Jackie, Ethel, Joan: Women of Camelot (32 page)

“How she got through World War II, well, I’ll never know,” Jackie said, shaking her head incredulously. “She must be such a brave lady. I pray to God to give me the strength to be half as much help to Jack as she had been to her husband.” (Eleanor Roosevelt would die on November

7, 1963; Jackie, Lady Bird Johnson, and Bess Truman would attend her funeral.)

Upon hearing Jackie’s words, Jack looked up from his meal and gazed lovingly across the table at his wife.

“If this is the end of the world, it’s God’s will,” Ethel said, ignoring Jackie’s sentiment. “There’s nothing we can do about it. We’re in God’s hands now.”

“Well then,” Jackie said, raising a glass of inexpensive Piper Heidsieck (vintage 1955!) in a toast, “God bless us all, everybody.”

“Yes, God bless us,” Mary Meyer repeated.

Everyone clinked glasses around the table, except for Ethel, who happened to be seated next to Mary, the inter- loper. As far as Ethel Kennedy was concerned, this woman was probably as much an adversary as Khrushchev.

The Cuban Missile Crisis was over in a matter of days— days during which America’s streets and stores were practi- cally deserted, the air thick with apprehension and dread. In the end, it was said by Jack and his advisers that he was able to face down Khrushchev, thereby forcing the removal of the missiles. Other factors were at work as well. Robert Mc- Namara, Kennedy’s Secretary of Defense, explains, “Khrushchev had sent us two conflicting cables, and we came up with the brilliant idea of sending a cable as though we’d never received the second one. Khrushchev’s second cable contained a proposal we couldn’t accept, with the im- plied threat at the end of the cable, ‘Give me an answer or it’s war.’ It was Bobby who came up with the idea of send- ing a cable back as if we hadn’t gotten the second one. Kennedy’s cable put forth our proposal and closed, ‘Let us know within twenty-four hours.’ That gave Khrushchev an

out with his people.” Also a deal was made, of which the public was unaware, whereby the United States traded its armed missiles positioned in Turkey for Russia’s missiles headed for Cuba. This agreement was struck with an under- standing between the United States and Russia that they would not make it public.*

By the end of the week, as the ordeal drew to a close, Jackie decided to spend the weekend at Glen Ora. She played with the children, rode, and hunted, happy and secure in the knowledge that Jack and Bobby had made the right moves and decisions and that Jack had also probably gained the respect and support of even his most vocal dissenters. On the Sunday after the crisis passed, Jack attended morning Mass at St. Stephens Catholic Church in Washington before joining Jackie in Virginia. Ethel and Bobby went back to their chaotic life at Hickory Hill.

Jackie considered the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty to be Jack’s greatest achievement. “There was nothing that caused greater concern in 1961 and 1962 than that there was no control over nuclear weapons,” she said. “So many coun- tries would have atomic weapons and be testing them, and the world would be that much closer to total destruction. The Test Ban Treaty was finally signed. It was more a sense of enormous relief, and our future generations, and our chil- dren and theirs, would be safe.”

*Many years later, in an interview with Jack’s adult niece Maria Shriver, Fidel Castro said, “With the information I have now—the experience of the Soviets’ hesitation—no, I would not have ac- cepted the missiles. I think that according to the steps taken by each side, we were quite close, quite near to nuclear war.”

“She was immensely interested in the limited Test Ban Treaty and thought it an immense achievement,” recalled Robert McNamara. “I had been very involved in pushing for it, so [the President] gave me one of the pens he used to sign it. Subsequently, because she spoke of it with such pride, I gave her the pen.”

After the Cuban Missile Crisis passed, life went on for the Kennedys as it did for the rest of the country. “But there would always be that nagging in the back of our minds that such a thing could happen again, though we didn’t know how or when. It was just a sense of unpre- dictability about life in general,” said Joan, who waited out the ordeal at her and Ted’s home with their children. “I don’t think we ever forgot it, or took life for granted again, it was that close.” (True to their distinct personalities, Jackie took a more optimistic view about the future than Joan. In a letter to a friend, she wrote: “Perhaps saving old buildings and having new ones be right isn’t the most im- portant thing in the world—if you are waiting for the bomb. But I think we are always going to be waiting for the bomb. And it won’t ever come.”)

At this time, Jackie’s concerns ranged from the nationally urgent, such as nuclear war; to the personally relevant, such as Jack’s ongoing affairs; to the ridiculous—such as what to do with a herd of cows.

At the end of the year, the Kennedys’ lease at Glen Ora was to expire. Because the owner was unhappy about the way Jackie had modified the home to suit herself—she had even made structural changes!—the lease would not be re- newed. So Jackie was faced with the dilemma of what to do with a gift Lyndon Johnson had given her for the children:

two cows that, over a period of two years, had become le- gion in number.

Jackie wrote to the vice president in October 1962, saying that she didn’t know what she would now do for a retreat, but “I can see myself plodding down a dusty lane, beating the rumps of a lowing herd in front of me, which is what your cows have now grown into.” (Actually, the Kennedys decided to build their own retreat elsewhere in Virginia.) Jackie wrote that she felt bad that she and Jack could no longer care for the cows, but because there were so many due to the “great fertility of LBJ cattle,” they would have to either give them to the Johnsons or sell them. She suggested that with the profit she would purchase a present in the John- sons’ name for the White House. Jackie noted that the “sad thing about having cows is the little calves you love the most always end up at the butcher! One thing I won’t do is eat any of them!” She closed by joking, “Now I know how Nehru feels about population control!” (Johnson decided to buy back the cows himself, and he gave the money back to Jackie so that she could purchase a gift in his name. Problem solved. Jackie wrote back that the gesture “almost made me weep.”)

Joan—The Senator’s Wife

I
n January 1963, twenty-seven-year-old Joan Kennedy would start a new life as the youngest wife of the youngest senator ever elected in the United States. After Ted won the

election and Joan realized that a move from Boston was im- minent, she recruited help from Jackie and Ethel in finding a place to live. Both women had gone through the same process when they had to move to Washington with their husbands, so they were eager to help Joan. Jackie was busy with her duties as First Lady, however, leaving Ethel to do most of the searching.

Ethel jumped at the opportunity to assist Joan, combing newspapers for rentals, speaking to real estate agents, and contacting friends to ask for referrals. By the time Joan got to Washington in December to take a look at potential res- idences, Ethel had forty places for her consideration. The two sisters-in-law looked at about fifteen of them before Joan made a decision: a four-bedroom, redbrick home at 31st Street in Georgetown. Ethel was at first adamant that Joan should see the rest of the homes. “But this is your house, and you have to live in it,” she said finally, yielding to Joan’s wishes. “I just think you won’t be here long. It’s too small.”

When Joan finally was moved in, though, Ethel loved the modest surroundings. “Pretty good choice, this place,” she told her sister-in-law at one luncheon there. Joan beamed.

Joan’s days became filled with the activities of a senator’s wife, doing such things as shuttling electorates down from Boston on sight-seeing trips to Capitol Hill, attending fund- raisers and luncheons with the other—mostly older—wives, and greeting large tours at the White House, one of the re- sponsibilities of the Kennedy wives. She was also chairman of the Hope Ball and worked for the Joseph P. Kennedy Jr. Foundation.

Joan’s had become an exciting, unpredictable life. For instance, shortly after moving to Washington, she vaca-

tioned at the Kennedy compound in Palm Beach for a few days. Jack was also there and offered to take Joan— whom he referred to as “The Dish”—back to Washington aboard Air Force One. So off went Joan and the President in the private presidential plane, opulently decorated by Jackie. (“You asked for barbecue steak on that plane, and you were served barbecue steak,” said Secret Service agent Marty Venker. “It was barbecued before your eyes— three inches thick.”) After landing at Andrews Air Force Base, sister- and brother-in-law hopped into a helicopter, took off, and landed a few minutes later on the well- manicured lawn of the White House. Jack went straight to the Oval Office, already late for a meeting, while Joan de- cided to do a little snooping on the second floor in areas of Jackie’s private living quarters where no one ever dared venture.

Of course, Joan had often been a guest for dinner at the White House and had attended innumerable parties in the entertaining rooms. Jackie often urged Joan to play piano for the entertainment of the other guests. Joan always complied. After a few songs, Ted would jump up and sing “Heart of My Heart” to everyone’s delight. Joan’s playing was always in tune, while Ted’s baritone was always off-pitch.

On this day, Joan was alone in Jackie’s bedroom, and while she surely would never have dreamt of looking in the First Lady’s dresser drawers or medicine cabinet, she did sneak a look at her enormous clothes closet. “There was no one home,” Joan once explained of her private moment in the White House, “so one of the maids asked me in and showed me around. And there I was, like any tourist, rub- bernecking in my very own sister-in-law’s house.”

Joan quickly became a popular fixture in Washington, so

much so that when columnist Art Buchwald compiled his Top Ten list of the city’s most beautiful women for
The Washingtonian
magazine, Joan was right on top. She wasn’t particularly happy about Buchwald’s compliment, however. “I’d like to be noted for something a little more substantial,” she said.

There were days Ted would spend in Boston, where he would be invited to a political function. Joan would have to drop whatever she was doing, leave instructions for the help, catch a cab to the airport, race for a plane, and be at his side, looking like a fashion plate, in just a matter of hours. Then she would be off to Japan with Ted as guests of the Japanese Council for International Understanding. Standing next to Cary Grant in the receiving line, Joan wold marvel at the fascinating turn her life had taken. Then back to Washing- ton.

Those nights alone in Washington were problematic. It had been Ted’s decision that they attend few social gather- ings on Capitol Hill because he was hoping to change his image. Ted knew that he was in office largely because of his name, and he was determined to prove himself a capable legislator. He didn’t want to be perceived as a young, frivo- lous person, and he felt that the less of a presence he and Joan had on the party circuit, the better. He said he didn’t want the Washington gossips to have “anything to chew on.” So Ted spent his nights working in the Senate office build- ing next to the Capitol, while Joan stayed at home, bored and alone.

While Ted did work hard, his effort to refashion his image into that of a serious politician seemed disingenuous to some observers. Their skepticism might have stemmed from the fact that once he became a senator, his philandering be-

came almost as high-profile as any legislation he hoped to pass.

Most memorable to all concerned was Ted’s prostitute in Belgium. When he first became a senator, Ted took a trip to Europe, leaving Joan at home. While in Antwerp, Belgium, he was invited by the American ambassador to a dinner party hosted by a wealthy couple in honor of the King and Queen. Ted showed up at the couple’s grand eighteenth- century home obviously inebriated and with a hooker on his arm. Hoping to keep Ted’s guest away from the view of roy- alty, the hostess hurried Ted and his date into a large, opu- lently appointed sitting room. Unfortunately, the hooker was so drunk that, while sitting on the antique couch and making out with Ted, she accidentally relieved herself, thereby ruin- ing the priceless fabric. Details of this distasteful incident did make their way back to Joan, who was so humiliated by her husband’s actions that she even sent the Belgian couple a note of apology.

Despite their problems, Joan and Ted always had a pas- sionate life of their own together. He had been her first lover. “Our good times together were so good,” Joan said many years later. “People look at a relationship from the outside and feel they can then be judgmental about it.” She pointed out that “the little moments, the times that are shared with each other,” were the times that kept the two of them to- gether. “That’s why it makes me so mad when people say, ‘Oh, how could you stay with him?’ ” she observed. “What do they know? How dare they?”