uniondale, summer, 1988. i sat shoulder to shoulder with my 22-year-old nephew michael, struck by his resemblance to jfk junior and also to my brother at the same age. jet black hair, large, dark eyes and a dazzling, kind smile. michael and i listened to federal prosecutors lay out their case against his father, my brother. earlier that morning, governor mario cuomo called me at home after three is working around the clock with como at the 2 world trade center office in new york, even sleeping over during snowstorms which i was his man at the long island power authority. they bring long hours to shut down the nuclear power plant for health and safety reasons. you do good work, the governor said. you have great ability and a great future. it is a pleasure working with you. you have a good future your self, governor. now, i have no future, but you, he said in a series, almost fatherly tone, you have a wonderful future. 90 minutes later, that bright future collided with my brother's present. i was sitting in a f