The USA has the best justice system money can buy. So why isn’t Skakel smiling?
Gently interrogated by the police, murder suspect Michael Skakel threw the trump card: “You can’t touch me! I’m a Kennedy.” And indeed, the Greenwich, CT police didn’t arrest him, even though the golf club that smashed in the 14-year-old’s head came from Skakel’s golf bag, and he admitted peeping in her windows — and abusing himself. He put himself on the scene, owned the weapon, and admitted unrequited lust for the victim. But “You can’t touch me!”
If you look at the picture and think, “She’s cute! I’d like to smash her head in!” You Just Might be a Kennedy.
Martha Moxley was just one in a long chain of expendable blondes to be used, abused, and occasionally, destroyed, by the Hyannisport Untouchables. Greenwich is, if nothing else, a town of and for the privileged: “different spanks for different ranks” might as well be engraved on the cops’ badges. And Michael Skakel was, indeed, a Kennedy, a cousin of the inbred political family who have seen more of their share of crime and tragedy — as perpetrators, as much as, as victims. The Moxleys were well off, but considerably less-so — and much less famous, and less adored by the press — than the Kennedys and their cousins, the fabulously wealthy, and personally amoral, Skakels. An arrest was never in the cards.
Michael Skakel’s broken golf club, with Martha Moxley’s brains. “You can’t touch me! I’m a Kennedy!”
RFK’s wife Ethel, née Skakel, was Michael’s aunt, and growing up he and his four brothers and one sister were close to their first cousins, RFK’s 11 kids — a rum lot that would produce a couple of heroin addicts, one fatal overdose, numerous drunks, a babysitter rapist, an IRA terrorist’s moll, and a few people of even greater moral turpitude than that — politicians. Kennedys of Michael Skakel’s generation tend not to get asassinated — not because anyone but the rumpswabs at East Coast newspapers likes them, but because they’re simply not worth the powder and shot it would take even their drug dealers to blow them to Hell. None of the Skakels, born to wealth and privilege, ever amounted to anything, either.
Not only did Greenwich’s subservient cops drop their investigation with the alacrity of a homeless bum handed a bar of soap, but various Kennedy horseholders and knob-polishers tried to advance various innocents as suspects in the case.
The Skakel family themselves spent a small fortune — Dominick Dunne implies, over a million dollars — on a private investigation of the Moxley murder. The investigators, Sutton Associates, swore all members of their staff to secrecy. They followed the facts where they went, and where they went implicated Michael Skakel, and the family ordered Sutton to forget their investigation, but the report leaked out. One witness recounts “a time when, allegedly, Michael bludgeoned a squirrel with a golf club while on a golf outing.” This is a true rotter, from a family of similar worthless reprobates.
It took a book to reopen the cold case of the murder of Martha Moxley, Michael Skakel’s victim, and shame Greenwich into finally acting. This time, Michael Skakel’s hundreds of thousands of legal fees were not enough to buy him anything but justice. He went to prison, where he belongs, as Inmate 301382, until his lawyers’ machinations, and large applications of cubic money, finally sprang him. (Don’t get us started on the fact that hanging’s too good for Connecticut’s murderers).
The Kennedy power and millions never stopped working, and by sliming his elite defense attorney and everyone else, especially the young victim and her family who have been the target of a barrage of hate only Emmanuel Goldstein could relate to, Skakel has won a new trial, where he, and the Kennedy millions, will drag his victim through the mire yet again. Given that everybody understands that, legal niceties notwithstanding, Skakel is a murderer and a particularly violent and shameless one, his bail was set high: $1.2 million. For the Kennedys, that’s petty cash, and Skakel is out, menacing the public again.
We’d describe, in detail, what he did to Martha Moxley with that Toney Penna six-iron. But no one knows it better than Greenwich’s own Dominick Dunne, who also is our superior in the craft of the English language. Dunne became close to Dorthy Moxley through tragic coincidence, and wrote a novel with a thinly disguised version of the murder. Disguised because the Skakels and Kennedys were, and are, wealthy and litigious… and Dunne does not mention this, but the Moxley case illustrates that they are also violent. How violent? Dunne, in Vanity Fair:
They were large photographs, about 11 by 14 inches, and simply awful to behold. It is one thing to discuss being bludgeoned by a golf club; it is quite another to see the effects of such an attack. One of the blows had taken off a portion of the right side of Martha’s scalp, which was hanging by a piece of skin down over her face. You could see the wound where a short, pointed piece of the shaft had been stabbed into the side of her neck. In one full shot you could see that her jeans had been pulled down. I felt faint. “He had to have been drunk, or stoned, to have done that to her,” I said, not wanting to see any more.
But hey, the legal niceties must be observed, and this troubled thug is loose upon the world again. Do not offer him the loan of your set of clubs; golf is not his game.
Not just another murderer in an orange jumpsuit. “I’m a Kennedy!”
Here, alas, we expect to part company with Ken White at Popehat, who would tell us that the “legal niceties” are the only thing keeping all of us out of prison, and that Skakel is technically, now, “innocent” in the eyes of the law “until proven guilty.” And if he is not proven guilty because witnesses have croaked in the dozen years since his last conviction, as many of them have in the nearly 40 years since his 1975 crime, well, then, we should just take it as The Way Things Work®.
Well, we do, actually. The Way Things Work® is that a crapton of poor black underprivileged guys are in crowbar motel (or worse, executed) for murders they didn’t do, and a Kennedy cousin can buy his way out of prison. That’s our take on The Way Things Work®. (And it would be the same if it were a Bush, or Clinton, or any other wealthy political dynasty’s cousin. They may not be as disposed to substance abuse and criminality as the up-from-rumrunning Kennedys, but the privilege is there for them, should they need it).
Once, they built a society of laws, not men. Now they still say it is, while it is the exact opposite; and call that just as good. Hey, it’s The Way Things Work®.