Jacqueline Kennedy: Historic Conversations on Life With John F. Kennedy

by Caroline Kennedy

  They were like a hockey team.

  Yeah, well, you know, just—she always had these three green notebooks just filled with everything.

  We talked about this the other day but it was not on the tape so you were—about the problem of Lyndon's going on the ticket.

  Oh, well, I think everyone was disappointed because of all the people, they liked Lyndon Johnson the least, and I must say, Symington behaved awfully nicely there, didn't he?18

  Yes.

  You never thought he was any great statesman or anything, but he was just such a gentleman the way he did that. And I know that made Jack sad. I even wrote Symington a letter—which I asked him to burn. [laughs] And he wrote me back that he burned it—saying I wish he had been the vice president. But I know Jack had to do it because—have Lyndon as his running mate—to annul him as majority leader because here this man with this enormous ego would have been just enraged and blocking Jack in every way and yes—you know, and keeping everything in. I know he kept that session in before the convention.19

  I think he called it before the convention.

  Yeah, that was it, so Jack couldn't get out and campaign and do more things. I mean, he'd done something before to really make things difficult for him.

  I recall it was called before the convention but took place after.

  Well, he certainly didn't make—If you'd had him up there with that enormous ego, and thwarted and bitter—so nobody was happy about it. Everyone was even amazed that he accepted. Well, some other people can tell you about it, going down into his room and everything—[whispers] and I guess he was drunk, wasn't he?

  Phil Graham was a great go-between and told me—I have notes somewhere—that the Friday I went out and had dinner with Phil, he gave me a great account of his role as kingmaker-intermediary. I think Joe Alsop also thinks that he was responsible for getting Lyndon on the ticket.20

  Gosh, I don't know. I suppose Bobby could really tell you all of that.

  Bobby was against it.

  But, I mean, Bobby knows. All I know is that a call was placed at something like eight o'clock in the morning and Lady Bird answered. And Lyndon was still asleep. And then Jack went down. Lyndon said he'd come up but Jack said no, he'd go down to his apartment and Lyndon just accepted right away. But I don't know what had gone back and forth, and they all were rather surprised. So, I don't know if all these people were kingmakers or not.

  Joe and Phil waited on Senator Kennedy on the Tuesday and said he had to put Johnson on the ticket. The President said nothing. But then subsequently, according to Phil, the President called him and I forget where this—and asked him about calling—what he should do about calling—said, "I want to go ahead with Lyndon." And I think then the President called Lyndon directly. Lyndon was asleep and then all this business started. Then later the thing seemed to get off the tracks and Phil was called in to kind of put it together.

  I see. Oh, what else was I just thinking of? Can't remember.

  Before the President went to Los Angeles, did he talk very much about—did he speculate about the vice presidency?

  No, he really didn't. He was at the Cape and I flew down with him to New York and we stayed—did we stay the night at that Idlewild21 hotel?—or else I just saw him off and went back to the Cape—you know, and said goodbye to him. I guess we did stay the night because the Truman thing was sometime. He really didn't. You know, it was more just to get it himself. So, that all obviously happened in those four or five days there.

  Did he ever get permanently mad at people?

  Never! And then I used to say to him sometimes—you know, it was so funny in politics—it was all everyone talked about, every night. And I'd hear him speaking nicely about someone and I'd say, "What? Are you saying nice things about X? But I've been hating him for three weeks." You know, if I saw him in the street I was going to make a point to just glare at him and cross over to avoid him and Jack would say, "No, no, that was three weeks ago. Now he's done x, y." You know, I mean, in politics things do change so quickly and Jack would never—he'd often say that—never get in anything so deep that you've lost all chance of conciliation. I mean, he never treated it—what did he say? "In politics you don't have friends or enemies, you have colleagues"? That isn't quite the right—

  Interests. Palmerston used to say there are no permanent friendships or alliances, there are only permanent interests. Something like that.

  Yeah, but he never got—I mean, I'd get terribly emotional about anyone, whether it was a politician or a newspaper person who would be unfair, but he always treated it so objectively, as if they were people on a chess board—which is right. I mean, how could you if you—if he'd gotten so mad at all those people, then you may need to work with them again later. So, it's the only way to be effective—which is one reason I think women should never be in politics. We're just not suited to it.

  Yeah. He was a great realist in that way, because I remember in Los Angeles, everyone felt as soon as Lyndon attacked the ambassador, that this finished him.22 That's because of the theory that developed of sort of Irish feuding. Too many people had seen John Ford films, which I didn't—23

  John Connally was the one who was going around about saying Mr. Ken—about Addison's disease too. And then, you know, the day before Jack died in Texas, I said to him, "I just can't stand Governor Connally. I can't stand his soft mouth." He was so pleased with himself and he'd spend all our times in the car telling Jack, I guess, how far he'd run ahead of him in Texas. So, I'd say, "What's he trying to tell you? It seems so rude what he's saying to you all the time." And Jack said, "Oh, well, he's been making up with a lot of businessmen down here and gotten a lot of support he didn't have before. That's what he's telling me."24 But Jack would just sort of take it—you know, "yaaah"—and then when I said that, that I hated Connally, Jack was so sweet. He sort of rubbed my back—it was as we were going to bed—and said, "You mustn't say that, you mustn't say that." He said, "If you start to say or think that you hate someone, then the next day you'll act as if you hated him," and then, "We've come down here to Texas to heal everything up and you'll make it all impossible." Nellie Connally was refusing to ride with Yarborough—everybody was refusing to ride with Yarborough—everybody was refusing to ride. And there were two people named Yarborough and, I don't know.25 Everybody was hating everyone. And you know, Jack said just, "You know, you mustn't think that about people." He said it so kindly.

  And the same way with the Stevenson people. When you think that the top people on the Stevenson drive at Los Angeles were George Ball, Bill Wirtz, and Tom Finletter. All of whom were immediately—26

  Oh, yeah, I know. I think it's so good to be able to forgive quickly. That's a quality that Jack liked in me, being married—that if ever there'd be a slight little cloud, I'd always be the—I'd rush and say, "Oh, dear, did I upset you? Did I say something wrong?" Or "I'm so sorry." And he loved that, because I think it's hard for men to make up first in a family, in a rather intimate way. But he did that same thing—I can't do it in my life outside marriage, but he did that same thing outside.

  Would he ever get depressed or was his temperament just terribly equable?

  Oh, his temperament was terribly even, except when he'd be in pain for a long period of time—for instance, his back—and when he'd done the three or four usual things, which is go stay on crutches four days—if that doesn't work, go to bed for two days, or have a hot pack or something. And if it just seemed to stay on and on, he couldn't shake it, then he'd get very low, but just because of that. But if he had something to do, he'd get up and do it. And then eventually it would get better. But, in the beginning years of our marriage, ill health was—just seeing Jack in pain used to make me so sad all the time, but really after—when? I guess, after the Senate thing, it didn't seem to be as much of a problem anymore.

  In 1960, his back didn't trouble him much, did it—during the campaign?

  No, I mean, he had the best health in the world. I
think one reason was he was doing so much, too much. When he got in the White House, he took this nap every day—it was just forty-five minutes. He'd come—who could be bothered to get in your pajamas for forty-five minutes? —and he'd hit that pillow and go to sleep and wake up again. I mean, I couldn't sleep—it would take me forty-five minutes to doze off, but it was so good for him. Then all his back and his stomach and everything weren't always plaguing him. He just always overtaxed himself. And so he never was in better health or spirits than all his White House years.

  Did he ever have trouble sleeping?

  No.

  Never took sleeping pills? Never—just always—

  Sometimes, in a campaign, he would take one tiny little sleeping pill. If you got in late and you had to get up early and you were in some awful smelly hotel bedroom. I remember once there was a whiskey bottle under the mattress because the American Legion had had a convention in that hotel there before and there were whiskey bottles under all our mattresses. Well, you know, just to make sure he got to sleep so he'd be awake the next day. But, a little tiny thing, and then he wouldn't the rest of the time. Because you needed your sleep—my gosh, you only got about four hours. I remember I tried not to take any, and you'd toss and turn, so then I'd borrow one of his sometimes.

  You were in Hyannis Port all the summer of '60, during the special session.

  That's right.

  And then, of course, you were there all autumn.

  Let's see, I did a lot of things in the spring in Georgetown, and then I went to New York for that ticker-tape parade. The first debate I saw in my house in Hyannis and had people down from Boston. The second one—whichever one was in New York, I was there for. And the third one I was in Washington for—the third or the fourth.

  Do you remember how he felt when the whole question of debates came up?

  Oh, well, I remember the one in New York, which was the one I was with him for—how he just had piles of briefing books and he had sort of a busy day, but then he'd sit in a room for two or three hours and he had about five people there giving him every conceivable awful question you could think of. I mean, he really prepared for it—like sort of an exam. And, you know, was so confident—no, not so confident—but you know, he wasn't moaning or groaning or worried or anything. And then when he called me up at the one in Washington the minute it was over, that was—I guess maybe it was the second one in Washington—because he said on the phone they had the temperature here down to thirty degrees below zero, or something, because I guess Nixon had perspired in the first one—sort of laughing. But he really was quite confident.

  What did you think during the first debate?

  Oh, well, I thought what everyone else did. I just couldn't believe it. You know, it was so obvious. It was just so clear. That really changed everything. Jack always told me the thing that changed his '52 campaign—this was before we were married—was his appearance on Meet the Press with Lodge.27 He said that that was the hump and then everything started to go his way. Well, that first debate was—I always thought it—but I was so glad that it was just so obvious. Because you could just see he'd won it, and hear it in the street and everywhere.

  SENATOR KENNEDY IN THE FIRST DEBATE AGAINST VICE PRESIDENT RICHARD NIXON, SEPTEMBER 26, 1960

  AP/John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum, Boston

  Was there any talk before that about the—I mean, the President obviously thought that the debate would be a great opportunity, if he could get it, but didn't suppose that Nixon would go along. Do you remember any of that?

  Not really. I remember sort of talk on and off all spring about the debates. No, I don't know what made Nixon finally decide to—

  This was his great miscalculation. And I think he did it because he'd been a champion debater at Whittier College and thought that he could win. I'm sure there was no—I think he thought that this would make the experience for him, if he would get up there with this young kid.

  But I remember the talk in evenings of which debate would be—wasn't one foreign policy, one domestic?—I remember all those evenings when they were hashing out—a lot of people would come and they'd decide how the debates would be made up. But I don't really remember the leading-up-to-it part.

  I know you weren't, because of John, weren't around, along, all the time on the campaign. Do you have any impression on whom the President relied particularly in campaign strategy and the like?

  Well, himself really. Because whenever he was home you'd hear him calling and I mean, he'd be telling people what to do. I suppose he did rely on Bobby—didn't he?—most of all. Bobby—

  And he always checked his judgment with Bobby. Didn't always take it, as in the case of Lyndon Johnson, but I think he always wanted to see what Bobby reacted—how Bobby would react.

  Then his father was always—you know, I was so glad Mr. Kennedy had a chance to do something. But he would be taking Billy Green to Pavillon or something—or maybe that was all before.28 But he'd talk to his father too, but more to hear what his father reported. You know, all those old men—

  John Bailey, did he matter?29

  Oh, yeah, well, John Bailey—I don't really know—

  He was the chairman of the committee—

  Yeah. We always loved John Bailey. That's the first place we ever went when we were married, and Jack made a speech in Connecticut. But no, I don't think he was calling up John Bailey for advice.

  As far as whatever I saw, it seemed to me he was really running the whole show himself.

  Yeah. And then he'd say, and Bobby would say, and everyone—you know, "Nobody must ever get mad at the candidate." So that's where Bobby was sort of the buffer. And everyone who had a fight or then somebody hated Ted Sorensen in some state, and somebody else—there'd be two chairmen and which one would be the one. All those things Bobby would have to do, so that those people wouldn't get mad at Jack. You know, which Bobby gladly did. That's another reason—he got the sort of image of being someone people disliked, but he had to be so tough for Jack. And Bobby said that to me the other day—you know, it's so nice to have someone for you who can fight your fight—I mean, be the one that people get mad at—not at you. Just the way Frank Morrissey used to tell me that the candidate could never be the one to leave the room, so Frank Morrissey would have to haul him out. And he'd always be protesting, "No, Frank, I don't want to go yet." [Schlesinger laughs] But you always had people to protect you and do that for you.

  Tell me, tell us, about the last day before the election.

  Well, everybody was at the Cape. Oh, no—

  You went to Boston—

  Yeah, we woke up in Boston so we must have slept there the night before.

  There was a big rally at the Boston Garden the night before. I think you were there, weren't you?

  No, I wasn't. I was at the Cape, so I must have gotten up very early and been driven to 122 Bowdoin Street30 and from there we went to the voting place. Then we flew down to the Cape in the Caroline,31 and then that long day started. I remember we had fish chowder. You could still sit outside. And it's so funny, talking about the longest day, who should come running out from the garage in sort of a servant's part but Cornelius Ryan, who had written The Longest Day, with a print of a picture.32 We both said, "What are you doing here?" We didn't really know him—he introduced himself. So then Jack started questioning him all about The Longest Day and the this and the that part of it. And you should ask Ryan about that—and I guess he'd gotten in it through Pierre.33 Then you'd take walks and you'd go over to his father's house, to Bobby's house.

  What kind of a day was it?

  It was a cold, fall Cape day—very clear. But I know we lay out on the porch with blankets on us, sort of in the afternoon in the sun. Then he'd go over—Bobby's house had been turned into just a, you know, command post—I mean, radios, telephones, boards, workers. But Jack kind of stayed away from that. And then dinner—

  How did he seem—

  Sort of restles
s, but quiet. He'd go over there, then he'd try to take a nap.

  He wouldn't speculate about things anymore—

  Oh, no, he wouldn't talk about it. I mean, it was—you had what he loves—his fish chowder—and then he was picking Cornelius Ryan's brains about The Longest Day. That poor man was so amazed. Then we'd take a little walk because you knew that the really bad part wasn't going to get until night. And then—I forget which house we had dinner at, but afterwards we were all watching it in our house. I remember Connecticut came charging in. And I said to Jack, "Oh, you know, now you're President now," and he said, "No, no" very quietly. So I watched until, I guess, about 11:30 or twelve and then everyone knew that it would be an all-night thing. So then I was sent up to bed. And all the—it was so sweet—Jack came up and sort of kissed me goodnight—and then all the Kennedy girls came up, and one by one we just sort of hugged each other, and they were all going to wait up all night. And Jack slept in the next room that night. So when I woke up in the morning, I went flying into his room to see—just to hear the good news—to hear that he'd heard sometime while he'd been awake—and no, there wasn't anything.