When John F. Kennedy was murdered (for his virtues, not his vices), no attention was paid to the deaths of two other men that day: Aldous Huxley and C.S. Lewis. Two great writers–what do they matter as against an emperor of the west? Huxley is known for Brave New World, the best dystopian (prophetic?) novel after 1984. Lewis, a practical libertarian as well as one of the great masters of Christian apologetics, continues to grow in stature, and rightly so. If you do not know him, you are in for a treat. Start with The Screwtape Letters. Today, another death is ignored because of Teddy Kennedy’s passing, of natural causes, in his compound of seaside mansions. RIP. We are told, endlessly, that he loved, and was loved by, the other members of that criminal syndicate, the US senate. Great. He liked the Red Sox. OK. I suppose he had his servants shine his shoes everyday as well. Fine. Meanwhile, he was dedicated to ripping off working Americans for the benefit of rich people like himself, and that great enabler of the power elite, the state. Maybe that was the deal he made. In any event, to the extent he was a force at all, he subtracted from the sum of human happiness. Ellie Greenwich, RIP, died on the same day. She added to our happiness by writing such songs as Be My Baby. Let’s remember her. A friend asked about the Kennedys: what happened to a family that started out in bootlegging, a happy profession if there ever was one, and even opposed WWII, and ended thus?