Slouching Toward Camelot
â€œYeah, sheâ€™s definitely famous. Or sheâ€™s from Worcester.â€
I was 14 years old, waiting for a plane at the Marthaâ€™s Vineyard airport with my friend Rachel. Itâ€™s a tiny building, and there were only two other people in the place--a man and a woman chatting together about 20 feet away from us. The woman looked familiar.
â€œI know that woman,â€ I said to Rachel.
She was slender, with good posture. My mom was a dancer, so I thought maybe it was a friend of herâ€™s that I couldnâ€™t quite place. She wore tapered black pants, a scarlet blouse, and big sunglasses. _Hmm, maybe sheâ€™s famous,_ I thought.
My family is from Worcester, Massachusetts, where my grandfather used to run a small grocery store, the Green St. Market. Growing up it was the center of my universe. So after staring at the woman for a while I said to Rachel, â€œYeah, sheâ€™s definitely famous. Or sheâ€™s from Worcester.â€
Finally, I figured that if I took her photo my mom could offer a positive ID. Rachel and I walked over and I asked, â€œExcuse me, may I take your picture?â€
â€œNo, sweetie,â€ the woman said gently. â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€
We walked away, and a third man approached us. â€œDo you know who that is?â€
â€œJacqueline Onassis,â€ he told us.
â€œWhat was she in?â€ Rachel asked.