The Boy by MARK WATKINS Wednesday, July 21, 1999 I never met the boy, but I sort of knew him. After all, I sort of watched him grow up, and I sort of knew his folks. They seemed like good people. What a cute kid. I laughed that he sometimes bothered his dad at work, playing with stuff in the office and interrupting phone calls and meetings. And it was fun to watch the little guy run up and hug his dad returning home from a trip. Was this a great country, or what? When word got around that the boy was an imp, I wondered whether his dad ever spanked him. That's what you do, you know. 'Course being rich and famous, maybe he just didn't get spanked. I never heard.

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I used to think his mother had told him to step to the curb and salute that day. Years later I heard that she had merely whispered that he should say good-bye to his father. Maybe she had told him earlier that he must be a brave little man now. Soldiers are brave, he thought. So on his own the boy snapped to attention and saluted his father, standing there in that little coat and those tiny shoes, being a brave little soldier in the cold. He didn't cry that day, but we did. For him. After that, his mama took him and his sister away. The years passed and we didn't see or hear much. Most of the talk was about their mother. I thought the damned reporters and photographers should leave her alone. He was a gangly teenager. And what a head of hair! He was going to grow up tall, looked like. But he seemed okay. He was making good marks in school, didn't get into much trouble and I was proud of him. Brown University seemed a curious choice, but... well, okay. But failing the bar exam twice? Lookie here, boy -- you think the rules don't apply to you? If that's what you think I'll personally drive up there and knock some sense into you. Don't think I couldn't do it, either. Now, remember who you are and get your head in the game. He did, of course, then got himself a job in the DA's office. Attaboy. A good move. He handled himself well when his mother passed. He showed great strength, and poise. And I was proud of him. The magazine was an interesting venture, I thought. I read it occasionally. His writing wasn't great, but it wasn't bad. Not bad at all. I knew he was out doing stuff. Adventure stuff; young man stuff. That was his dad's side of the family coming out. I just hoped he would be careful. Okay, so you're young and strong and good-looking; don't get stupid. It's fun to test yourself, but think. 'Course everyone wanted to know when he would take the plunge. Part of me hoped he would. Like his mother, probably, part of me hoped he would serve in some other capacity. Whatever, I would have rooted for him. I'm going to miss you, boy.

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