Kippy Kennedy was just the sort of girl I never thought I’d know. I certainly never expected her to become my best friend. She had so many things going for her and none of those qualities were any that I possessed.

Here’s a list. This is all I can think of right now:

  • Cheerleader–Head Cheerleader, I should say.
  • Good at tennis, proficient golfer and a member of the riding club.
  • knew how to sail–parents owned a yacht that they called a “boat”
  • mother volunteered and worked for various local charities
  • attended annual “Mother Daughter Ball”–see above. Must have been a charity event. I wasn’t invited
  • long thick hair
  • got her clothes at Pappagallo, but hated shopping–disinterested in fashion

Sure, I went to the all-girls school in Bay View (read: “where the rich girls go to school”) but I never felt like I would fit in there. That is, until I met Kippy.

We were thick as thieves and what I remember more than anything Kippy and I ever did together was the day I met her mother. Her name was Susan. I always had this notion that Kippy’s mother was a lady of leisure who “never had to work for nothin’”  because that was how my own mother described most of the people I went to school with at St. Joes. She always said it with disdain, like those people made her sick because she “goddamn worked for everything she had and it was still nothing compared to what those people had.”

The day I walked into the Kennedy’s modernist ranch home on Eliza Street, I got to know Kippy in a way I’d never known her before. At school, she was a cut-up, a loud-mouth, your basic rebel without a cause. She would skip class to smoke and still manage to pull off straight “A’s” in every subject (except Home Ec.) She got a “B” in that class for insubordination. She brought a snow ball into class in her gym bag.  She hurled it at the blackboard when the teacher’s back was turned to it.  Scared the shit out of everyone. The room got quiet and then Mrs. Pratt turned around (ashen) and demanded, “Who?!” Kippy started to laugh and everyone else followed suit.

She was just that kind of person–a practical joker–fun and funny. Kippy always knew where the weekend parties were. She’d opt for any that promised to have a bon fire or required that we walk three-quarters of a mile through the stickers just to drink cheap beer. (She brought a flask with her, of course.)

The drinking and the smoking was just another way for her to rebel. I always thought that people were like that when they had problems at home. That’s why it surprised me to find that Kippy’s home life was nearly idyllic. Her parents were busy like they tend to be, but they always made time for Kippy. They ate together. They had great vacations together and they actually enjoyed each others company. (Does anyone who’s seventeen want to be in their parent’s company? Kippy did.)

I met her mother one Friday in October. We had off of school for some saints day. She said, “Slim,” (that’s what she called me), “Meet me at my house for brunch. Mom’s making her famous flapjacks and applesauce. It’ll be a hoot. I’ve got some bourbon we can sneak into our coffee.”

We sat on stools at the long counter in her mother’s kitchen and her mom was dressed to the nines. Apparently, she had some meeting for the Children’s Memorial Hospital.  I didn’t see her whole dress because she wore a full apron over it. Susan was fixing the pancakes and I could see her take caution with her long slim sleeves. Her dress was flame red with an orange cast to it. I don’t think they make that color anymore, but back then, it was a such a fashionable color.  It looked was fabulous with her thick blonde hair. Susan wore her hair in what she called a Vidal Sassoon which I never quite understood, but took to mean “a sculptural and sleek bob.” Her demeanor seemed to have nothing to do with the way she looked. Susan Kennedy was warm and silly.  I can’t even remember all of the jokes she cracked that morning we had breakfast together. When I met her, I could immediately see why Kippy was the way she was. Her mom was a Beaver Cleaver mom, only with better clothes and a wicked sense of humor.

“Gimme a short stack with a side of applesauce, Ma’am!” said Kippy as she twirled around on her stool.

Mrs. Kennedy, said, “Comin’ right up, Kid. Slim, what’ll ya have?”

“Same thing!” I beamed.

She served us our pancakes, poured two mugs of coffee and whipped off her apron. Straightening her dress she said, “Listen dolls, I gotta run to that meeting. This I must do for the kiddies! I should be back after I get my nails done this afternoon. Be good.”

When I saw Susan leave, I caught a quick glimmer of the gold buckles on her structured dress, but those gold buckles were nothing compared to way her eyes shone in the morning sun as she kissed Kip on the forehead and said, “Well, Slim. I hope we’ll be seeing you around here more often.”

As she grabbed her silk scarf and her Gucci and ducked out the door, I thought to myself, “Of course you will.”