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Autograph manuscript, signed twice and titled at the top, “John Kennedy, Mommy, I Have to Write a Play, By John Kennedy,” comprising a seven-page handwritten English composition written by Kennedy as a student at the Collegiate School in New York City, circa 1974-1975. The play, drafted in blue ink on 8.5 x 11 notebook paper, is signed at the top of the first page by a 14 or 15-year-old Kennedy, who adds a cast listing: "Cast: John Kennedy, Mother, Maid, Sister." The first scene is set: "Opens on a well lighted room, a little boy is over at his desk in the corner of the room. His head is encircled by books and papers. He is mumbling various words."
Kennedy begins the dialogue: "John: Oh no, I have to write this stupid play for school. What an idiot I am. It's 10:03 on Sunday night. I'm just beginning this stupid play. I don't even know what to write. I can't do a play I've already seen cause the teacher might see it and I would be in trouble. For plagiarizing. I don't see why every one in school is so damn uptight about stupid plagiarism. If I'm too dumb to think of a play, then why can't I take something like Hamlet and turn it in to a farce. I wish I could do that. Oh hell (expletive deleted)…I'll go ask mummy, or sis or the maid. Boy I bet they will have good ideas. I'll ask mommy first."
"Mommee, mommee I got a play to write and I can't think of anything to write. Mummy—in a soft motherly tone: Well, let me see. Why don't you write about an astronaut or something. John (sarcastically): Oy, yea, sure. Mummy (in a not so soft voicer): Well, do you have any easier ideas? I mean do you have something that you want to start with? John (head down): Nope. Mother (angrily): Well, harupmh, lucky you have a long time to finish this play. John (pleadingly): But that's just the catch. If you made me go to bed at 11:00, I have about 20 more minutes. Mummy…John, I thought you had a sense of responsibility. I thought you were doing well in school. Well, God, if youndon't get this play done, no more television for you for a week."
"Sister: Yea, you big dummy. John: Shut up. Mummy: Don't speak to your sister that way. You just wait, John. When the whole world turns against you, your sister will be the only one to you to side with. I'll be dead by then, knock on wood. Sister: No I won't, not for a million dollars, not with that pervert. John: Oh shut up, just shut up. Mother: Really, John. You want to keep your marks up this term, or else you will be going to some boarding school with other little spastics who can't even crayon. John: I can crayon. Mummy: No but really, when you get a long term paper to do, do it. Do a little bit every day so on the last night, you won't have to cram…"
"John: Now I'll just write a play about a boy in Collegiate School who has to write a play. I'll develop the characters a lot like this: Mother gets irritable easily. She frequently doesn't follow the 'don't cry over spilled milk' theory, constantly getting mad because you shouldn't have done that two hours ago. Her ideas for plays are about as good as mine. She says, John, if Shakespeare can develop a play from stories, then you can do. Oh, do I agree. The character 'sister' is even worse. She suggested a play about a pretzel vendor who was possessed. No kidding. The maid was just too involved in doing things. She likes to yell at you when you get messy. Not really much of a character. Well, now that I have a background, I better start writing my play." Each pages bears red ink correction marks from his teacher, who gave Kennedy a score of 85, noting: "More developed and creative than you might think. Kind of stream of consciousness." In fine condition. Accompanied by a four-page typed transcript of the play.
Written during John F. Kennedy, Jr.’s teenage years at Manhattan’s Collegiate School, this self-referential play offers a candid glimpse of the future publisher and public figure as an irreverent, imaginative student. Its stream-of-consciousness humor, family dialogue, and anxiety over a looming deadline reveal a precocious wit and an emerging instinct for turning his own life into narrative.
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