Monday, July 29, 2019


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CRC Blog On RoseMarie Terenzio’s 
Fairy Tale Interrupted: A Memoir of Life, Love, and Loss
“Once Upon A Time”
       I love to read anything about the Kennedys – because it makes me feel a stronger connection with my mother who passed away on New Year’s Eve 2003.  She was fascinated with Kennedys.  In fact when President Kennedy was assassinated she and her best friend Sandy, who now lives somewhere in Australia, attended church night services where they walked down the aisle and prayed in the pulpit, dedicating their lives to God to live and look as much like First Lady Jacqueline Lee Bouvier Kennedy as possible.  Of course, naturally, my mother outgrew this commitment and fortunately God did not take her seriously.  She married my father in June of 1966 and went on to have three children my older sister, my brother eight years my junior, and myself.
     My mother passed on her love of the Kennedys to me, and, when I was 12 years old, gave me my first ever People Magazine with John F Kennedy Jr. and his older sister Caroline Kennedy on the cover.  I still have that magazine and thought it is tattered and well read – it is only of sentimental value – something that reminds me of my mom so much more important than my fascination with the Kennedys;  the Kennedys just a way to connect with my mother.

       On January 24, 2012, Gallery Books published RoseMarie Terenzio’s memoir Fairy Tale Interrupted:  A Memoir of Life, Love, And Loss with book design by Davina Mock-Maniscalco; Design by Janet Perr; Front Cover Photograph by Evan Agostini/Getty Images; and Back cover photo by Christian Lucidi. 

Gallery Books Web Page Link

Gallery Books Facebook Link

RoseMarie Terenzio’s Memoir Web Link

RoseMarie Terenzio’s Public Relations Web Link

RoseMarie Terenzio’s Facebook Link

Facebook Link

Janet Perr Web Page

Janet Perr Facebook Link

Evan Agostini Web Page

Evan Agostini Facebook Page

     After I read Rosemarie Terenzio’s book I am convinced that she and I both walked in the same shoes – thinking it a fairy tale to be a part of the Kennedy mystique; only to realize in the end that it is our roots, our own family, that make us the valuable individuals we are.

     At first readers will think Fairy Tale Interrupted: A Memoir of Life, Love and Loss is referring to the supposedly fairy tale romance of John F. Kennedy Jr. and his wife of almost three years Carolyn Jeanne Bessette-Kennedy, who, along with Carolyn’s older twin sister Lauren, died in an airplane crash piloted by John F. Kennedy Jr. on July 16, 1999; but they would be wrong.  
     Fairy Tale Interrupted:  A Memoir of Life, Love, and Loss is about Rosemarie’s fairy tale friendship with John F Kennedy Jr. Rosemarie was John F Kennedy Jr.’s personal assistant, publicist, and personal confidante from 1994 until his death in 1999 during the years that he was working almost 24/7 on his political/pop culture magazine GEORGE.  . .
Rosemarie’s fairy tale begins when, once upon a time, Rosemarie Terenzio is born in January of 1966, to an Italian and Catholic couple, Anthony and Marion Terenzio, who were blue-collar hard workers.  Her father Anthony was a staunch Republican who did not think highly of Democrats, especially the Kennedy family.  Anthony owned several businesses that never seemed to prosper; nonetheless, he was a hard worker and loved his daughters. 
RoseMarie’s mother Marion worked at least two jobs to put food on the table for RoseMarie and her three older sisters:  Anita, Andrea, and Amy.  The family of six had plenty of love, plenty of affection, plenty of emotion, and plenty of dedication but they never seemed to have plenty of money.
     Marion was known for her fierce love for her four daughters, her Catholic faith, and drinking black coffee and chain-smoking Kool cigarettes.  Marion was also known for that famous Sicilian temper that could stand up to the wrath of God. 
One of RoseMarie’s first memories is when she is six years old on Christmas day, running to the kitchen where her mother was seated drinking black coffee and smoking Kool cigarettes.  The little girl was holding her baby doll she received for Christmas, telling her mother that she was bored because she didn’t get enough fun gifts. Her mother responded by snatching the doll, slamming it against the wall, and then throwing the mangled body at her six-year-old daughter who was crying.
Another memory was when her mother cleaned her room but within two days daughter RoseMarie made a cyclone mess of her room.  Her mother came in, and gathered everything on the floor, tossed it into her doll’s crib, and then opened the window and dumped the contents on the family’s front porch.
But nothing could rile her mother’s Sicilian temper to the boiling point than when she was protecting her daughters, particularly her youngest child RoseMarie.  The priests made it a rule that in order for children to get their report cards they had to be up to date on their payments for the St. Dominic’s Catholic school, where RoseMarie attended as a third grader.  RoseMarie described her parents as never having two dimes to rub together.  So when report cards were due RoseMarie came home empty handed and was crying at the kitchen table.  Her mother asked her what was wrong and RoseMarie told her.  Marion called the Bishop to explain the situation and asked him to change their policy and he refused.  Two days later on a Sunday, the Bishop greeted Marion and her four daughters at Catholic Mass.

     “Good morning, Mrs. Terenzio,” he said, putting his ring out for her to kiss. 

“Bishop, you can kiss my ass before I’ll kiss that ring.”

My report card was waiting for me at school on Monday morning.

       RoseMarie recognized that yes her mom had a temper, and yes she inherited her temper from her mom but her temper became her asset enabling her along with good Italian hard work to achieve her dreams of education and working as a junior-level publicist at a midtown PR company and then finally landing a job with the Manhattan pubic relations firm, PR/NY owned by Michael J. Berman (Below).

     Soon she would meet Michael J. Berman’s future partner John F Kennedy Jr. in what would be a frustrating meeting.   She buzzed in a man she did not recognize but each time she entered the code they would reach for the knob at the same time, making her have to do the code all over again.  Finally after numerous times she expressed her frustration with him.

“You have to let go of the knob,” I said, getting more frustrated.

       “Sorry,” came the muted reply.

       One again I entered the code and was finally able to open the door,

 Rosemarie had enough respect to know she was rude to John F Kennedy Jr. but that is where it ended.  As she writes in Fairy Tale Interrupted, there were two kinds of people – those who obsessed over the Kennedys and those who did not.  And she was of the later.   So her view of JFK Jr. was not that complimentary and in fact was a view of frustration.  And her frustration only increased when days later she walked into her cozy little office to find John and another man placing all of her possessions into a cardboard box, along with her picture of celebrity idol and crush Howard Stern removed from her office wall.

       “Michael said it was okay for me to movie in here.” John said

       “Well , it’s not okay.”

       “We can figure this out.”  John said.

       Figure this out?  Clearly we’re not figuring out anything, because you have already packed everything up!”     
       “I’m sure we can find some sort of solution.”

       “I don’t know why you need an office, anyway.  You don’t even have a job.”


       “Maybe you get away with this everywhere else you go, but not here.”


       RoseMarie learns from her boss Michael J. Berman that she still has a job but must move to a different office along with a retort that she could have been arrested in some states for the way she talked to John.  RoseMarie could care less.  In fact she was furious and decided to do what her mother would do with that very silent and dangerous Sicilian temper:  ignore John.
       For weeks John would come to the office and say good morning specifically to her and she would ignore him  In fact when she first noticed him she would immediately pick up the phone and act like she was talking to someone until he disappeared from her compete view.  After a month John tried a different approach.

“Good morning, Rose.”

       He was standing in the doorway giving me the finger.  I burst out laughing.  He finally got me.

            And RoseMarie got John; and he began calling her Rosie, a name that no one except family members ever called her.  Soon John would become her boss in what would be called Random Ventures, the offices of George Magazine; where Rosie utilized her precious Sicilian temper to protect him, to defend him, to help him become organized which was a miraculous feat, and to do all the duties she needed to do in order for him to succeed and make George a success, to make his private life a success, one of which was for him to marry Carolyn Bessette in secret without the press knowing.  

     All the while RoseMarie become part of the in crowd, going to the most exclusive restaurants, nigh clubs, clubs, plays, in fact no door was closed with her being John Kennedy Jr.’s assistant.  Finally she felt like a fairytale princess and her prince was the older brother she never had:  John F Kennedy Jr.

As we danced together, I felt every eye in the room trained on us.  I had spent countless hours making fun of the way other people got swept up by his charm.  But in that moment I felt like a princess. 

But in the end RoseMarie realizes that all along she has always been a princess, especially when her father Anthony tells her how proud and impressed he is with her. 
But death soon comes like a thief in the night taking away the brother she never had; leaving her in a fit of depression, spinning out of control.  Soon she finds herself surrounded by death at every turn and nothing seems to pull her out until she reads a letter from her mother, telling her how proud she is of her.   Only then does she realize she has and will always be a princess – not based on the Kennedy mystique, being John F. Kennedy Jr.’s personal assistant but based on who she is, an Italian Princess with a Sicilian Temper that got her where she is today.
And she’s been flying high and in clear blue skies ever since. 

Friday, July 26, 2019

#119 Backstory of the Poem "IN REMEMBRANCE OF THEM" by Janet Renee Cryer

*The images in this specific piece are granted copyright privilege by:  Public Domain, CCSAL, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law, or given copyright privilege by the copyright holder which is identified beneath the individual photo.

**Some of the links will have to be copied and then posted in your search engine in order to pull up properly

*** The CRC Blog welcomes submissions from published and unpublished poets for BACKSTORY OF THE POEM series.  Contact CRC Blog via email at or personal Facebook messaging at

***This is #119 in a never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem.  All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece. 

#119 Backstory of the Poem: 
 “In Remembrance of Them” by Janet Renee Cryer

Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form? When I write a poem, it just comes to me. There isn't a planning or thought session when I write. The only time I had that is when I taught a poetry class. It was the hardest writing I did because it was structured. My work is typically not structured. Something random will pop in my head. Then I will sit down to write. When the thought has completely dissipated, the poem ends.

Where were you when you started to actually write the poem? And please describe the place in great detail. I was sitting in the living room watching t.v.  My friend had asked me to write a piece for their reunion. I didn't write this piece for months after she asked me. Then a random commercial, I couldn't even tell you what it was came on and I remembered I had to write a piece for my friend. I messaged her to make sure it hadn't been too late. Most of our school reunions happen in September and it was already like June the next year. I just remember it was cold because my husband keeps the a.c. on full blast. I was sitting in my huge leather recliner with a blanket covering me. It is a Mexican blanket my father brought back from a missionary trip. I cuddle in it year round. It is yellow based with brown stripes vertical and horizontal.

What month and year did you start writing this poem? I believe it was June but could have been May.  June 2018
How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?) This was a poem I wrote on my phone. Sometimes I don't always have a pen and paper so I write on my phone. Actually, until I got a new notebook, I have been writing on my cell more than on paper. I did one rough draft and normally I don't do any. The reason being, my spirit knows exactly what message I need to write. The only reason, I would have to do a rewrite would be for grammatical purposes. 
Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version? And can you share them with us? The word Keep was removed but outside that, no.

What do you want readers of this poem to take from this poem?
This poem was about classmates that have passed on. That no matter if the classmates are here in life or passed on a piece of them will always remain. Not to forget that each of us that walk the halls of the school leaves a bit of us there.

Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why? All of it was. Even though I was writing for the class that graduated prior to us, I was remembering our classmates that passed on and it was not too long after my father passed, so it brought me back to him as well. I was nearly crying by the time this was completed. We have lost too many people too early in life. I really didn't want to write this piece but I always tell my friends if they need me to write for them, I will. So I did. I was one of the first piece I wrote since my father's passing two years prior. 

Has this poem been published before? And if so where? No, it hasn't. I was waiting to post it on fbk until after the high school reunion. It was to take place in June 2019 but there was a hiccup in the plans. So they had to postpone it.

Anything you would like to add? Don't let the world boss you. You have to be true to yourself. If you aren't you are going to block all the blessings you can and will receive. Though I don't write as often as I formerly did, it doesn't mean I am not a write/poet/author. God gave me this gift to share and love all. God loves you and so do I!!

In Remembrance of Them...

As we walked down the aisle of graduation,
We have no idea where of what we will be doing next,
Dreams of doctors, football players, and teachers are on our mind,
Making sure we made the grade,
Working every summer to save our coins.
One thing we don't plan on in our early life,
We don't foresee death before retirement,
Yet it happens,
We have already lost so many,
Though they are still here,
Some in our hearts,
Some in our memories,
But a piece of every student continues to walk the halls,
The Eagle guides us into our next dimension,
Whether it is continuing our life long dreams,
Our souls taking an early rest,
Or just taking a vacation before the next step,
So as we look around us,
Seeing seats that are no longer filled with bodies,
Those that are no longer with us in the flesh,
Will always be with us in mind and soul,
Just remember their smiles,
Our laughter,
Our tears,
Cheering for the next win,
Hugging because we struggled,
We all have a destiny,
Theirs have already been fulfilled,
So lets keep take a moment,
Remember all as we gathered again,
No matter what happens,
We all will be flying on the wings and prayers,
Today, we have smiles,
Tonight, there will be no more tears.

     Though on stage and social media you know me as Starr Poetress, I am Janet Renee Cryer. Long time and poetic friends call me Starr but that is slowly changing to back to Renee. This is about me, the President of Growth of The Poets Without Limits Magazine here I go: I am a Christian, Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister, Friend, and published author. You can find me on, Broken Bars Publishing, for independent books, and in multiple anthologies via Inner Child Press and other publishing houses.  I welcome friends since I never met a stranger. I was, formerly, the senior editor for other editorials in Oklahoma.  I pray you have a blessed day and don't forget to write from the soul, that is where our muse speaks to us from... JRC 
On Instagram:  starrsky55


001  December 29, 2017
Margo Berdeshevksy’s “12-24”

002  January 08, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher’s “82 Miles From the Beach, We Order The Lobster At Clear Lake Café”

003 January 12, 2018
Barbara Crooker’s “Orange”

004 January 22, 2018
Sonia Saikaley’s “Modern Matsushima”

005 January 29, 2018
Ellen Foos’s “Side Yard”

006 February 03, 2018
Susan Sundwall’s “The Ringmaster”

007 February 09, 2018
Leslea Newman’s “That Night”

008 February 17, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher “June Fairchild Isn’t Dead”

009 February 24, 2018
Charles Clifford Brooks III “The Gift of the Year With Granny”

010 March 03, 2018
Scott Thomas Outlar’s “The Natural Reflection of Your Palms”

011 March 10, 2018
Anya Francesca Jenkins’s “After Diane Beatty’s Photograph “History Abandoned”

012  March 17, 2018
Angela Narciso Torres’s “What I Learned This Week”

013 March 24, 2018
Jan Steckel’s “Holiday On ICE”

014 March 31, 2018
Ibrahim Honjo’s “Colors”

015 April 14, 2018
Marilyn Kallett’s “Ode to Disappointment”

016  April 27, 2018
Beth Copeland’s “Reliquary”

017  May 12, 2018
Marlon L Fick’s “The Swallows of Barcelona”

018  May 25, 2018

019  June 09, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher’s “Stiletto Killer. . . A Surmise”

020 June 16, 2018
Charles Rammelkamp’s “At Last I Can Start Suffering”

021  July 05, 2018
Marla Shaw O’Neill’s “Wind Chimes”

022 July 13, 2018
Julia Gordon-Bramer’s “Studying Ariel”

023 July 20, 2018
Bill Yarrow’s “Jesus Zombie”

024  July 27, 2018
Telaina Eriksen’s “Brag 2016”

025  August 01, 2018
Seth Berg’s “It is only Yourself that Bends – so Wake up!”

026  August 07, 2018
David Herrle’s “Devil In the Details”

027  August 13, 2018
Gloria Mindock’s “Carmen Polo, Lady Necklaces, 2017”

028  August 21, 2018
Connie Post’s “Two Deaths”

029  August 30, 2018
Mary Harwell Sayler’s “Faces in a Crowd”

030 September 16, 2018
Larry Jaffe’s “The Risking Point”

031  September 24, 2018
Mark Lee Webb’s “After We Drove”

032  October 04, 2018
Melissa Studdard’s “Astral”

033 October 13, 2018
Robert Craven’s “I Have A Bass Guitar Called Vanessa”

034  October 17, 2018
David Sullivan’s “Paper Mache Peaches of Heaven”

035 October 23, 2018
Timothy Gager’s “Sobriety”

036  October 30, 2018
Gary Glauber’s “The Second Breakfast”

037  November 04, 2018
Heather Forbes-McKeon’s “Melania’s Deaf Tone Jacket”

038 November 11, 2018
Andrena Zawinski’s “Women of the Fields”

039  November 00, 2018
Gordon Hilger’s “Poe”

040 November 16, 2018
Rita Quillen’s “My Children Question Me About Poetry” and “Deathbed Dreams”

041 November 20, 2018
Jonathan Kevin Rice’s “Dog Sitting”

042 November 22, 2018
Haroldo Barbosa Filho’s “Mountain”

043  November 27, 2018
Megan Merchant’s “Grief Flowers”

044 November 30, 2018
Jonathan P Taylor’s “This poem is too neat”

045  December 03, 2018
Ian Haight’s “Sungmyo for our Dead Father-in-Law”

046 December 06, 2018
Nancy Dafoe’s “Poem in the Throat”

047 December 11, 2018
Jeffrey Pearson’s “Memorial Day”

048  December 14, 2018
Frank Paino’s “Laika”

049  December 15, 2018
Jennifer Martelli’s “Anniversary”

O50  December 19, 2018
Joseph Ross’s For Gilberto Ramos, 15, Who Died in the Texas Desert, June 2014”

051 December 23, 2018
“The Persistence of Music”
by Anatoly Molotkov

052  December 27, 2018
“Under Surveillance”
by Michael Farry

053  December 28, 2018
“Grand Finale”
by Renuka Raghavan

054  December 29, 2018
by Gene Barry

055 January 2, 2019
by Larissa Shmailo

056  January 7, 2019
“The Seamstress:
by Len Kuntz

057  January 10, 2019
"Natural History"
by Camille T Dungy

058  January 11, 2019
by Brian Burmeister

059  January 12, 2019
by Clint Margrave

060 January 14, 2019
by Pat Durmon

061 January 19, 2019
“Neptune’s Choir”
by Linda Imbler

062  January 22, 2019
“Views From the Driveway”
by Amy Barone

063  January 25, 2019
“The heron leaves her haunts in the marsh”
by Gail Wronsky

064  January 30, 2019
by Terry Lucas

065 February 02, 2019
“Summer 1970, The University of Virginia Opens to Women in the Fall”
by Alarie Tennille

066 February 05, 2019
“At School They Learn Nouns”
by Patrick Bizzaro

067  February 06, 2019
“I Must Not Breathe”
by Angela Jackson-Brown

068 February 11, 2019
“Lunch on City Island, Early June”
by Christine Potter

069 February 12, 2019
by Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum

070 February 14, 2019
“Daily Commute”
by Christopher P. Locke

071 February 18, 2019
“How Silent The Trees”
by Wyn Cooper

072 February 20, 2019
“A New Psalm of Montreal”
by Sheenagh Pugh

073 February 23, 2019
“Make Me A Butterfly”
by Amy Barbera

074 February 26, 2019
by Sandy Coomer

075 March 4, 2019
“Shape of a Violin”
by Kelly Powell

076 March 5, 2019
“Inward Oracle”
by J.P. Dancing Bear

077 March 7, 2019
“I Broke My Bust Of Jesus”
by Susan Sundwall

078 March 9, 2019
“My Mother at 19”
by John Guzlowski

079 March 10, 2019
by Chera Hammons Miller

080 March 12, 2019
“Of Water and Echo”
by Gillian Cummings

081   082   083    March 14, 2019
“Little Political Sense”   “Crossing Kansas with Jim
Morrison”  “The Land of Sky and Blue Waters”
by Dr. Lindsey Martin-Bowen

084 March 15, 2019
“A Tune To Remember”
by Anna Evans

085 March 19, 2019
“At the End of Time (Wish You Were Here)
by Jeannine Hall Gailey

086 March 20, 2019
“Garden of Gethsemane”
by Marletta Hemphill

087 March 21, 2019
“Letters From a War”
by Chelsea Dingman

088 March 26, 2019
by Bob Heman

089 March 27, 2019
“Clay for the Potter”
by Belinda Bourgeois

#090 March 30, 2019
“The Pose”
by John Hicks

#091 April 2, 2019
“Last Night at the Wursthaus”
by Doug Holder

#092 April 4, 2019
“Original Sin”
by Diane Lockward

#093 April 5, 2019
“A Father Calls to his child on liveleak”
by Stephen Byrne

#094 April 8, 2019
by Marc Zegans

#095 April 12, 2019
“Landscape and Still Life”
by Marjorie Maddox

#096 April 16, 2019
“Strawberries Have Been Growing Here for Hundreds of
by Mary Ellen Lough

#097 April 17, 2019
“The New Science of Slippery Surfaces”
by Donna Spruijt-Metz

#098 April 19, 2019
“Tennessee Epithalamium”
by Alyse Knorr

#099 April 20, 2019
“Mermaid, 1969”
by Tameca L. Coleman

#100 April 21, 2019
“How Do You Know?”
by Stephanie

#101 April 23, 2019
“Rare Book and Reader”
by Ned Balbo

#102 April 26, 2019
by Jefferson Carter

#103 May 01, 2019
“The sight of a million angels”
by Jenneth Graser

#104 May 09, 2019
“How to tell my dog I’m dying”
by Richard Fox

#105 May 17, 2019
“Promises Had Been Made”
by Sarah Sarai

#106 June 01, 2019
“i sold your car today”
by Pamela Twining

#107 June 02, 2019
“Abandoned Stable”
by Nancy Susanna Breen

#108 June 05, 2019
by Julene Tripp Weaver

#109 June 6, 2019
“Bobby’s Story”
by Jimmy Pappas

#110 June 10, 2019
“When You Ask Me to Tell You About My Father”
by Pauletta Hansel

#111 Backstory of the Poem’s
“Cemetery Mailbox”
by Jennifer Horne

#112 Backstory of the Poem’s
by Kate Peper

#113 Backstory of the Poem’s
by Jennifer Johnson

#114 Backstory of the Poem’s
“Brushing My Hair”
by Tammika Dorsey Jones

#115 Backstory of the Poem
“Because the Birds Will Survive, Too”
by Katherine Riegel

#116 Backstory of the Poem
by Joan Barasovska

#117 Backstory of the Poem
by Michael Meyerhofer

#118 Backstory of the Poem
“Dear the estranged,”
by Gina Tron

#119 Backstory of the Poem
“In Remembrance of Them”
by Janet Renee Cryer