It was New Year's Eve, 1997. While most of the world was chilling champagne and getting ready to toast to a better year, a tragedy was unfolding on a mountain in Colorado that felt almost too "Kennedy" to be real. If you’ve ever gone down a rabbit hole about the family’s history, you know the name Michael Kennedy usually pops up alongside the phrase "skiing accident." But the story isn't just about a guy hitting a tree. It’s about a weird, high-stakes family tradition, a series of ignored warnings, and a moment of pure chaos that changed the family forever.
Honestly, Michael Kennedy wasn't just some random socialite. He was the sixth of 11 children born to Robert F. and Ethel Kennedy. He was 39. Smart, charismatic, and a Harvard-educated lawyer who ran a non-profit called Citizens Energy. He was basically the "fixer" for the family’s legacy, at least until a massive scandal involving his children's babysitter effectively ended his political aspirations a few months before he died. He was looking for a fresh start in Aspen. Instead, he found a fir tree on the Copper Bowl run.
The Kennedy who died skiing and the game of "Ski Football"
You’ve probably heard of touch football on the lawn at Hyannis Port. It’s a staple of the Kennedy brand. But the family took it a step further. They played "ski football." It’s exactly what it sounds like, and it’s as dangerous as you’re imagining. They would fly down the mountain at high speeds, tossing a water bottle packed with snow as if it were a pigskin. No poles. No helmets. Just raw speed and the kind of "vigah" JFK used to talk about.
On that Wednesday afternoon, the sun was dipping low. Shadows were stretching across the intermediate slopes of Aspen Mountain. The ski patrol had already told them to stop. Multiple times. In fact, officials from the Aspen Skiing Co. had actually called Ethel Kennedy the night before to ask her to keep her kids from playing the game. But the Kennedys didn't really do "rules" when it came to family fun.
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A pass into the trees
Michael was the captain of one team. His sister Rory—the "baby" of the family—was the captain of the other. About 25 to 40 people were in their group.
Around 4:15 p.m., Michael was skiing and filming the game at the same time with a handheld camera. Talk about distracted driving. He eventually handed the camera off to a friend so he could focus on the play. He went out for a pass. He caught the "ball" (the water bottle). He turned his head, possibly to shout something to his teammates, and slammed head-first into a large fir tree.
He didn't have a helmet.
The impact was devastating. A witness at the scene, New York publicist Couri Hay, described a scene of absolute horror. One minute there was laughter and shouting; the next, several Kennedys were on their knees in the snow, praying the Lord’s Prayer. Rory, who had been assigned Michael as her "guardian angel" after their father's assassination, was the one who rushed to him first. She tried to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She stayed with him, shouting at him to fight, until the ski patrol arrived.
The aftermath and the "Kennedy Curse" talk
When Michael reached Aspen Valley Hospital, it was basically over. He was pronounced dead at 5:50 p.m. from massive head and neck trauma.
People immediately started talking about the "Kennedy Curse" again. It's a phrase that gets tossed around every time a member of that family has a car wreck or a plane crash. But critics—and many locals in Aspen—pointed to something else: hubris. There’s a certain kind of risk-taking that seems baked into the family DNA. Michael’s brother, David, had died of an overdose in a Florida hotel room years earlier. His cousin, JFK Jr., would die in a plane crash just two years after Michael's accident.
It's weirdly poetic and tragic at the same time. Michael was an expert skier. He knew those mountains. But he was also a Kennedy, and for that family, the thrill of the game often outweighed the common-sense safety measures the rest of us take for granted.
Why this story still sticks with us
Looking back, the death of Michael Kennedy marks the end of a specific era of Kennedy history. It was the last time the "Camelot" aura really felt untouchable before the scandals and the accidents started to pile up in the digital age.
- The Safety Factor: This accident is a huge reason why you see such a push for helmets on ski slopes today. In the 90s, they weren't nearly as common.
- The Family Dynamics: It shows the intense, almost competitive bond the RFK children had.
- The Warning Signs: It serves as a grim reminder that skill doesn't make you invincible.
What to learn from the Aspen tragedy
If you're heading to the slopes, there are some pretty clear takeaways here that go beyond just "don't play football on skis."
- Wear the gear. Michael was an "expert," and it didn't save him. Modern MIPS helmets are designed for exactly the kind of rotational impact that happens in a tree collision.
- Respect the Patrol. When the ski patrol tells you a behavior is dangerous, they aren't just being "peasants" or killjoys. They know the terrain better than you do.
- Ditch the distractions. We live in the age of GoPros and iPhones. Trying to film your run while pushing your limits is a recipe for disaster. Michael was filming himself right before he hit that tree.
- Know your limits at the end of the day. Most accidents happen on the "last run" when the light is flat, the snow is icy, and you're tired. The accident happened at 4:15 p.m.—prime time for visibility issues.
Michael Kennedy's death wasn't just a fluke accident; it was the result of a specific culture of risk. He was a man who lived fast and, unfortunately, died because he couldn't say no to one last play in a game that should never have been played in the first place.
Practical next steps for your next ski trip:
Check your helmet's manufacture date; if it's over five years old, the foam has likely degraded and won't protect you in a high-speed collision. Always scan the "flat light" conditions in the late afternoon, as depth perception drops significantly after 3:30 p.m. on north-facing slopes like those in Aspen.