who have been touchedby fame. For most of them -- whether movie stars, politicians, artists, orcriminals -- it only lasts a short time. They go from ordinary to extraordinaryand back again in the blink of an eye, but the damage done canlast a lifetime. Once you have had a taste of the glare, it's hard to stepback into shadows.
My family has maintained its currency with the press for most ofmy life. Very little we did went unnoticed. A flashbulb or televisioncamera highlighted the ordinary events of life. Years later when I gotsober, I realized for the first time that I thought everybody on theplanet woke up every day and wondered what Chris Lawford and therest of the Kennedy family were up to that day. In fact, it was somethingof a rude awakening when a friend of mine pointed out to methat "there are a billion people in China who don't know who yourfamily is or more importantly, Chris, who you are!"
At the moment of my birth, my father was having lunch down thestreet at one of his hangouts, an ornate and hip Chinese bistro onWilshire Boulevard named for its proprietor, the mysterious and everpresentMadame Wu. He was throwing down some of Madame's famousChinese chicken salad with his sidekick and manager, MiltEbbins, and talking to Cary Grant about the current state of affairs inHollywood, as he awaited the call announcing the birth of his firstchild. Cary was reassuring him. Not about becoming a father butabout his career.
"Don't worry, old man. As soon as you get a little gray in your hair,you'll work all the time. I didn't work for two years, my temples gotgray, and it was a whole new ball game."
My dad began feeling a bit more optimistic, and then the callcame. He thanked Cary for the encouragement by paying the tab andbeat it to Saint John's, with the everpresent Milt in tow, just in time tosee my mom being wheeled, semiconscious, out of the OR. A halfhour later, he opened the door to her room to find her sitting up in bedwith a bottle of J&B Scotch, ready to celebrate. "Come on in, boys,we've got a big beautiful boy. Let's have a drink." A few minutes later,the big beautiful boy was delivered to his celebrating mom and dad.My father looked down at me, saw my rather pronounced oriental features,and declared, "That's not my kid. He looks Chinese. Hey, wait aminute, Pat, wasn't the gardener Asian?" They laughed. And had anotherscotch.
My dad was right. I did look Asian. I was born with a Mongolianfold, which means that my eyelids droop slightly over my eyes. Thiscondition is also referred to as "bedroom eyes" and I have milked ithappily all my life. Thanks, Dad.
I was the first boy born to a mother who was the product of a familywith a long and lusty tradition of glorifying and supporting themale. You can't get more fawned over than a Kennedy male. My motherhad struggled against the yoke of being a talented and willfulfemale in a family and society that didn't really care what the womenwere up to as long as they were having lots of babies. Her marriage tomy father and her subsequent life in California were early attempts tofind her own identity and be noticed outside of The Family. It's a miraclethat I was born at all, given the fact that neither of my parents wasthe marrying kind. They were both thirty. Although my mom was feelingthe pressure of being unmarried, her personality was like my father's.My parents were two willful human beings, from differentworlds, used to getting what they wanted and having their own space.They must have really loved one another to give up that freedom.
When I was a kid my mom often recalled how she tried to escapethat love. "I fell in love with your father the moment I laid eyes on him.He was so handsome. Grandpa sent me on a trip around the world toget him out of my system. It didn't work. I got to Japan and turned rightaround."
Like most women of her generation, all roads led to children andthe creation of family. Procreation was the necessary evil in the grandpurpose of bringing forth God's little angels. I've been told that mymom made the sign of the cross before engaging my father in the necessaryevil. I don't know what she was praying for, but she was pregnantwith me four months after saying "I do."
My grandmother Rose wrote a letter to my mom not long after Iwas born, advising her to write to the Lahey Clinic for high-potency vitaminsso she could "get built up" and "not to wear falsies that are tooprominent as they are not only cheap but tempt you know whom"! I assumeGramma was talking about my father. Well, it didn't work: afterme, they had three more children.
Three girls: Sydney, Victoria, and Robin. A blond, a brunette, anda redhead. All the bases were covered. I was the only boy, the oldest,the king. The way it should be. Pure Kennedy.
When my mother married my father she made a monumental statementof independence from her own father, whom she adored. Joseph P.Kennedy, my grandfather, was the man from whom everything flowed.He was the power, the money, and the brains. My mother was the sixthchild in a brood of nine. Her lightheartedness and vibrancy made her mygrandfather's favorite. My mom called him Daddy, and his actions andwords were glorified and sanctified. His story was legend: bank presidentat thirty, friend and confidant to FDR, ambassador to the Court of SaintJames, Securities and Exchange Commission chairman, Hollywoodmogul, and go-to guy in all things political. More than any male in mylife, my grandfather represented everything a male should be. As I saw it,he was the architect of our world. There was a sense that everything theKennedy family was came about as a direct result of my grandfather'swill. On September 7, 1957, my grandfather predicted in an interview inthe Saturday Evening Post that someday one of his sons would be president,one would be attorney general, and another would be a UnitedStates senator -- all this simultaneously.
It was not just about money and power with my grandfather. Hewas first and foremost about family. His will to power and wealth wasabout protecting his family. His kids loved him more than they fearedor respected him. My mom told me when I was young, "Grandpa gaveeach of us a million dollars when we turned twenty-five. All of hisfriends told him not to do it, saying his kids wouldn't give him the timeof day if they got all that money. It wasn't true. We all still can't wait tocome home." You couldn't keep my mom and her siblings away from"Daddy and Mother." Later I figured out that although Grandpa gavehis children the money to realize their independence, he never taughtthem what to do with it. I always assumed this was because he felt theywere meant for higher pursuits. But it might have been about control.
There was no more dominant force in our world than "Daddy,"and my mom was his little girl. My dad said to me that "your mother'slove for her father took precedence over her love for me."
There is a thin line between love and hate. On the other side ofthis adoration for her father was a deep anger and resentment at not beingallowed fully to live up to her potential. My mom also inherited mygrandfather's interest in dramatics. And she was good at it.
"You know," she would say to me and my sisters, "before all of youwere born and ruined my life I was a television producer for FatherPeyton's Family Rosary Crusade, the program that made 'the familythat prays together stays together' a household phrase and was seen allover the country." She was only half kidding. My mom had the talentto get her share of accolades in the professional world, and though shewore "putting her children first" as a badge of honor, I think she resentedthe limitation. Her proprietary outlook toward all thingsKennedy was her way of participating in the bigger picture of the family'saccomplishments.
My mother was more like my grandfather than were any of her siblings.She had a mind for money, a strong independent streak, and shecould cut you off at the knees with "the look" just like the Old Man.There was no mistaking it when Joe Kennedy was unhappy with you.His displeasure burned in his eyes and straight into whoever was unluckyenough to cross him. I don't recall ever getting "the look" frommy grandfather, but my mom more than made up for it so I have someidea just how unpleasant it might have been. My mother also had herfather's instinct and luck when it came to making money. My grandfatheroften said that, "The one with the best business head is Pat. Ifshe put her mind to it, she could easily take over the business."
I was seven when my grandfather became incapacitated with astroke. My mom found out about it in December 1961 while she wasdriving my sisters and me to lunch. A stranger stopped her and said hehad just heard on the radio that her "father just had a stroke." The onlyvivid recollection I have of him before his stroke was in a park inWashington on a cold day in January before going to PresidentKennedy's inauguration. He was wearing a topcoat and a hat. It was excitingto be with this man, who made my mother beam as he pushedme on a swing, saying, "You are going higher and higher, Christopher.You are going to fly like an eagle." Then he was gone. The next time Isaw him he was in a wheelchair, but for the rest of my life, the voice inmy head that only allows perfection and questions my choices wouldbelong to my grandpa, Joseph P. Kennedy.
Shortly after the inauguration my mom shipped me back to Californiawhile she stayed on in Washington to make sure all was goingwell at the White House. A month later she sent me a note on WhiteHouse stationery:
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