RFK Jr. Was My Drug Dealer (2024)

T

he leading third-party candidate for president—an environmental lawyer and activist, a son and nephew of legendary liberal Democratic politicians—just quit the race and announced that he is joining the campaign of the most anti-environment president and presidential nominee in recent history, the leader of a Republican Party he has turned into a right-wing, anti-democratic, protofascist personality cult.

I could go on and on and on, cataloging the contradictions and abandonment of principle, all gobsmacking.

But Donald Trump and Bobby Kennedy—as I’ve referred to Robert F. Kennedy Jr. since we met freshman year at Harvard—have always had many features in common as well. Both are entitled playboy sons of northeastern wealth; both (in Michelle Obama’s words) were “afforded the grace of failing forward” as misbehaving, underachieving adolescents admitted to Ivy League colleges thanks to “the affirmative action of generational wealth”; both were reckless lifelong adolescents, both attention-craving philanderers and liars, both jerks. And Kennedy’s hour-long speech today was nearly as meandering and filled with lies as any average hour of Trump.

On the subject of reckless-adolescent entitlement, I’ve got one Bobby Kennedy anecdote to tell. But it’s actually relevant to his endorsem*nt of Donald Trump for president and his apparent expectation of joining a second Trump administration.

In Kennedy’s speech today, he spoke at length about federal pharmaceutical regulation and programs addressing chronic disease. “I’m going to change that,” he said, promising to “staff” the health agencies very differently. “Within four years, America will be a healthy country … if President Trump is elected and honors his word.” Trump, he added, “has told me that he wants this to be his legacy.”

My Bobby Kennedy story involves pharmaceuticals—not the legal, lifesaving kind, such as the vaccines he’s made a career of lying about, but the recreational kind.

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The dealer was Bobby Kennedy. I’d never met him. I got in touch; he said sure, come over to his room in Hurlbut, his dorm, where I’d never been, a five-minute walk. His roommate, whom I knew, was the future journalist Peter Kaplan—with whom I, like Kennedy, remained friends for the rest of his life. He left as I arrived. I wondered whether he always did that when Bobby had customers.

“Hi. Bobby,” Kennedy introduced himself. Another kid, tall, lanky, and handsome, was in the room. “This is my brother Joe.” That is, Joseph P. Kennedy II, two years older, the future six-term Massachusetts congressman.

Bobby Kennedy wasn’t famous, but he was the most famous person I’d ever met.

He poured out a line for me to sample, and handed me an inch-and-a-half length of plastic drinking straw. I snorted. We chatted for a minute. I paid him, I believe, $40 in cash. It was a lot of money, the equivalent of $300 today. But cocaine bought from a Kennedy accompanied by a Kennedy brother—the moment of glamour seemed worth it.

Back in my dorm room 10 minutes later, I got a phone call.

“Hello?”
“It’s Bobby.”
“Hi.”
“You took my straw!”
I realized that I had indeed, and had thought nothing of it. Because … it was a crummy piece of plastic straw. But Bobby was pissed.
“There are crystals inside it, man, growing. You took it.”
Growing? The residue of powdered cocaine mixed with mucus formed crystals over time? What did I know. It reminded me of some science-fair project.
“So … you want the straw back?”
“Yeah, man.”
I walked it back to his room. He didn’t smile or say thanks. It was the last time I ever bought co*ke from anyone.

A famous rich boy selling a hard drug that could’ve gotten him—or, more precisely, someone who wasn’t him—a years-long prison sentence. His almost fetishistic obsession with a bit of plastic trash. His greedy little burst of anger cloaked in righteousness. His faith that he was cultivating precious cocaine crystals. In retrospect, it has seemed to me a tiny illustration of the child as the father of the man he became: fantastical pseudoscientific crusader, middle-aged preppy dick who takes selfies with barbecued dogs and plays pranks with roadkill bear cubs he didn’t have time to eat.

But the reason I decided finally to share this anecdote is because of a criminal-justice policy advocated by the presidential candidate he’s just endorsed. It’s another of those many spectacular contradictions I mentioned earlier.

That is, Donald Trump, if he becomes president as Kennedy is now working to make happen, wants to start executing drug dealers. He said so in a speech as president in 2018: “These are terrible people, and we have to get tough on those people, because … if we don’t get tough on the drug dealers, we’re wasting our time … And that toughness includes the death penalty … We’re gonna solve this problem … We’re gonna solve it with toughness … That’s what they most fear."

He said it again in 2022 when he announced his current candidacy: “We’re going to be asking [Congress to pass a law that] everyone who sells drugs, gets caught selling drugs, [is] to receive the death penalty for their heinous acts.”

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And at a campaign rally this past April, he elaborated at length on his plan to kill drug dealers: “The only thing they understand is strength. They understand strength—and it’ll all stop.” Our policy, he explained, should be like that in the country he otherwise demonizes the most. “When I met with President Xi of China, I said, ‘Do you have a drug problem?’ ‘No no no,’ [he said,] ‘we have no drug problem.’ [I said,] ‘Why is that?’ ‘Quick trial!’ I said, ‘Tell me about a quick trial.’ When they catch the seller of drugs, the purveyor of drugs, the drug dealers, they immediately give them a trial. It takes one day. One day. At the end of that day, if they’re guilty, which they always are … within one day, that person is executed. They execute the drug dealers. They have zero drug problem. Zero.”

And so, one question for reporters to ask the new Trump campaigner and potential Trump-administration official Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is something like this: The candidate you’re campaigning for, in whose administration you apparently intend to serve, wants our laws rewritten so that drug dealers, particularly those who sell narcotics, face capital punishment. Given that you sold cocaine in your youth, how do you feel about his advocacy of a regime that might have resulted in your own execution at age 19?

Editor’s Note: The Kennedy campaign did not reply to requests for comment on this story.