Ethel Kennedy, Palm Beach & the Gift of Confidence

Ethel Kennedy

I was recently watching the John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette series. In one episode, Ethel is portrayed as a seemingly ruthless and formidable matriarch. Watching it brought me back to 1986, when I was 24 years old, her swimsuit designer, and visiting—more than once—the compound in Palm Beach.

I never saw Ethel in that way.

To me, she was always gracious and kind. Very friendly, and she made me feel at home among the rest of the family. In the evenings, we would all gather to watch the news, which was apparently a nightly ritual. Then we would make our way into her bedroom, sit on her twin beds, and chat about this or that event and what she should wear.

Swimsuit fittings were always the official reason for my visits, but they always seemed to be pushed aside once I arrived. She even asked me to reorganize her closet, readying her wardrobe for the season—though I don’t remember ever actually doing it. It’s funny how the mind remembers some things and not others.

Despite our age difference, I considered her a friend. I told her my dreams and even shared my plans to start my own custom swimsuit business, which I did the following year. I complained to her about my boyfriend, whom I had been dating for a few years. She told me I should break it off and go out with one of her sons. I don’t remember which one, but he always walked me to the gate and to my car—“just for safety reasons,” she said. I was never interested, but I knew she liked me; she would never have made that suggestion otherwise.

When I said goodbye to her just before my move to South Carolina, I remember her warm wishes for my future endeavors. I’ve often thought that if all this had happened in the age of cell phones and social media, maybe we would have kept in touch. We probably would have taken selfies together. We didn’t. We didn’t think of such things back then, and privacy seemed more respected.

I will never forget her.

She gave me a valuable gift: confidence.