“Well, at least we have some good parties coming up,” the incoming First Lady offered, changing the subject. Jackie, who always enjoyed social gatherings, was referring to the balls, receptions, and other inaugural festivities that would usher in the new administration. When one considers that this was 1960 America, with all that that involved—the Cold War, growing tensions in Cuba, a communist regime sixty miles off the coast, the Civil Rights movement, a supposed missile and arms gap, nuclear proliferation, and the expansion of the Soviet sphere of influence—Jackie’s observation appears in a strange light. Above all else, at the outset of this administration the new First Lady seemed to be looking forward to balls and parties. Even the Secret Service agents thought this was odd, though they weren’t supposed to be listening.
Joan stopped walking. “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. “I have nothing to wear. What will I wear?”
“Oh, the ever-so-important details,” Jackie said with a laugh. She had already started planning her wardrobe with her couturier, Oleg Cassini.
“So how’s it shaping up?” Joan asked.
“Why, it’s wonderful,” Jackie said. “In fact, I’m completely overwhelmed by my own good taste.”
The two sisters-in-law dissolved into laughter. Jackie hooked her arm around Joan’s. Then, as the good friends turned and began to walk back to the Big House, Jackie nestled her head on Joan’s shoulder.
Jack Defeats Nixon
The so-called Kennedy compound, where the family had congregated to await the results of the 1960 election, was actually a triangle of large Cape Cod–style houses separated by a common, meticulously kept lawn. At one corner of the triangle was the Big House on Scudder Avenue, a large seventeen-room home with green shutters, facing Nantucket Sound, which had belonged to Joseph and his wife Rose since 1926. Their eldest living son, Jack, and his wife Jackie owned a smaller home a hundred yards away on Irving Avenue, surrounded by hedges. Another hundred yards across Jack’s back lawn was the middle son Bobby’s home. The youngest male sibling, Ted, and his wife Joan would purchase a home on Squaw Island, a peninsula about a mile from the compound, in March 1961. These were all summer homes—typical white-clapboard New England structures that looked like large oceanfront hotels, which were usually closed up after the Christmas holidays. For election day, Bobby’s house had been utilized as a makeshift campaign post, complete with telephones linked to Democratic headquarters all across the nation, televisions, Teletype machines, fourteen secretaries, and a vote-tabulating machine, all set up in Ethel’s dining room.
On the afternoon of the presidential victory, the entire Kennedy family was scheduled to go by motorcade to the Hyannis Armory, which had been converted into a pressroom. There, about four hundred television, radio, and print reporters from around the world had been waiting for hours for an opportunity to share in the family’s victory and to hear the new President and First Lady speak. “There were so many of them and they were all so charismatic, it seemed even more newsworthy,” recalls Helen Thomas, who has been UPI’s. White House bureau chief since 1961 and the first woman to be elected an officer of the National Press Club. “People were fascinated by them. It wasn’t just as if we had elected a man into office. In some odd way, it was as if we had given national approval to a new dynasty.”
Before the press conference, the family gathered at Rose’s for a lunch of tuna-, lobster-, chicken-, and egg-salad sandwiches; the kinds of “simple foods” they most often favored for lunches on the Cape, all leftovers from the night before when the Mayflower Catering Service had provided a buffet at Ethel’s for campaign workers. For dessert, they enjoyed a nice assortment of petits fours, eclairs, and turnovers. Afterward, the casually dressed Kennedys would need to change clothing quickly for the media.
With his eye on the historical value of having the family together on such an important day, young Jacques Lowe—who had been Jack Kennedy’s official and personal photographer since his reelection to the Senate in 1958—wanted nothing more than to take a family photograph for posterity. “I knew that if I wanted to do it, though, I’d have to do it rather quickly,” he recalls some thirty-five years later. “You couldn’t get them all in the same room at the same time, let alone have them pose for a picture. It was all just that hectic. As they raced about, I asked this family member and that one whether we could all get together for a picture, and everyone kept saying ‘Later, Jacques, later.’ Finally, I spoke to Joe, and he agreed with me. A photo should be taken.” Joseph then ordered everyone to be suitably attired for posterity and to meet in the library.
Half an hour later, the family drifted in, the men (except for Peter Lawford, Jack’s sister Pat’s husband) in dark business suits with the requisite amount of white handkerchief showing in the breast pocket. The women had their own version of the uniform. Jewelry consisted of pearls, either one or two strands, and/or a tasteful gold pin worn close to the right shoulder. Earrings should be inconspicuous enough to be barely noticed. All the ladies wore black or gray long-sleeved dresses or suits, with two notable exceptions: Rose and Ethel. Rose wore a bright red short-sleeved sheath dress, which highlighted her still slim figure; it would be sure to stand out against all the dark clothes everyone else was wearing. Ethel appeared in a bright pink dress with matching sweater. Not only did the color clash with her mother-in-law’s outfit, but she also wore a shade of pink that Rose occasionally claimed as her own because it matched her name. (Rose was probably too excited by the importance of the occasion to make mention of it to Ethel, however.)
Everyone was there but Jackie, “Jackie was always late,” says Jacques Lowe, laughing. Because she had gone for another walk along the beach, she was delayed in getting ready for the photo session. But the wait was worth it when she finally appeared at the door, stunning in a sleeveless maternity dress in a shade that just matched her mother-in-law’s and made her look radiant, with two strands of pearls and a pin. “Oh, my, is everyone here already?” she said.
Jack, magnificently tanned and looking fit in his dark suit, stood up and walked to the entryway to meet his wife. Taking her by the arm, he escorted her into the room, beaming with pride. As if on unspoken cue, the elderly Joseph stood up and began to applaud. Rose joined her husband, standing and applauding, then Bobby and Teddy followed suit. Soon the library was filled with cheers and whistles as the entire family gave Jackie Kennedy a rousing standing ovation, a heartfelt demonstration of their respect for her new position as the nation’s First Lady.
“Oh,” Jackie exclaimed, visibly moved by the overwhelming reception. “How absolutely wonderful.”
As everyone applauded, Jackie stood in the center of the room, looking from person to person, making brief eye contact with each cheerful Kennedy face. All the while she grinned broadly, shaking her head in disbelief. She went to Rose and embraced her, then to Joseph. When she found Joan, who was clapping while standing alone in a corner, Jackie walked directly to her and kissed her on the check. After whispering something in her ear, the two women hugged each other.
Then, as the applause continued, Jackie worked her way to the other side of the library, embracing the Kennedy sisters, Eunice, Pat, and then Jean.
During the long campaign, the women born into the Kennedy family had become impatient with Jackie’s stubborn reluctance to do press interviews and become chatty with reporters, feeling that she was shirking her responsibility as the wife of the candidate. The Kennedy sisters would do almost anything to get their pictures in the paper for, as far as they were concerned, every published article about them was helpful to their brother’s cause and served to inch him—and them—just that much closer to the White House. They took after their mother, the family’s matriarch, Rose, who, even at the age of seventy, never stopped touring the country, posing, speaking, shaking hands, and doing what was expected of all Kennedy women when their men were running for office. Rose had been the one to define the duties of the female members of the family by virtue of the fact that her exper
ience as a campaigner went all the way back to her youth, when her father, the legendary “Honey Fitz,” ran for mayor of Boston. Campaigning had always been an important part of the lives of these Kennedy women, and they expected Jackie to be just as excited about the traveling, the speeches (which were usually short and inconsequential), the photos—all of it.
“Those girls all looked and sounded like their brother Jack,” recalls Liz Carpenter, Lady Bird Johnson’s press secretary, who campaigned with Lady Bird and some of the Kennedy women, including Ethel, in six cities through Texas. “They all made speeches, used the word ‘terrific’ a lot. Everything was ‘just terrific, kiddo.’ They threw themselves into it, the Kennedy sisters, and Ethel fit right in, with high energy. In August of 1960, this Kennedy enthusiasm—all those bucked teeth and talk of ‘vig-ah’—completely captivated Texas. In fact, we ended up carrying the state. Jackie wasn’t there, though. So all you heard was, ‘Where’s Jackie? Where’s Jackie?’ ”
The one Kennedy woman people seemed to care most about was the one who seemed the least interested: Jackie. This fact served only to exasperate further the rest of them. Poor Eunice, so politically savvy that her father Joe once said she could have been President herself if she’d only been “born with a set of balls,” found herself at political tea parties answering inane questions about her sister-in-law’s ever-changing hairstyles. “Well, she does change it a lot, doesn’t she?” Eunice patiently agreed with one socialite. “However, I don’t think she does it for any kind of effect, but rather because, well, she just likes her hair to be in different styles from time to time. I’m sure you understand.” When the satisfied voter walked away, Eunice rolled her eyes.
Campaigning was difficult for Jackie, especially when she had to be in front of an audience. For instance, she had been asked to warm up the crowd before her husband made an appearance in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Completely unprepared to render a speech, she didn’t know what to do, only that she would have to do something, and do it quickly. “Just get ’em singing,” a campaign worker said to her as she walked nervously onto the stage.
Jackie Kennedy stood in the spotlight and, with her characteristic whisper, said, “Now come on, everybody, join me in this wonderful song.” She then began singing a weak, tin-eared, a cappella version of “Southie Is My Old Hometown.” This tune, apparently, was a popular one in Boston but nowhere else and, judging from the audience’s reaction, definitely not in Kenosha. As Jackie sang, the crowd of potential voters sat before her slack-jawed and bewildered.
After Jackie was finished, she acknowledged a smattering of polite applause and hastily brought out her husband, the candidate, to wild cheers. “It was the most embarrassing moment of my life,” Jackie cried afterward. “Well, I don’t know about that,” Jack said with a grin. “I thought you sounded rather tuneful.” The next day, newspaper reporters made unkind jokes about Jackie’s “unusual concert performance.”
Luckily, because Jackie was pregnant, she was able to sit out the last few months of the campaign.
As frustrated as the Kennedy women were about Jackie, they were even more aggravated by Joan. Whereas Jackie was fully capable of doing what was expected of her but just didn’t want to, Joan seemed emotionally unprepared to handle the rigors of campaigning. Despite her great beauty and vivacious personality, she was too shy and self-conscious to he an effective stumper.
In September, Joan and Ethel embarked on a trip to Chicago, where they spent three days attending rallies and meetings with female voters. Ethel was in her element and found it all exhilarating: meeting the voters, answering questions, talking about Jack, Bobby, and the family. A public relations strategist by instinct, Ethel fairly dragged Joan from meeting to meeting, prompting her in her answers, coaching and cajoling her every step of the way. By the time they left Chicago, Ethel was more exhausted by her tutoring of Joan than she was by the purpose of the trip itself.
When Joan was asked to appear on a television show with Lady Bird Johnson, she declined the invitation, explaining that she wouldn’t know what to say. Ted was embarrassed by her lack of confidence and later chided her for it, which only added to her humiliation. He wanted her to satisfy his family’s criteria for the perfect Kennedy woman, which meant that she should be able to handle herself in front of people, be charismatic and personable, and, if called upon to do so, appear on television and make it look like second nature.
In San Francisco, Joan joined her sister-in-law Pat at rallies and meetings, looking like a frightened child on the first day of grade school, while Pat displayed the kind of exuberance and public relations savvy for which the Kennedy women were well known.
Jean had just given birth in September to her second son, William Kennedy Smith, but that didn’t stop her from replacing Joan at Ethel’s side in Florida during the month of October. “Ethel and I are a great team,” she told one packed audience, “because we have the same goal: to see John Fitzgerald Kennedy elected as President,” As Ethel followed Jean on the podium, she smiled appreciatively at her, probably relieved to be paired finally with someone who could make an impact on voters. “Believe me when I tell you that the difference between Joan and Jean is a lot more than just a letter,” she said later.
The impromptu standing ovation the Kennedy women gave Jackie in the library on the day Jack was elected was a clear acknowledgment that whatever their frustrations about her, they now recognized that she was the First Lady and thus deserved their respect. Also, the brief and personal moment Jackie shared with each of them was, in a sense, her recognition of the role they had played in her husband’s successful campaign. After kissing Joan, Eunice, Pat, and Jean, Jackie finally reached Ethel. By the time she got to her, the applause had died down.
Jackie reached for Ethel. However, rather than melt into an embrace with Jackie, as had the other women, Ethel took a step backward and then held out her hand, palm down. After Jackie took it in hers, the two sisters-in-law shared an uncomfortable and brief moment, one that said a great deal about their uneasy relationship. Later that evening, in the presence of photographer Stanley Tretick at a photo session for the Kennedy women, Ethel would be overheard expressing concern that perhaps the family had afforded Jackie more preferential treatment than necessary by giving her such an ovation.
“Okay now,” Jackie finally said, turning from Ethel, “let’s take those pictures now, shall we?”
“Show us how they do it in Hollywood,” Eunice joked to Peter Lawford, who crossed his eyes and made a face. Everyone laughed.
As the motorcade that would take the Kennedys to the Armory for the press conference began to form in front of the Big House, the family members inside busied themselves deciding who would sit where for the photograph. Two more photographers, Paul Schutzer of Life and Stanley Tretick of UPI, were invited to join Jacques Lowe in his work. “It was sheer bedlam, with all three of us shouting at the Kennedys,” Lowe recalls. “ ‘Look this way, Mr. Kennedy. Over here, Mrs. Kennedy.’ It was just madness. Everyone was laughing, trying to figure out what to do, where to look. It was a wonderful, joyous time.”
In the several photos taken that afternoon in the library, the entire Kennedy family—Rose and Joe, Jack and Jackie, Bobby and Ethel, Ted and Joan, Pat and her husband Peter Lawford, Eunice and Sargent Shriver, and Jean and Stephen Smith—look to the future with confidence, their faces frozen in bright smiles.
The Pre-Inaugural Gala
January 19, 1961, was the date on Jackie Kennedy’s calendar that marked the Pre-Inaugural Gala at the National Guard Armory in Washington. Calling upon her “overwhelming good taste,” the new First Lady had decided that she wanted to wear the color white for the occasion, and so, following her explicit instructions, Oleg Cassini designed a white, double-satin gown with elbow-length sleeves, princess-shaped bodice, and a two-part bell-shaped skirt. World-renowned hairdresser “Mr. Kenneth” (whose full name is Kenneth Battelle) was flown in from New York to create a hairstyle that he hoped would be daz
zling with the dress.
It would be a new era of elegance in the White House; clearly, Jackie had already decided as much. The dowdy and dreadfully conservative Eisenhowers were “out.” After eight years of that stuffy old guard, it was now time for youth, elegance, and glamour in Washington. All of Jackie’s fashions would be original creations, she insisted to Cassini. “Make sure no one else wears exactly the same dress I do,” she would write to him, adding that she did not want to see any “fat little women hopping around in the same dress.”
This was a Big Night, and Jackie had always savored Big Nights. However, she was ill and weak after the recent cesarean section necessary for the arrival of John Jr. and not feeling at all well. Was she up to the task of re-creating herself, of masking any appearance of poor health and of radiating nothing but youthful, blooming vigor? As a public person, she believed it to be her responsibility to always be cordial, look her best, and pretend she felt that way even if she didn’t. “You shake hundreds of hands in the afternoon and hundreds more at night,” she said. “You get so tired, you catch yourself laughing and crying at the same time. But you pace yourself, and you get through it.”
Oleg Cassini’s shimmering winter-white satin gown turned out to be another lucky choice in the life of Jackie Kennedy, for the night of the Pre-Inaugural Presidential Gala (organized by Frank Sinatra and actor Peter Lawford) marked one of the biggest blizzards in Washington’s history. In some ways, Jackie’s superbly cut gown transformed the unfortunate snowstorm into a magical backdrop for a modern-day snow queen. By the time the Kennedys left for the gala, huge snowdrifts had brought the city to a standstill, but that didn’t prevent hundreds of spectators from lining the streets, all straining to catch a glimpse of the glamorous First Couple as their limousine crept by at ten miles per hour.
Jackie, Ethel, Joan: Women of Camelot Page 3