Carolyn could now fix her own breakfast if she wanted, Ethel told her. No, Carolyn decided; she’d just wait for lunch. “Better sign up, then,” Ethel said as she pointed to a blackboard on another wall; lunch was being served at Eunice and Sarge’s at twelve-thirty and two o’clock.
Carolyn couldn’t help but note the difference between the Ethel of that morning and the one from the previous night. Yesterday’s Ethel had seemed nothing short of imperious in her linen pants and matching blouse. Today she looked like a completely different woman in red shorts and a matching white-and-blue T-shirt that said GO SOX (referencing the Boston Red Sox). She had on a pink baseball cap—and wore it backward. Flip-flops completed the ensemble. “That was Mrs. Kennedy,” Noelle Bombardier would say. “Royal one day, down-home the next. Generally, the rule of thumb was that during the day she was casual and at night, for dinner, more formal.”
It was to be a busy holiday. The plan was for John, Carolyn, Anthony Radziwill (John and Caroline’s cousin; his mother was Jackie’s sister, Lee), and Anthony’s new wife, Carole, as well as Ethel’s sons Bobby and Michael, and Ted’s sons, Patrick and Teddy, to all go sailing on one of the family’s boats during the morning hours. Gustavo Paredes would join them. “Kennedys and all of us who were considered a part of them grew up on the water,” Paredes would explain. “You had to know how to sail, how to handle yourself in a boat, all of the little ins and outs of being on the water, fishing, whatever … all water all the time, that was the Kennedys. They had a real intense relationship with the sea, and if you were going to be with them you also had to know how to handle yourself out there.”
“The ocean,” Ethel’s daughter Kerry has said, “gives people a reverence for life and an understanding of the cycles of life. You live and die and come back again—a sense of renewal. ‘You have salt water in your blood,’ our parents used to tell us, ‘so you should never be afraid of the sea.’” Ethel taught her kids how to swim by putting them into the bathtub, turning them on their stomachs, and telling them to kick their feet. All of them could swim by the age of three.
After sailing, everyone would meet up for the two lunch shifts at Eunice and Sarge’s. Then the gang would all go down to the beach for more sun and fun—or touch football in front of the Big House or maybe some baseball on the field behind the President’s House, once owned by Jack and Jackie. Then it was back up to Ted and Vicki’s for cocktails.
At night, the big event of the weekend would unfold: Ted’s clambake. “At least four times a year, the senator hosted a clambake at the compound, usually attended by about 150 people,” Hugh Sidey from Time once recalled. “If you were lucky enough to get invited, this was a big deal. The tradition really started with the old man [Joseph]. There would be all of the Kennedys, sure, but also you got to meet their close friends, all of whom were political bigwigs. Don’t think you were going to take pictures, though. That was frowned upon. I saw Ethel snatch a camera out of the hands of many guests, Ted, too. They tried to keep it a private affair. There’d be reporters like me invited, just a smattering of us who tried to stay out of the way lest we not get invited back. It was always fun.”
It was Ethel who had outlined all the events for Carolyn while the two were in the kitchen. “I know you’re the newbie around here,” she told her. “But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Never a dull moment, kiddo,” she said, handing Carolyn a dish towel.
Once Ethel left the room, Carolyn, lowering her voice, turned to Fina Harvin. “Should I be writing all of this down?” she asked.
“No,” Fina said. “You’ll just feel a tide moving, and when a whole bunch of them start going in one direction, you follow. Then, as they move in another direction, you follow. Don’t think about it too much. It’ll drive you crazy if you do.”
“But I was hoping to have some time to go over a few fashion magazines I brought with me,” Carolyn said.
“Oh, well, that’s not gonna happen,” said Fina.
“Can I ask you a question?” Carolyn said.
“Sure.”
“What’s a clambake?”
Fina just gave her a look.
“It was a perfect Kennedy-like holiday,” recalled Leah Mason, “with sports games, sailing, and other challenges. Carolyn did her best to keep up by making a real effort to fit into this mad Kennedy scene, but she was really struggling. ‘I can’t remember all of the names,’ I heard her tell John. ‘I’m scared I’ll mistake Patrick for Joe, or call Teddy Bobby. There are just so many of you.’ John wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the neck. ‘It doesn’t matter what name you use,’ he said, ‘’cause when you call one of us, we all come running, anyway.’
“I remember at one point, the cousins got involved in a typically raucous game of touch football, and John kept hollering out for Carolyn to join them. Rory was out there, as well as Kathleen, Maria, and Kara—Ethel’s, Eunice’s and Ted’s daughters—and a whole bunch of their little kids. Carolyn was so clumsy. Someone threw her a football, and when it came at her, she ducked, and it sailed right over her head. ‘See, now, the goal is to actually catch the ball,’ Kara said. Carolyn wasn’t laughing, though. My heart went out to her. I could see that she was a little humiliated. It just reminded me that not everyone could do it, fit into the Kennedy family right away. It took work, actually.”
The Kennedys were obviously testing Carolyn to see if she could keep up, which is what the family always did to newcomers. They probably thought she was failing miserably. Not everyone could rise to the challenge of Kennedy compound culture, though. “I remember being at the compound once, early on in my friendship with Maria Shriver,” Oprah Winfrey remembered. “As an outsider, I thought, God, I’m actually here on the lawn with all the Kennedy cousins. But the games never ended. I’ll never forget being in the house and someone saying, ‘Where is she? Oprah, we’re starting another game!’ And I ran into a closet and closed the door and hid in there because I’d already done three games. Enough! It was all very intense.”
Someone else who once fell short in similar athletic tests was Jacqueline Bouvier, who, when a football came sailing her way back in the 1950s, asked in a panic, “If I catch it, which way shall I run?” Of course, she ended up, well … Jackie. So there was still hope for Carolyn, even if she didn’t feel that way in the moment and even if, like Jackie, she found some of the aesthetics at the compound a little out of the ordinary.
For instance, at midday, Ena the governess asked Carolyn if she needed anything. Carolyn said she might like some hot tea. Ten minutes later, Ena reappeared with the steaming tea … in a mug. “I’ve never had tea this way,” Carolyn said. Ena just gave her a side-eyed glance and walked away. Carolyn would later recall that, at dinner, none of the servants had spoken to the Kennedys other than to maybe ask how much of a serving of food was desired. When she tried to engage one of the helpers, John shot her a look and shook his head. It was clear that the servants knew their place and that the Kennedys had a certain way with them—which was to keep them at a distance, certainly not unusual in the homes of the wealthy with live-in help. “It’s just the way it is,” John would later explain. “Nothing against them. It’s just how things work.”
Five minutes after Ena departed, Ethel approached Carolyn with a small silver tray, a cup, and a pot of hot tea. She placed it in front of her, smiled, didn’t say a word, and then took her leave. Carolyn was surprised. Ethel was obviously aware of every little thing that was going on at the compound every second of the day and wanted to make sure all was in perfect order for her guests. She’d learned as much from the original matriarch, Rose Kennedy. Often, Ethel would talk about her first time visiting Rose and Joe, almost fifty years earlier, in October 1945. That’s when her college friend Jean Kennedy introduced her to the Kennedys. Ethel was just seventeen. “I remember arriving at the Cape and going to Jean’s room and thinking how everything was so well-thought-out for the happiness of guests and their children. There were fresh flowers, the
re were interesting books on the bedside table, the food was served so well, and everything was just so. All those niceties that can make life so worth living, Rose Kennedy had thought of them. Nothing went on without her being aware; it was as if she had eyes in the back of her head. Even with all our help, things were a lot less … organized in my household. I was so young at the time, but I thought, Yes, now, this is how I would want to be, this is how a hostess should be. I never imagined, of course, that I would one day be that hostess. Funny how things work out.”
Unfortunately for Carolyn, as much as Ethel might have wanted to make her feel relaxed, even the moment when she presented her with tea was shaded with uncertainty.
Carolyn had noticed earlier that when Ethel Kennedy walked into a room, everyone jumped to their feet out of respect. She didn’t know if this was required protocol or not. So when Ethel approached her with the tea, she didn’t rise. John later told her it was a good idea to stand whenever any of the senior family members entered a room. After that instruction, whenever Ethel walked into a room, Carolyn would jump up from her chair. However, Ethel would then tell her it wasn’t necessary and motion for her to be seated. Carolyn just wanted to be clear about the rules. When she again questioned John, he lost patience with her and told her she was making too big a deal out of it.
Toward the end of Carolyn’s second day, a gaggle of Kennedy cousins were sitting at the table in Ethel’s kitchen as the matriarch stood at the sink and helped one of the cooks shuck corn for the clambake. There must have been a dozen workers preparing the food, including governess Ena Bernard; her daughter, Fina Harvin; assistant Leah Mason; and many others. It was a real scene with uniformed people coming and going, each doing his or her job while chattering among themselves. It didn’t matter what one’s station was in the household, it was always all hands on deck whenever the time came to start preparing for the senator’s clambake. In some homes on the Cape, such as Eunice Kennedy Shriver’s, the help was so quietly efficient one would barely notice their presence. For some reason, at Ethel’s house, they were always quite noisy, though they actually appeared to be more content in their jobs.
Carolyn was sitting on John’s lap while Carole Radziwill sat on her husband, Anthony’s. Carole had gotten close to Carolyn quickly; the two were like sisters already. When she jokingly mentioned that Carolyn’s motto relating to men was “Date ’em. Train ’em. Drop ’em,” everyone laughed—including some of the help. Ethel glanced over at Carolyn and raised a disapproving eyebrow. “But that’s not true, Carole,” Carolyn said, her face turning red. “Oh, yeah, it is,” Carole remarked with a peck to her friend’s cheek. Carolyn winced, embarrassed.
Everyone laughed, but it was clear that they’d witnessed yet another bad moment for Carolyn, who seemed to have had quite a few since first setting foot on hallowed Kennedy ground. Ethel was more curious about Carolyn’s reaction to her friend’s anecdote than she was about the story itself. Later, she would tell her oldest son, Joe, “I’m afraid Carolyn isn’t everything she portrays herself as being.” When asked to elaborate, she explained, “Look, I’ve raised four daughters. If there’s one thing I know, it’s girls. Trust me, that one is all smoke and mirrors.”
Kennedy Strong
“We’re goin’ old school with this clambake,” John Kennedy Jr. was saying as he and his cousins Anthony, Bobby Jr., Michael, and Patrick shoveled away sand from a pit they were digging into the beach. “It only has to be six feet square and two feet deep,” John added, his bare chest and sinewy muscles glistening in the late-afternoon sun, “but with the sand being so wet and all,” he concluded with a loud grunt, “this can be a real pain in the ass.” Annoyed, Anthony said that he was well aware of how to dig for a clambake. This wasn’t his first, after all. John told him to just keep digging, then, “and stop your bellyaching.” A wink took any sting from the moment.
“Carolyn, wearing a white sarong, her hair braided down her back, watched with sort of a bemused expression,” recalled Gustavo Paredes. “‘What’s so funny?’ John asked her. ‘This place,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s just so … unbelievable. This is like … heaven, I guess.’ Michael nudged Bobby Jr. and then motioned over at Carolyn. ‘Newbies are always so impressionable,’ he said.
“After the pit was dug, me and Anthony arranged large stones with firewood for the baking of the food—‘old school’ style,” Paredes continued. “We would have to light the fire at least two hours ahead of time. Then, when the stones were as hot as they could be, we would cover them with lots of seaweed, which provided the steam. The whole thing was then covered with a tarp to trap the heat for cooking. It was an arduous process, to say the least.”
Neil Connolly—preparer of major meal events who held the title “Chef”—had pioneered what was probably a more efficient way of doing a clambake than the traditional ditch-digging process. He usually utilized two steel pans—seven feet wide and four feet deep—which he’d had specially made by a local welder. He would stack them on the sand, the bottom pan being used as a heat source and the top one for cooking. It was quicker and easier. However, the cousins preferred the conventional way, which they’d been taught by their uncle Ted when they were kids. Even though it was a lot more work, nothing bonded them more than preparing for a clambake the old-fashioned way.
As Michael and Bobby Jr. helped John dig the pit, Ted’s sons, Patrick and Teddy, dragged a large wooden rowboat down to the beach. Teddy had carved and constructed this boat by hand years earlier. The brothers proudly hoisted it up off the ground on a large mound of sand. They then filled it with seaweed to balance it and covered it with a tarp. Thusly, Teddy’s creation would serve as a “buffet table” upon which would be placed the hot and sizzling food fresh from the baking pit, including lobsters, soft-shell clams (steamers), ears of corn, potatoes, and knockwurst, all dripping in butter and served with coleslaw and warm corn bread.
Tonight, as always, the guests arrived just before sunset, meeting first at Ted and his wife Vicki’s for cocktails. Vicki was always the perfect hostess, looking gorgeous this evening—at least according to photographs taken of the night—in a blue-and-white-striped silk caftan, her dark hair pulled into a tight chignon. After drinks, the guests walked across the lawn to a rickety wooden staircase that led down to the beach, where soft music—a favorite, of course, being Patti Page’s classic, “Old Cape Cod”—played through a public address system. Before them were two enormous rectangular tents. One, the largest, was for the guests. A dozen or so round tables with six chairs to each could be found in this tent, all positioned on the sand about ten feet from the shoreline. The other tent was reserved for the chefs and waitstaff. Colorful flags from different countries were strung across the tops of both tents. “The flaps on the larger tent would always be up on all sides,” said Neil Connolly, “so people could wander easily across the sand, grab a mug of clam chowder while waiting for the main courses, and see the extraordinary sights from every angle. As with all the decorations in the tents and on the beach—antique gas lanterns on the tables, colored flags strung across the tents—the theme was, of course, nautical.”
Neil, wearing his white chef’s uniform with a cap that said KENNEDY 94 on it, designed for friends and family to commemorate Teddy’s latest run for the Senate seat he had held since 1962, ran a tight ship with more than fifty staff members assisting him. One, Theresa Lichtman, had begun working for the Kennedys as a housemaid in Ethel’s kitchen two years earlier. This was her fourth clambake.
“What I recall most about that Labor Day weekend was the decision to even celebrate it,” she said. “After all, the family was still mourning Mrs. Onassis. Everyone was incredibly sad. Just maybe six months earlier, Mrs. Onassis had become godmother to Mrs. Kennedy’s grandson Max Jr. (born to Ethel’s son Max and his wife, Victoria). Typical of the Kennedys and the way they felt about the help, their longtime governess, Ena Bernard, was co-godparent with Mrs. Onassis. We’d had such a nice celebration at the compound th
at day. Now we didn’t know how to act now with Mrs. Onassis gone. It was Mrs. Kennedy—Ethel—who said, ‘Look, no one liked a good clambake more than Jackie. We have to continue on, just as she would want us to.’
“John was thrilled when his sister, Caroline, showed up, along with her husband, Ed Schlossberg, and their three kids. I understood that Caroline rarely came to these kinds of things, so it was sort of a big deal. There were moments I would catch the siblings talking quietly, or walking hand in hand.”
The Schlossbergs had just bought a new summer home in Sagaponack, Long Island, for which they’d paid almost a million dollars. It was a new construction, a two-story, five-bedroom, five-bathroom shingled home sitting on a little more than three acres including a tennis court and swimming pool. Caroline was spending a lot of time decorating it; she’d put almost sixty thousand dollars into it already and had just begun. She said the task was keeping her busy after her mother’s death, a good distraction. She and Ed also had a sprawling apartment on Park Avenue.
“As I watched them, I imagined that John and Caroline were talking about their mom and how much they missed her,” said Theresa Lichtman. “After spending time with his sister, John came over and handed me a drink. I told him it was my job to hand him a drink. He shook his head no and then said, ‘This is the life, huh? Wow. I never get tired of this place.’
“One other interesting thing that comes to mind: I remember handing him an ear of corn, and he asked for the salt. When I handed him the saltshaker, he said, ‘No, you should place it on the table and I’ll pick it up.’ I asked why, and he said, ‘Ari once told me that when a person hands you salt, it means you are going to have an argument. And I don’t want to argue with you.’ He smiled at me. To hear him remember Onassis was just so interesting to me. He was so humble, you forgot that this sort of legendary figure was real in his life.”
The Kennedy Heirs: John, Caroline, and the New Generation Page 5