Jackie, Ethel, Joan: Women of Camelot (4 page)

The salty air and crisp breeze of the southern Cape had al- ways seemed to invigorate Jackie Kennedy on her solitary walks along the beach during times of confusion. It was one of the few things she had in common with the other Kennedys—and one other Kennedy wife. Joan finally caught up with her sister-in-law. Sharing a smile, the two women walked together along the shore.

Ethel . . .

B
obby Kennedy cocked back his arm and sent a pass sail- ing off to his athletic wife, Ethel. “I’ve got it. I’ve got it,” she hollered as she positioned herself right under the drop- ping football. Ethel’s prowess in sports had always been a marvel. After catching the ball gracefully, she let out a loud “Yes sir, kiddo!” and then spiked it to the sand. She began jumping about, arms raised to the sky, hands shaking in the air, in her own victory dance. Certainly few were filled with more joy on this chilly November election day than Ethel Kennedy. If she had a care in the world, it wasn’t obvious.

Not really a contemplative woman, Ethel Skakel Kennedy seemed always eager to meet her destiny head-on. She experienced life for all it was worth, much like Jackie. However, whereas Jackie (and, to a certain extent, Joan) needed meditative moments to analyze her problems, sort out inner turmoil, and then determine productive courses of action, Ethel surrendered all responsibility for her life to God. It was easier for her to handle unexpected circum- stances that way, she had said, and it worked for her.

Thirty-one-year-old Ethel’s brood already numbered seven: Kathleen Hartington, Joseph Patrick, Robert Francis, Jr., David Anthony, Mary Courtney, Michael LeMoyne, and Mary Kerry (two girls named Mary!), all born in the last eight years.

Ethel and Bobby lived in a rambling two-story home in a McLean, Virginia, estate known as Hickory Hill. The white- brick Georgian manor—which was once the Civil War head- quarters of Union General George B. McClellan and now included stables, orchards, and a swimming pool—was al- ways filled with children, friends, family, business associ- ates, and anyone else who happened by. Ethel loved to entertain. Jackie and Jack had lived at Hickory Hill first; it was rumored that Joseph had given the six-acre estate to them as a gift, but Jack had actually purchased it himself. Jackie had planned to raise her children there; however, when she had a stillbirth in 1956, she no longer wanted any- thing to do with Hickory Hill. So after Jack lost a bid for the vice-presidential nomination in 1956, the couple moved back to Georgetown. Meanwhile, Ethel and Bobby bought Hickory Hill.

Ethel was complex. She could be as critical as she could be accepting, as heartless as she could be generous, as

wicked as she could be loving. Moreover, even though the Kennedys were known to be competitive (and not only with outsiders but also against each other), her aggressive nature was a source of amazement even to family members. Jackie liked to say, “Ethel loves politics so much, I think she could be the first female president, and then, God help us all.”

Whereas Jackie and Joan worried about the encroachment into their personal lives that would result from Jack’s elec- tion—not only from outsiders, but also from the family it- self—Ethel had no such concerns. She actually seemed to enjoy the intrusion. The more chaos in her life, the better; it seemed to make her feel involved, a part of important things. She would do whatever she had to do in the name of “Kennedy” because family loyalty was paramount to her. Hers was no ordinary family, either. The Kennedys held an important station in life, were influential in government, and had, as they say, “friends in high places.” She once ex- plained, “Whatever my problems were, they didn’t matter. In the bigger picture, we were doing great things for the na- tion. How dare I complain about a lack of privacy?”

If she had to host reporters for lunch, Ethel would lie awake the night before—not fretting the occasion, as Jackie or Joan would have done, but anticipating every moment, anxious to do her best to represent her husband and his fam- ily in the best possible light. She would be sure to know the right meal to serve, the perfect outfit to wear, the appropri- ate thing to say. In the end, the success of the event would be not only a victory for the family but a personal one as well, giving her a sense of purpose and accomplishment.

In fact, the preceding evening, at just before midnight, Ethel Kennedy was in her bedroom, dressed in brightly pat- terned wool slacks, holding an impromptu press conference

with reporters from
Time
and
Life
magazines. The journal- ists had been staying in Rose and Joseph’s servants’ quarters for the last couple of nights.

“Are you happy, Ethel?” one writer asked her.

“Oh, I sure am,” she answered enthusiastically. “It’s ter- rific. This is the day we’ve been waiting for, the happiest day of our lives.” After a few more questions, Ethel told the press to “go on downstairs and get some food. Go ahead, help yourself.” She loved the press, and in return, the re- porters loved her.

As far as her father-in-law’s dictates were concerned, Ethel would gladly live where he wanted her to live, say what he wanted her to say, and do what he wanted her to do—not grudgingly, but willingly. It all seemed a joy to Ethel. It wasn’t that she lacked an identity; she was a Kennedy wife, she was proud of it, and that was her identity. Though she had been up late the night before with the fam- ily, that didn’t stop her from doing her duty and rising at 6:30
A
.
M
. to fix a breakfast of ham and eggs, rolls, and cof- fee for the eleven guests staying at her home. “The maids are all out,” she explained, as her visitors devoured the meal. “So I did the best I could.”

“You know, in November [1962], I think Bobby may run for governor of Massachusetts,” Ethel had told Jackie a cou- ple of weeks earlier at a family dinner. “If he does, he’s bound to win. Then after that, it’ll be one step at a time, until
we’re
in the White House.”

“Does Bobby know of these plans?” Jackie asked her sister-in-law. Jackie had been given to understand that he would become Jack’s Attorney General. After all, Bobby had devoted the better part of recent years to his brother’s campaigns and had been the skilled manager of his presi-

dential run. A tireless worker, he gave uninterrupted eighteen- hour days to Jack’s race, so much so that Ethel was con- cerned he would have a breakdown. Throughout the night before, Bobby sat in front of the television screen, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow, monitoring the returns, while everyone else—even Jack—went to bed.

Ethel answered Jackie’s question: “Bobby and I discuss everything,” she said. “You see,
we
happen to be close that way. It’s nice, that kind of closeness in a relationship.”

Ethel’s probable implication was that Jackie had no influ- ence over her husband’s plans, whereas Ethel mapped out every one of Bobby’s career moves in tandem with him. “Well,” Jackie responded, “hopefully you will also discuss any plans with Grandpa [Joseph]. Because, as you and I both know, he’s the one who will have his way in the end. Not you. Not Bobby. Grandpa.”

. . . and the Secret Service

L
ike all of those in the Kennedy family, Jackie, Joan, and even, to a certain extent, Ethel treasured the privacy of their family lives—what little privacy they had while living in the public eye. However, the entire family realized that the spot- light was about to intensify, now that their beloved Jack was the nation’s Chief Executive.

Already the family compound of homes was surrounded by not only reporters but also the Secret Service agents re- sponsible for John Kennedy’s security and for that of his

family. Sixteen of these dark-suited, officious-looking men had arrived at seven that morning with full knowledge of the backgrounds of not only family members but their employ- ees as well. Each agent walked about the compound greeting people as if already having made their acquaintance when actually—at least in most cases—no introductions had been made before this day.

Like all First Ladies, Jackie would be assigned her own Secret Service agent, Clinton (Clint) J. Hill, who would be at her side whenever she ventured forth, whether in this country or abroad. In time, just by virtue of their constant as- sociation, “Dazzle” (his Secret Service code name) would come to share a special friendship with “Lace” (Jackie’s code name). Still, it was typical of Jackie’s sense of formal- ity that she would always refer to him as “Mr. Hill.” She also made certain that her children addressed the agents respon- sible for their well-being in the same fashion.

Clint Hill recalls, “When you’re with the wife of the Pres- ident, you’re pretty much on your own, without a lot of other Secret Service support. You become close, as Mrs. Kennedy and I did. It was really an invasion of privacy for her. She lost her freedom. If a woman hasn’t been in a position that required great security prior, which she had not, it’s some- thing that is very new and causes problems for her. She hated it.”

As Jackie and Joan continued their walk along the sandy Cape Cod shore, according to what Joan later told friends, they talked about the future. “I wonder what will happen to us now,” Jackie said. “What will happen to our children? Will we ever have any privacy again?”

Just as Jackie was posing her question regarding privacy, Joan turned around to find three Secret Service agents run-

ning toward her. In seconds, one of the men caught up to her and Jackie. Wearing a dark business suit, thin black tie, and black hat, he must have looked out of place on the beach with his walkie-talkie. “Maybe you should both go back to the Big House,” he suggested, using the family’s name for Rose and Joseph’s home. Clearly, he didn’t like idea of the two of them walking along the beach alone. “You do have a press conference soon. Just a reminder . . .”

“Well, there you have it,” Joan said to Jackie. “Does that answer your question?”

“Oh, how dreary,” Jackie responded. “I’ll tell you one thing: I will not be followed by these men for the next four years. I refuse to allow it.”

Jackie turned to face Clint Hill. “I
refuse
,” she repeated. Ignoring the agent’s request, the two young women con-

tinued their walk in the bracing, sea-charged air—with the three identically dressed Secret Service men trailing close enough behind to hear their conversation.

“So what do you think about Ted’s plans?” Jackie asked Joan.

Unlike Ethel, Joan barely had a clue what her husband— and his father—had in mind for the future. She knew that Ted was being groomed to run for Jack’s senatorial seat in 1962, but she could provide no details. He mentioned some- thing about leaving for Europe soon for a six-week fact- finding tour with a Senate Foreign Relations Committee unit. However, all Joan knew about that trip was that she would not be accompanying him. (Upon his return, Ted would end up taking a job as a dollar-a-year assistant district attorney of Suffolk County in Massachusetts while he pre- pared for his senatorial campaign.) There would always be a marked difference between the wives in terms of how they

related to their husbands, and nowhere was it more evident than in Joan’s ignorance of her husband’s plans. Contrary to what Ethel liked to believe, Jack always discussed his future intentions with Jackie, just as much as his brother, Bobby, did with Ethel. Not so with Joan and Ted.

“Ted doesn’t tell me anything,” Joan said as she and Jackie walked along. “Usually I get my information through the grapevine. And when I ask him about it, he treats me as if I wouldn’t understand what he was talking about.” Jackie merely shook her head. If Joan had asked for advice, Jackie would perhaps have given her some. She didn’t ask, how- ever, so Jackie didn’t offer.

“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 expan- sion 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 for- ward to balls and parties. Even the Secret Service agents thought this was odd, though they weren’t supposed to be listening.