The Kennedys

by Thomas Maier

  Despite his public embrace of America’s melting pot theories, Joe Kennedy’s private sensitivity to perceived ethnic slights and tribal resentments seemed unlimited and at times unfounded. There was often a kind of connect-the-dots undercurrent in the Kennedy family’s statements about bigotry that set forth their case without directly claiming they were victims. In this instance, the Harvard committee refusing the honorary degree to Kennedy was headed by Charles Francis Adams, who apparently believed an ambassadorship to the Court of St. James to be “an insufficient mark of distinction,” even though Adams’s grandfather and great-grandfather had once held the same post. In her memoir, Rose didn’t mention this Harvard incident but described Adams as “the most patrician of all Back Bay Bostonians.”And in the portion dealing with this time period, she goes out of her way to quote Adams’s none-too-subtle remarks at a Chamber of Commerce testimonial dinner for Honey Fitz’s seventy-fifth birthday:

  At times in your past, you, John F., have found it politically expedient to say things about my class that have sometimes hurt. You have even called us degenerate sons of splendid ancestors. Quite possibly that is true. But it takes a man of supreme gifts to tell us a thing like that without arousing rancor. Yet, it was said so pleasantly, with such good humor, that no one could take offense, or long be angry with a man of the charm of John F. Fitzgerald.

  ALL THIS UNSUBTLE joking makes the reader wonder whether maybe Adams really did have it in for old Joe and his Irish clan, just as he suspected. Despite his trip across the Atlantic, Joe Kennedy didn’t attend his oldest son’s graduation because, he claimed, he was monitoring the ill health of his other son, Jack. The memory of rejection, similar to his undergraduate disappointment with the Porcellian Club, turned him bitter toward Harvard. He never returned, even after Jack was elected to the Board of Overseers. “Of all the boys, Jack likes Harvard best,” the old man admitted.“I guess I have the old Boston prejudice against it.”

  KENNEDY’S NEED for acceptance, some kind of recognition for all he had achieved, found another forum. Shortly after returning from America, the ambassador received an invitation to Ireland for an honorary degree at the National University in Dublin. The summer before, Rose and Kathleen and Joe Jr. sauntered over to Ireland in 1937 to see the sights and even take in a horse race. Rose took several laconic photos of the Irish scenery, from the isolated, stoic rocks along the western coastline to street scenes of old men in tweed caps tending to their mares. Someone, probably Joe Jr., snapped a picture of Kick as she leaned backward to kiss the Blarney stone. But the senior Kennedy’s journey would be different. Remarkably, given the number of U.S. citizens of Irish descent, Kennedy’s trip marked the first official visit to Ireland by the American ambassador to Great Britain. Young Joe came along and the two journeyed to Wexford, where they visited the Kennedy Homestead in Dunganstown, and Clonakilty on the coast, where the family of the ambassador’s mother, Mary Hickey, had come from a century earlier. The beauty of the land, the simple farmland and cottages where his ancestors once lived, stirred him. He’d never before visited Ireland. Yet at its sight, Kennedy’s sense of Irishness, an affinity for the forgotten homeland his father twice returned to see, beckoned him. During his trip, he heard from relatives, and those who welcomed him, about Ireland’s travails. He listened to those who remembered the bloody fight for Irish freedom a decade earlier, and the brutal repression by the Black and Tans—the British occupying force—during Ireland’s fight for independence. When asked why he didn’t like certain Englishmen, Kennedy replied that “he could not forgive those who had been responsible for sending the infamous Black and Tan into rebellious Ireland.”

  At a state dinner in Dublin, after receiving his honorary degree,Kennedy became quite emotional, so much so that he feared he might cry.“My parents and grandparents talked ever of Ireland, and from my youth, I have been intent upon this pilgrimage,” Kennedy told the packed audience at Dublin Castle, his son seated nearby. Though he considered himself 100 percent American, Joe Kennedy still showed interest in his roots. The Irish abundantly exhibited their pride and sense of kinship with him, the sort of public reverence his own father, P. J.Kennedy, once held for Patrick Collins, the Irish Catholic who served as general consul in Britain.“We are proud that men like you not merely do honor to your country, but honor our race,” proclaimed Eamon De Valera, the Irish prime minister.

  “Dev,” as De Valera was known by the Irish, was the president of Sinn Fein (“Ourselves Alone” in Gaelic), who fought successfully for the creation of the Irish Republic from Britain in the early 1920s. De Valera had survived that conflict and the murderous civil war that followed to become the head of the Free State. He was born in New York and stayed in frequent contact with Irish-Americans amenable to his cause. Much of the money and guns for the independence fight came from America, where Irish immigrants contributed out of a fervent hatred for England and its policies, just as they had during the Fenian movement of the 1880s. A hard bargainer himself,De Valera vowed not to rest until the northern section of Ireland—the six counties of Ulster still under British rule—were reunited with the south.

  As part of his mission from Roosevelt, Kennedy was instructed to explore a peaceful resolution to the disputes between England and Ireland, especially as the prospect of war with Germany loomed on the horizon.“I have taken the course of asking my good friend, Mr. Joseph P. Kennedy, who sails today for England to take up his post as Ambassador, to convey a personal message from me to the Prime Minister, and to tell the Prime Minister how happy I should be if a reconciliation could be brought about,” Roosevelt declared.

  Ultimately, Kennedy helped finalize a treaty between England and Ireland, a settlement that neither side particularly liked. The proposed treaty didn’t unify Northern Ireland with the south under Dublin’s control, as De Valera had sought. And England gave up control of the Irish ports at Berehaven, Lough Swilly and Queenstown—so critical to their defense in time of war—to men such as DeValera, who despised the British. Kennedy’s determined negotiating style and his growing friendship with British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain smoothed over the rough edges between the two sides. As war loomed, Kennedy inquired about Ireland’s safety and whether the British planned to supply planes to Eire.“Every country wants planes and ammunition,” Chamberlain replied.“Trouble is we can’t supply enough for ourselves.”

  Some felt that London had gone too far. Winston Churchill, a staunch critic of Chamberlain’s policies, wondered aloud whether Ireland’s neutrality would prohibit the use of the crucial Irish ports if Britain went to war. “Many a ship and many a life were soon to be lost as the result of this improvident example of appeasement,” Churchill later lamented. From a broad perspective, this agreement would leave the north-south partition of Ireland unresolved, a matter to be decided for another day. But with the treaty’s signing,Kennedy could point to a significant achievement for those back home, particularly in the eyes of Irish-Americans.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Vatican Go-Between

  TO HIS SURPRISE, JOE KENNEDY soon met Ireland’s Eamon De Valera again. In March 1939, they were both in Rome, seated near each other for the coronation of Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli as the new Pope Pius XII.While waiting for the ceremony to begin, De Valera, representing the independent Republic of Ireland, chatted with Rose and Joe about ending the partition of Northern Ireland from the south. De Valera worried how his actions were perceived by Irish-Americans.“I never understood this but I could see he was whipping himself into his campaign for U.S. [sic],” Kennedy recorded in his diary.“He thought there would be many Irish against him in U.S.A.”

  On this day, however, religion mattered more than politics. Rose insisted that all the family attend the Mass and ceremonies for the new pontiff, who three years earlier had been a guest in their home. President Roosevelt granted Kennedy’s request to be the official U.S. representative for the papal event, but only after some long-distance lobbying. Emphaticall
y, Joe thanked Sumner Welles, the undersecretary of state, for convincing FDR on his behalf. “Dear Sumner: I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kindness,” he cabled from London. “If I have one real virtue I never forget.” Some in the White House thought a Protestant should be sent, but Roosevelt remembered Kennedy’s close ties to the new Pope. Years earlier, Kennedy had predicted that Pacelli would rise to Pope, although Vatican secretaries of state generally did not reach this position. With war fast approaching, the Roosevelt administration welcomed a pontiff with Pacelli’s worldly experience.

  Kennedy wanted to avoid American participation in an impending European conflict with the Nazis. Some of Roosevelt’s aides criticized Kennedy as disloyal, a potential wild card in a sensitive post. But Kennedy’s impressive portfolio of contacts kept him in FDR’s good graces. From the embassy in London, Kennedy acted as an occasional go-between with the Vatican and White House, an important consideration in both domestic and international politics. In April 1938, for example,Kennedy copied a “strictly confidential” memorandum prepared by Pacelli and sent it along to the president’s son, James, at the White House, suggesting that it would be “of interest to the President and yourself.”The Pacelli memo assured Kennedy that local church leaders had been threatened into cooperating with Nazi leaders in Austria and that the Vatican would never approve.

  FDR realized that a way of rewarding Kennedy for his service was to send the ambassador and his large family to the Vatican for the 1939 papal coronation. Only Joe Jr., caught in Spain, was unable to attend. After arriving by train, the Kennedys stayed at the Excelsior on Rome’s Via Venetto. At dawn, the Kennedys and their children traveled in four separate cars to St. Peter’s Basilica. Count Galeazzi joined Rose and Joe in the first car. For twenty-one-year-old John F. Kennedy, the Vatican trip was one of several European experiences during that exciting year when he took leave from Harvard to work as his father’s aide. During this extraordinary tutorial on world politics, young Jack ventured through the Middle East to Istanbul and Moscow, and then across Hitler’s Germany. While touring Paris with his friend Lem Billings, Jack insisted they attend Mass at Notre Dame Cathedral to hear Pacelli give a sermon.

  Pacelli’s coronation was something special for the Kennedys because it underlined their father’s unique position with the government and their church. With the intervention of his good friend Galeazzi, Kennedy had received several honors over the years from the Roman Catholic Church; he was made a Knight of Malta, a Grand Knight of the Order of Pius IX, a Knight of the Equestrian Order of the Holy Sepulchre and a member of the Grand Cross Order of Leopold II.They were mostly honorific titles, but they underscored Kennedy’s influence. Joe and Rose believed Pacelli would be a wonderful Pope, a transcendent force for good in a troubled world. “Besides being a most saintly man, he has an extensive knowledge of world conditions,” Kennedy informed State Department official J. Pierrepont Moffat. “He is not pro-one country or anti-another. He is just pro- Christian. If the world hasn’t gone too far to be influenced by a great and good man, this is the man.”

  Inside the basilica, Kennedy attended the coronation Mass in a prominent seat alongside his children. Unfortunately, the presence of so many Kennedys pushed other invitees out of their chairs and into less desirable gallery seats. Count Galeazzo Ciano, the son-in-law of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini, was particularly incensed by the overflow crowd of Kennedys. “He (Ciano) began to protest, threatening to leave the Basilica and to desert the ceremony,” remembered Cardinal Giovanni Battista Montini, who later became Pope Paul VI. Boston’s Cardinal William O’Connell was highly amused by the ruckus caused by his long-time friends. When another ambassador commented on the Kennedys, the cardinal smiled and said,“Oh, will Joe ever learn!”

  In a private session with the new Pope that day, Kennedy planned to discuss the pontiff ’s desire for formal recognition of the Vatican by the American government, a proposal that O’Connell and other American cardinals opposed because it would undercut their own power. When he arrived in Rome, O’Connell stopped by Kennedy’s hotel to give him some advice. As Kennedy recorded in his personal diary, the cardinal told him “1. Don’t trust anyone in Rome. No one was your friend. 2. Do as I wanted to, of course, but Cardinal hoped I’d be against USA affecting diplomatic relations with Vatican.” Kennedy thanked O’Connell, but said nothing more.“The Hierarchy, I think, are afraid they will lose some influence,” he concluded in his diary.

  Cardinal O’Connell apparently had no idea that his direct underling, Bishop Spellman (as he was then),was already pushing for his own promotion with the lobbying aid of Galeazzi and Kennedy. This threesome had worked hard to bring about Pacelli’s wish for a U.S. representative to the Vatican. When the old pontiff, Pius XI, died in early 1939, Kennedy sensed the ground shift and immediately dashed off a letter to Galeazzi.“The death of the Holy Father was a great shock and I was concerned regarding the future of our friend,” wrote Kennedy. In numerous letters exchanged over three decades, the two men referred to Spellman in the cryptic, ambiguous phrase of “our friend.” While Spellman was still in Boston, Kennedy told Galeazzi how he had spoken highly of Spellman to President Roosevelt during his recent trip back to America. “I talked with the President about it before I left and it was his sincere hope that great honor would come to him,” he wrote, referring to Spellman’s ambition to become cardinal in New York.“I know that the wish of the President is his wish too.”

  When he finally met the new pontiff in private, Kennedy discussed the possibility of a U.S. envoy to the Holy See. He suggested that American cardinals weren’t in agreement with Rome because they were afraid of losing power.“No, of course not!” replied Pius XII.“Let America send [a] representative to [the] Vatican.”

  During their chat together, the Pope showed genuine affection for the man who had set up his meeting with FDR three years earlier. Count Galeazzi, who remained in the room throughout Kennedy’s visit, spoke only at the conversation’s end. “You know, the Ambassador comes from Boston,” he interjected.

  As Kennedy recalled, the hint was Galeazzi’s way of “wanting to put in a boost for his friend Bishop Spellman of Boston,” just as Kennedy was doing for their friend with Roosevelt.

  “I took the hint and made a speech for Spellman,” Kennedy later wrote, “and the Pope said, ‘He is a good man and a good friend.’” Kennedy felt the same way. He later sent a cable to Sumner Welles summarizing his talks with the new Pope. “He is far from having any political prejudices,” Kennedy determined,“except a subconscious prejudice that has arisen from his belief that the tendency of Nazism and Fascism is pro-pagan and, as pro-pagan, they strike at the roots of religion.”

  AS THE FORTY-FIVE-MINUTE confidential talk with Pius XII ended, Rose and the Kennedy children were brought in. They clutched numerous rosaries and holy items to be blessed, and the Pope greeted them like old friends. He even recalled that during his visit to the Kennedy home in Bronxville,Teddy had climbed on his knee and asked about his crucifix and ring. From a side table, the Pope pulled out rosaries of his own and gave one each to the Kennedy children.“He gave me the first Rosary beads from the table before he gave my sister (Patricia) any,” little Teddy, a chubby-faced seven-year-old informed the press afterward.“He patted my hand and told me I was a smart little fellow.” Rose also received a gift of rosaries from the Pope.“He talked with her so much and so kindly and intimately I thought she would faint,” Joe remembered.

  Outside the church, Kennedy posed with his smiling family sandwiched by two Swiss Guards, and Rose and her older daughters dressed in ceremonial black dresses and veils. To the press, the ambasador said the new Pope “had a great admiration for President Roosevelt because he always admired his stand for religion.” Galeazzi then introduced Kennedy to other Vatican clergy and they were ushered through the Sistine Chapel, gazing at the wondrous, heavenly art by Michelangelo and Raphael. The count then showed Joe the room where the cardinals met in secret to
vote for a new Pope. With great intrigue, Galeazzi recounted how “he had been selected to make a thorough search” of the room for hidden microphones attached to Dictaphones, and actually found one connected to the overhead wires. Only he and the Pope knew of this covert device. Galeazzi explained to Kennedy the secret balloting leading to Pacelli’s selection as Pope. On the first ballot, Pacelli had received votes from ten Italian cardinals and all those from North America except O’Connell’s, but it was not enough. On the third ballot, Cardinal Pacelli finally received the forty-two votes that ensured his elevation to the Holy See. During their tour that day, the Kennedys met another cardinal who posed for a picture with the ambassador. Unwittingly, Jack came up to the cardinal, got on his knees and started to kiss his ring as the cameras clicked.“Jack said if that [photo] ever appears in USA goodbye to Martin Luther [supporters],” his father wrote.

  During this same trip,Teddy received his first Holy Communion from the Pope—the first for an American from this pontiff—inspiring visions in Rose’s head that her last born might someday have a vocation. “I thought that with such a start he’d become a priest or maybe a bishop,” Rose wrote years later,“but then one night he met a beautiful blonde and that was the end of that.” For this special honor, young Teddy wore a blue suit with a white rosette on his left arm. In a private chapel in the Vatican, a small room with red walls and a white marble altar that was filled with lilies and lighted candles, the Pope served Communion to the young boy. The Kennedys noticed the pontiff had a touch so light that they barely knew the consecrated wafer had touched their tongues.

  After the Mass, a group of nuns brought over a box with a small gift inside, a memento of the papal coronation, and the Pope handed it to Teddy. “This is a souvenir of your First Communion,” he said, and then blessed the young boy in front of his family. The Pope turned to Eunice and Pat, standing near Jack, and told them, “I had such a nice time in your villa in New York.” Galeazzi informed the Pope that the girls had traveled all night from Naples to be at the early morning Mass.“I thank you very much,” the Pope said humbly, to the family’s amazement. Then he turned to Teddy again, made the Sign of the Cross on his forehead, and said, “I hope you will always be good and pious as you are today.”