Chance meet­ing with friendly Sar­gent Shriver


I re­mem­ber see­ing Sar­gent Shriver’s sense of hu­mor fully on dis­play af­ter a chance meet­ing with him in a Se­nate of­fice build­ing when I was a teenager back in the sum­mer of 1967 (“Sar­gent Shriver, a life-long pub­lic ser­vant, dies,” News, Wed­nes­day).

The oc­ca­sion was a fam­ily vacation. As fam­ily mem­bers split up to pur­sue vary­ing in­ter­ests, the agree­ment was that I would meet my dad by the el­e­va­tors at the ap­pointed hour. L ike clock­work, Dad ar­rived at the el­e­va­tors to find me ami­ably chat­ting with a stranger, a stranger to my dad, any­way.

Kennedy-fam­ily fan that I was, I was mor­ti­fied when Dad said, “Stacy, time to go,” ef­fec­tively ig­nor­ing Sar­gent Shriver. “Dad, don’t you know who this is?,” I wailed.

With­out skip­ping a beat, Sarge grinned with amuse­ment as Dad briefly pon­dered the ques­tion. As Dad came up empty, Shriver joked, “Yeah, Dad, don’t you know who I am?” Stacy Har­ris


Getty Im­ages

Shriver: Died on Tues­day at 95.

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