Charles Before We Called Him King
The Extraordinary Life of Charles Charles Philip Arthur George Windsor
“The road to achievement is littered with shards of broken glass.”
On November 14, 1948, Charles Philip Arthur George Windsor was born.
The name was not an auspicious choice for a future king. Charles 1st was unceremoniously beheaded by Oliver Cromwell. Charles III would learn that these days the status quo prefers to tamper with your skull rather than remove it. He was also about to discover an old media adage, “Fame is like a fountain. It goes up, up, and out.” Charles is living proof that an extraordinary life will be extraordinarily challenging.
In 1981, the publicity-shy royal gave an interview that sent the world into a tailspin. It didn’t take long to unmake the marital bed. He told the truth, which is the most heinous offense of the modern era, when a journalist observed to Charles and Diana, “You both look very much in love.” Diana replied, “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”
Charles responded philosophically. “Whatever ‘in love’ means.” Oops.
Lost in the kerfuffle was that fragile commodity called context. Despite raising more than £100 million annually, Charles was dubbed cold, aloof, and out of touch.
Four words are all it took.
With a shy toss of his forelock, he dared admit he was uncomfortable sharing intimate thoughts on television. The new world order focused a powerful lens on him and his warts. It examined every word like a virus in a petri dish. Charles was the perfect perp if you could get a life sentence for naïveté.
The “in love” soundbite was the subject of more long-distance analysis than Kim Jong Un’s haircut. Amateur psychologists fell all over themselves, connecting it to the ups and downs of the marriage, “he couldn’t even say he loves her.”
In retrospect, it signaled the beginning of the end in terms of public favor. Charles could never get the media world quite right, and society would judge him mercilessly for the sin of being a lousy storyteller. The meme would replay on Youtube and be shared by millions.
Still, with great irony, the interview ended happily, although few are aware of that portion. The interviewer said, quite accurately, “you look like two very, very happy people.” This time, there was no hesitation, and Charles said, “yes.” “ Diana added, “As you can see.” But no one saw.
General Stan McChrystal once noted, “you can’t defeat a network without a network.” For all its power and glory, the British monarchy lacked a network, and so it was nearly overthrown.
The second moment in Charle’s patchy relationship with the media was on June 29, 1994, on ITV, marking the 25th anniversary of his investiture. Charles touched upon his life, philanthropy, the Royal Family, and Britain’s future. But this time, it took only two words for assassins to shoot.
Reporter Jonathan Dimbleby asked if Charles had been “faithful and honorable” during his marriage. Charles replied: “Yes,” but then uttered the word, “Until.” He has trouble telling a lie, moving on, and telling another. Isn’t that the way public figures behave? Not Charles of the beheaded namesake. He said, “Until it became irretrievably broken down, us both having tried.”
A better response would have been: ‘Whatever faithful means.”
There is a sense now that truth is a variable. When we are offended or hurt, we cry. But if you confess truthfully, that’s nearly criminal. Charles’s sterling reputation for good works didn’t matter. That he and Diana were separated didn’t matter. That the marriage was loveless didn’t matter. Diana had dalliances (although unadmitted until later). Again, it didn’t matter. Charles was the future king, and kings don’t cheat or don’t admit to cheating.
As we sailed together around Newport Harbor, Diana’s death hung over us like a wayward kite. As you might have guessed, the fellow who didn’t know what “in love” meant had other things he wanted to discuss. Charles inquired about the boat’s maker (how would I know?) and whether the tennis courts in Newport were grass (they were). He suggested we visit the Mary Rose, Henry VIII’s ship that sunk offshore and Charles’s favorite.
Leave it to Charles to be obsessed with Henry VIII who had a few wife problems of his own.
We parted in the best English tradition. Charles saluted me like a future king and strode off into the sunset, reminding me of Fitzgerald’s line, “We beat on, boats against the current.” Not everyone’s idea of a hero, perhaps, but most undoubtedly heroic.
In all, a memorable time with a bloke whose lineage went back further than my ancestors ate with knives and forks. The day brought home a lesson. Would you lift the Sisyphean boulder if you could be sipping single malts at Balmoral while dressed in kilts? Why on earth would you? The answer is that somewhere in the recesses of his soul, there is a yearning to hold the torch high, even if being the Queen’s son got you squat.
Whatever squat means.
