An Unfinished Life Part 21

Kennedy's announcement was a public confirmation of a private conclusion. It had become crystal clear to him after hearing from McNamara and Taylor on October 2, if not before, that Diem's regime was incapable of winning the war. Major General Duong Van Minh ("Big Minh") told Taylor, "[My country is] in chains with no way to shake them off." On October 5, Minh asked Lieutenant Colonel Lucien Conein, a CIA contact in Saigon, to see him at his headquarters. After getting Lodge's approval, Conein and Minh met alone for over an hour. During their conversation, Minh declared the need for a prompt statement of Was.h.i.+ngton's att.i.tude toward a change of government in the "very near future." Minh predicted that without action soon, the war would be lost to the Viet Cong. He wanted a.s.surances "that the USG will not attempt to thwart this plan." Conein promised nothing, but agreed to report back on his government's att.i.tude. Lodge urged conformity with Minh's request for a.s.surances and a promise to Minh of continued U.S. military support for a new government devoted to defeating the communists. After discussion with Kennedy, McCone advised Lodge that they did not wish "to stimulate [a] coup," but they would not thwart one or deny support to a new, more effective regime. "We certainly would not favor a.s.sa.s.sination of Diem," McCone added, but "we are in no way responsible for stopping every such threat of which we might receive even partial knowledge." As always, Kennedy saw "deniability" of direct U.S. involvement as of utmost importance should a coup occur.

As more information came in during the next two weeks, the White House became concerned that a coup, for which the United States would be held responsible, might fail and embarra.s.s the administration. "We are particularly concerned about hazard that an unsuccessful coup ... will be laid at our door by public opinion almost everywhere," Bundy cabled Lodge on October 25. "Therefore, while sharing your view that we should not be in position of thwarting coup, we would like to have option of judging and warning on any plan with poor prospects of success. We recognize that this is a large order, but President wants you to know of our concern."

Lodge believed that the White House was asking for something beyond the emba.s.sy's control. He cabled Rusk on October 29, "It would appear that a coup attempt by the Generals' group is imminent; that whether this coup fails or succeeds, the USG must be prepared to accept the fact that we will be blamed, however unjustifiably; and finally, that no positive action by the USG can prevent a coup attempt." Since the plotters promised to give Lodge only four hours notice, he saw no way that the United States could "significantly influence [the] course of events."

Still, Kennedy wanted him to try. If the coup failed, Bobby predicted, "Diem will throw us out." Rusk countered that if the United States opposed the uprising, "the coup-minded military leaders will turn against us and the war effort will drop off rapidly." Taylor and McCone thought that a failed revolt would be "a disaster and a successful coup would have a harmful effect on the war effort." Harriman disagreed, arguing that Diem could not win the war. With pro- and anti-Diem forces in Vietnam so equally divided, Kennedy thought a coup "silly," and wanted Lodge to discourage an uprising. "If we miscalculated," Kennedy said, "we could lose our entire position in Southeast Asia overnight." But it was too late. Despite additional appeals to Lodge over the next forty-eight hours to restrain the generals, the coup was launched at 1:45 P.M. P.M. on November 1. And once it began, as Bundy had cabled Lodge on the thirtieth, it was "in the interest of the U.S. Government that it should succeed." At a meeting following news of the coup, Kennedy emphasized "the importance of making clear publicly that this was not a U.S. coup." Contrary reports about who at any given moment held the upper hand in Saigon made this even more complicated. When Diem called Lodge at 4:30 on November 1. And once it began, as Bundy had cabled Lodge on the thirtieth, it was "in the interest of the U.S. Government that it should succeed." At a meeting following news of the coup, Kennedy emphasized "the importance of making clear publicly that this was not a U.S. coup." Contrary reports about who at any given moment held the upper hand in Saigon made this even more complicated. When Diem called Lodge at 4:30 P.M. P.M. to ask, "What is the att.i.tude of the United States?" he replied evasively, "I do not feel well enough informed to be able to tell you... . It is 4:30 to ask, "What is the att.i.tude of the United States?" he replied evasively, "I do not feel well enough informed to be able to tell you... . It is 4:30 A.M. A.M. in Was.h.i.+ngton and U.S. Government cannot possibly have a view." Lodge added, "I am worried about your physical safety," and offered to help get him out of the country if Diem asked. Rusk at once counseled Lodge against premature recognition lest the coup be described as "American-inspired and manipulated." in Was.h.i.+ngton and U.S. Government cannot possibly have a view." Lodge added, "I am worried about your physical safety," and offered to help get him out of the country if Diem asked. Rusk at once counseled Lodge against premature recognition lest the coup be described as "American-inspired and manipulated."

On the morning of November 2, Diem and Nhu, who had taken refuge in a private residence in suburban Saigon, offered to surrender to the generals if they guaranteed them safe conduct out of the country. When the generals made no firm promise of safe pa.s.sage and troops tried to seize them, Diem and Nhu took refuge in a Catholic church, where they were arrested and placed in an armored personnel carrier. Early on the morning of the second, Conein received a call from Minh asking him to provide a plane for Diem's exile. Still reluctant to give any indications of U.S. involvement, CIA operatives falsely answered that no aircraft with sufficient range to fly Diem to an asylum country was available for at least twenty-four hours. Before any plane became accessible, Diem and Nhu were a.s.sa.s.sinated in the personnel carrier. Even had a plane been available, it is doubtful that the generals would have allowed Diem or the Nhus to leave the country and set up a government in exile.

The news of their deaths reached Kennedy during a morning meeting with the National Security Council. According to Taylor, the president at once "leaped to his feet and rushed from the room with a look of shock and dismay on his face," which Taylor had never seen before. Taylor attributed Kennedy's reaction to his having been led to believe or having persuaded himself that a change in government could be carried out without bloodshed. Schlesinger, who saw the president shortly after, found him "somber and shaken." He had "not seen him so depressed since the Bay of Pigs." Kennedy refused to believe that Diem and Nhu, devout Catholics, would have killed themselves, as the Vietnamese generals were claiming. "He said that Diem had fought for his country for twenty years and that it should not have ended like this." The fact that Diem had a million dollars in large denominations in a briefcase when he died added to Kennedy's skepticism about the generals' suicide account. So large a sum of money suggested that Diem intended to make himself comfortable in exile. Indeed, it was possible that the CIA had given him the money as an inducement to leave the country.

Kennedy tried to a.s.suage his guilt about the a.s.sa.s.sinations by taping a statement in the Oval Office that future historians could consult. "Monday, November 4, 1963," he began. "Over the weekend, the coup in Saigon took place. It culminated three months of conversations about a coup, conversations that divided the government here and in Saigon." He listed Was.h.i.+ngton opponents as Taylor, his brother, McNamara ("to a somewhat lesser degree"), and McCone-"partly because of an old hostility to Lodge," whose judgment he distrusted. The advocates were at state, "led by Averell Harriman, George Ball, Roger Hilsman, supported by Mike Forrestal at the White House."

Kennedy did not spare himself from blame: "I feel that we [at the White House] must bear a good deal of responsibility for it, beginning with our cable of early August in which we suggested the coup. In my judgment that wire was badly drafted. It should never have been sent on a Sat.u.r.day. I should not have given my consent to it without a roundtable conference at which McNamara and Taylor could have presented their views. While we did redress that balance in later wires, that first wire encouraged Lodge along a course to which he was in any case inclined. Harkins continued to oppose the coup on the ground that the military effort was doing well... . Politically the situation was deteriorating, militarily it had not had its effect. There was a feeling, however, that it would."

Kennedy then turned to the a.s.sa.s.sinations: "I was shocked by the death of Diem and Nhu. I'd met Diem with Justice Douglas many years ago. He was an extraordinary character. While he became increasingly difficult in the last months, nevertheless over a ten-year period, he'd held his country together, maintained its independence under very adverse conditions. The way he was killed made it particularly abhorrent. The question now is whether the generals can stay together and build a stable government or whether Saigon will begin-whether public opinion in Saigon, the intellectuals, students, etc.-will turn on this government as repressive and undemocratic in the not too distant future." Kennedy then matter-of-factly turned away from Vietnam to discuss other current events.

His truncated discussion was a sign that he had made up his mind. The lesson Kennedy seemed to take from all this was that U.S. involvement in so unstable a country was a poor idea. He was immediately dismissive of the new government and its prospects for survival. And having been so concerned, as he had told McNamara on November 5, not to get "bogged down" in Cuba as the British, the Russians, and the Americans had in South Africa, Finland, and North Korea, respectively, it was hardly conceivable that Kennedy would have sent tens of thousands more Americans to fight in so inhospitable a place as Vietnam. Reduced commitments, especially of military personnel, during a second Kennedy term were a more likely development. The failed coup had-just as the Bay of Pigs had in Cuba-pushed Kennedy further away from direct engagement.

Kennedy's official and public statements about Vietnam were predictably upbeat. On November 6, he cabled Lodge, "Now that there is a new Government, which we are about to recognize, we must all intensify our efforts to help it deal with its many hard problems." The fact that the administration had encouraged a change of government created a responsibility for it "to help this new government to be effective in every way that we can." The goal was to concentrate on "effectiveness rather than upon external appearances." The new regime needed to "limit confusion and intrigue among its members, and concentrate its energies upon the real problems of winning the contest against the Communists." If it could do this, "it would have met and pa.s.sed a severe test."

At a press conference on November 14, two days after the State Department announced a Honolulu conference of U.S. officials on Vietnam, Kennedy offered an "appraisal of the situation in South Viet-Nam" and the goals of the Hawaii meeting scheduled for November 20. The Honolulu conference would be an "attempt to a.s.sess the situation: what American policy should be, and what our aid policy should be, how we can intensify the struggle, how we can bring Americans out of there. Now, that is our objective," he emphasized, "to bring Americans home, permit the South Vietnamese to maintain themselves as a free and independent country, and permit democratic forces within the country to operate."

Bundy returned from Honolulu with the impression that "the course the US country team will chart in Vietnam is by no means decided upon... . Briefings of McNamara tend[ed] to be sessions where people [tried] to fool him, and he tried to convince them they cannot." As for the new regime, Bundy said, "it was too early to see what course it might follow, but it was clear that the coalition of generals might not last." Were it not for the fact that influential defense, state, national security, and military officials remained determined to continue the fight, newspaper editorials advocating negotiations with North Vietnam aimed at neutralization might have convinced Kennedy. But the likely internal and congressional hullabaloo over such a strategy, the hope that the new government might fight the war more effectively, and the indifference of most Americans to our involvement made such a policy difficult to embrace just yet.

Nevertheless, somebody in the administration took seriously Kennedy's apparent interest in eliminating U.S. military commitments in South Vietnam. In an undated, unsigned memo in the president's office files from the late summer or fall of 1963, possibly even after November 1, the writer provided "Observations on Vietnam and Cuba." Since the Soviets seemed to feel trapped in Cuba and the United States in Vietnam, might it not make sense to invite de Gaulle to propose a swap with the Soviets of neutralization for both countries? Whether Kennedy ever saw this memo or what reaction he might have had to it is unknown. Nonetheless, it is clear that by late November 1963, Kennedy welcomed suggestions for easing difficulties with Cuba and Vietnam as alternatives to the policies that, to date, had had such limited success. On November 21, the day he was leaving for Texas, Kennedy told Mike Forrestal that at the start of 1964 he wanted him "to organize an in-depth study of every possible option we've got in Vietnam, including how to get out of there. We have to review this whole thing from the bottom to the top," Kennedy said.

THE PROBLEMS WITH VIETNAM, as with Cuba and domestic affairs, did not seem to undermine Kennedy's reelection chances in 1964. Most soundings on national politics encouraged optimism about the president's prospects in the next campaign. At the end of 1962, Americans listed Kennedy as the world public figure they most admired, ahead of Eisenhower, Winston Churchill, Albert Schweitzer, Douglas MacArthur, Harry Truman, and the Reverend Billy Graham. No other officeholder or active politician, including Nixon, made the top ten. Although Kennedy's approval ratings fell between January and November 1963 from 76 percent to 59 percent and his disapproval numbers went up from 13 percent to 28 percent, he took comfort in the consistently high public affirmation of his presidential performance. In March 1963, 74 percent of Americans thought that he would be reelected. Moreover, when Gallup ran trial heats pitting him against Goldwater, Rockefeller, Michigan governor George Romney, or Nixon, Kennedy consistently had double-digit leads over all of them. as with Cuba and domestic affairs, did not seem to undermine Kennedy's reelection chances in 1964. Most soundings on national politics encouraged optimism about the president's prospects in the next campaign. At the end of 1962, Americans listed Kennedy as the world public figure they most admired, ahead of Eisenhower, Winston Churchill, Albert Schweitzer, Douglas MacArthur, Harry Truman, and the Reverend Billy Graham. No other officeholder or active politician, including Nixon, made the top ten. Although Kennedy's approval ratings fell between January and November 1963 from 76 percent to 59 percent and his disapproval numbers went up from 13 percent to 28 percent, he took comfort in the consistently high public affirmation of his presidential performance. In March 1963, 74 percent of Americans thought that he would be reelected. Moreover, when Gallup ran trial heats pitting him against Goldwater, Rockefeller, Michigan governor George Romney, or Nixon, Kennedy consistently had double-digit leads over all of them.

In-depth state surveys of North Dakota and Pennsylvania added to the optimism. North Dakota had been a reliable Republican state, with Kennedy winning less than 45 percent of the popular vote in 1960. But the election of a Democrat to a U.S. Senate seat in 1960 and the reelection of the senior senator, another Democrat, in 1962-albeit by the narrowest of margins in both contests-encouraged some hope that the president might win the state in 1964. In an April 1963 survey of North Dakota voters, Kennedy had an astonis.h.i.+ng 77 percent approval rating. In statewide straw polls against four potential Republican nominees, Kennedy beat all of them except for Romney, who had only a slight 51 percent to 49 percent lead. Pollsters concluded that "from the loss of the State with a bare 44.5% of the total vote, the President has soared to a situation in which he might beat any Republican presidential candidate."

The news from Pennsylvania was even better. In 1960, Kennedy had won the state by 117,000 votes, or 51.2 percent, to Nixon's 48.8 percent. By the spring of 1963, his popularity had "increased significantly." Rockefeller was Kennedy's strongest opponent in straw polls, but he was "not running anywhere near as strong as Nixon did against Kennedy" in 1960, while other potential Republican nominees "might have difficulty defeating Kennedy among Republicans, let alone Democrats."

Journalists echoed the polling results. Charlie Bartlett quoted a current jingle: "Never wait for an uptown car on the downtown side of the street." Top administration officials "feel strongly now that they are waiting on the right side of the street for events that are moving in a favorable direction." In May, a Chattanooga Times Chattanooga Times reporter predicted a Kennedy victory in Tennessee, where Negroes, who "hold the balance," would back him "110%... . About the worst thing that could happen to Kennedy," the reporter said, "... would be the death of John XXIII and the election of an austere, reactionary Pope. John is very popular with many Protestants and this, combined with Kennedy's own careful handling of the religious problem, has done much to water down the church issue in the South." A Rochester, New York, newsman saw Kennedy "holding fast" to 1960 voters and winning over about one in ten Nixon supporters. "'I voted for Nixon, but Kennedy seems to be doing a good job'" was the standard comment of these crossover voters. Kennedy's Catholicism and "inexperience" had largely disappeared as issues, and a feeling that he was going to win anyway was creating a bandwagon effect. reporter predicted a Kennedy victory in Tennessee, where Negroes, who "hold the balance," would back him "110%... . About the worst thing that could happen to Kennedy," the reporter said, "... would be the death of John XXIII and the election of an austere, reactionary Pope. John is very popular with many Protestants and this, combined with Kennedy's own careful handling of the religious problem, has done much to water down the church issue in the South." A Rochester, New York, newsman saw Kennedy "holding fast" to 1960 voters and winning over about one in ten Nixon supporters. "'I voted for Nixon, but Kennedy seems to be doing a good job'" was the standard comment of these crossover voters. Kennedy's Catholicism and "inexperience" had largely disappeared as issues, and a feeling that he was going to win anyway was creating a bandwagon effect.

Yet like any savvy American politician, Kennedy knew better than to take voters for granted. So much could happen in 1964 that might weaken his hold on the electorate and force him into a close election. "I suppose ... we're going to get a very tough fight," he told a British visitor in October 1963. The chairman of the Westchester County, New York, Democratic Committee predicted in November that "if civil rights and tax cut legislation [are] on the books and off television by January, we will do better than '60. If not, we will just have to work harder." Kennedy saw little reason to think that either bill would gain pa.s.sage by then and a.s.sumed that they would indeed have to "work harder." Whenever he spoke to O'Donnell and Powers about '64, he "[made] a point of saying it is going to be another tough campaign." He would remind people that the Democrats had won only 52.8 percent of the congressional vote in 1962, and that since 1884, except for FDR, the Democrats had never won a majority of the popular vote for president. When he a.s.sessed recent voting patterns of "swing groups" likely to tip the election one way or another, the numbers confirmed his expectations of a very close contest. His gains in the East and the West and among women were "soft," while Republicans had a "slight gain among men" and a "solid gain" in the South, where Kennedy did not think enough blacks would switch to him and the Democrats in 1964 to make a significant difference.

By November 1963, the campaign had already begun. During the last week in September, Kennedy made a trip through several western states that was billed as a "conservation tour" but was more an attempt to improve his political image in a region where he had done poorly in 1960. The Republicans had also launched their campaign, with attacks on the administration's economic policies. In response, Kennedy was "h.e.l.l-bent to talk about our faster growth rates than the European rates" in 1962-63. When Walter h.e.l.ler told him that this was more a case of "expansion"-an upsurge from a recession-than "growth," Kennedy responded that "in light of what the opposition was saying, one had to sometimes bypa.s.s these fine distinctions." h.e.l.ler agreed, "so long as we don't fool ourselves," and underestimate the importance of the tax cut and economic growth.

Kennedy was also worried about the negative impact of his civil rights proposals on voters. In New Jersey, where he had won by only twenty-two thousand votes in 1960, "the weakening of the Democratic political machine, plus the frightening backlash flowing from the whole civil rights issue" convinced the White House that they would have to do a great deal of work to win the state again. "To put it another way," a New Jersey member of the Interior Department told O'Donnell, "we have to win in Arizona, Colorado, Nevada and New Mexico to offset a loss in New Jersey."

Kennedy's greatest worry was losing the South. He had acknowledged to Walter Cronkite during a September 2, 1963, interview the importance of civil rights as an issue working against him in the region. He granted that he would again lose some southern states, but he refused to concede the Old Confederacy to the Republicans. Lou Harris had urged him to ignore the accepted wisdom about the area. The common a.s.sumptions that "the main stream of southern politics today is segregationist, states rights, and right wing conservatism," Harris advised, were "superficial s.h.i.+bboleths of the noisiest, not most representative elements in the region... . The outstanding developments in the South today do not directly concern the race question. Foremost is the industrial explosion that is taking place ... accompanied by a comparable educational awakening." A New South was in the making by moderate governors and businessmen, who were boosters of southern development councils. "You can well go into the South throughout 1964," Harris told him, "not to lay down the gauntlet on civil rights, but rather to describe and encourage the new industrial and educational explosion in the region." The votes Kennedy will lose in the South on civil rights, former FDR political adviser Jim Farley predicted, would be offset by gains on other issues.

Kennedy also saw the hard right as a threat to his reelection. In August 1963, he asked White House counsel Myer Feldman to a.s.sess the influence of right-wing organizations. Feldman's survey distinguished between conservatives and the radical right, which he described as a formidable force in American political life. Well funded by "70 foundations, 113 business firms and corporations, 25 electric light, gas and power companies, and 250 identifiable individuals," these organizations and men saw "the Nation as imperiled on every front by a pro-Communist conspiracy," which was softening the country up for an imminent takeover. Most troubling, they had been politically more successful than realized: They had managed to elect 74 percent of their over 150 congressional candidates. Broadcasting a fifteen-minute radio program on three hundred radio stations 343 times a day and mailing eighty thousand copies a week of their newspaper, Human Events, Human Events, "the radical right-wing," Feldman told Kennedy, "const.i.tutes a formidable force in American life today." "the radical right-wing," Feldman told Kennedy, "const.i.tutes a formidable force in American life today."

Yet Kennedy saw the ultraright more as a political gift than a danger. He did not discount their ability to heighten the public's fears of communist subversion or to put pressure on him to be more militant toward communist threats abroad. But he also understood that middle America and more traditional conservatives regarded these extremists as a threat to popular government programs like Social Security and unemployment insurance and as too rash in foreign affairs, where they could not be trusted with nuclear weapons.

Consequently, Kennedy wanted to run against Goldwater, the favorite candidate of the country's most conservative elements; the Arizona senator's denunciations of New Deal social programs and glib talk about "lobbing one into the men's room of the Kremlin" made him appear to be an easy mark. When Salinger showed Kennedy a poll indicating that the Republicans would make the wild westerner their nominee, Kennedy said, "Dave Powers could beat Goldwater," and quipped that a race against Goldwater would allow "all of us ... [to] get to bed much earlier on election night than we did in 1960." At a press conference on October 31, when a reporter asked him to comment on Goldwater's charge that the administration was falsifying the news to keep him in office, Kennedy gleefully replied, "I think it would be unwise at this time to answer ... Senator Goldwater. I am confident that he will be making many charges even more serious than this one in the coming months. And, in addition, he himself has had a busy week selling TVA and giving permission to or suggesting that military commanders overseas be permitted to use nuclear weapons, and attacking the President of Bolivia while he was here in the United States, and involving himself in the Greek election. So I thought it really would not be fair for me this week to reply to him."

More worrisome as a candidate until the middle of 1963 was New York governor Nelson Rockefeller. Kennedy thought that Rockefeller would have beaten him in 1960, but he was confident that as president he would have the advantage over him in 1964. Nevertheless, he took nothing for granted and made a systematic effort to learn everything he could about Rockefeller. Kennedy made Ros Gilpatric, who had worked with Rockefeller, a sort of go-between. Whenever Rockefeller was in Was.h.i.+ngton, Kennedy wanted to see him. "I never saw more concentrated attention given to any political subject, from the time I got to know the President well," Gilpatric recalls. But in the summer of 1963 Rockefeller married a divorcee with four children; his poll numbers plunged and Goldwater emerged as the new front-runner for the nomination.

Rockefeller's fading candidacy was a relief to Kennedy, though he worried that Romney, a moderate like Rockefeller, might fill the vacuum and take the nomination away from Goldwater. At a November 13 staff meeting with Bobby, Sorensen, O'Donnell, O'Brien, brother-in-law Steve Smith, John Bailey and d.i.c.k Maguire from the DNC, and Richard Scammon, the director of the Census Bureau and a demographer, Kennedy discussed campaign plans for three hours. A successful businessman and devout Mormon who neither smoked nor drank and was awaiting a message from G.o.d on whether to run, Romney impressed Bobby as someone who could win both moderate and conservative votes. "People buy that G.o.d and country stuff," Kennedy observed. "Give me Barry," he pleaded half jokingly. "I won't even have to leave the Oval Office."

"As usual, the campaign will be run right from here," Kennedy told the group. And the first step in that direction would be to give Steve Smith control at the DNC. Bailey, who was seen as "rather weak," would become a figurehead, though no one, of course, said so at the meeting. Kennedy, borrowing from Wilson in 1916, described his campaign theme as "peace and prosperity." He planned to underscore the administration's commitment to economic uplift for all Americans by promising a war on poverty in eastern Kentucky, "the most severely distressed area in the country." It was also a way to encourage the impression that he was compa.s.sionate and to make people feel more "personally involved with him." Scammon, however, cautioned against investing too much in appeals to the poor. "You can't get a single vote more by doing anything for poor people," Scammon advised. "Those who vote are already for you."

Instead, Scammon wanted the campaign to focus on the new suburbanites-the upwardly mobile families who might be lost to the Republicans. His a.n.a.lysis fascinated Kennedy, who wanted to know at what point in their upward economic and social climb Democrats became Republicans. Scammon promised to see if he could find out. Kennedy, mindful of the growing importance of television, which would broadcast the conventions in 1964, wanted to make the Democratic meeting more entertaining for the ma.s.s audience, which might tune in, at least for a while. "For once in my life, I'd like to hear a good keynote speech," Kennedy said.

AS PART OF THE EMERGING CAMPAIGN, Kennedy planned trips to Florida and Texas in November. Convinced that his stand on civil rights would make it difficult to win most southern states, he intended to make special efforts to hold on to Florida and Texas. On November 18, he visited Tampa and Miami, where he spoke to politicians, labor leaders, and the Inter-American Press a.s.sociation about the domestic economy and foreign affairs, particularly relations with Latin America. Kennedy planned trips to Florida and Texas in November. Convinced that his stand on civil rights would make it difficult to win most southern states, he intended to make special efforts to hold on to Florida and Texas. On November 18, he visited Tampa and Miami, where he spoke to politicians, labor leaders, and the Inter-American Press a.s.sociation about the domestic economy and foreign affairs, particularly relations with Latin America.

During the trip to Texas, he hoped to raise campaign funds and mend political fences. Kennedy had been pressing Governor John Connally for months to arrange a dinner with rich Texas donors. But Connally, who was up for reelection in 1964, was not eager to identify himself with a president whose civil rights record had alienated many Texas voters. Nor was Johnson keen on the trip. He did not think that Kennedy could do much to heal a breach in the Texas Democratic party between Connally conservatives and liberals led by Senator Ralph Yarborough. Johnson feared that a visit would only exacerbate tensions and underscore his own ineffectiveness in controlling the state party. None of the Texas political crosscurrents, however, deterred Kennedy. He intended to tell Texas party leaders that they needed to improve on his forty-six-thousand-vote margin in 1960 if they expected him to provide the kind of federal largesse he could favor them with in a second term. "He was doing the thing he liked even better than being President," recalled O'Donnell and Powers, "getting away from Was.h.i.+ngton to start his campaign for reelection in a dubious and important state, with twenty-five electoral votes, where he was sure he could win the people even though many of the bosses and most of the big money were against him. It was a tough political challenge that he relished with much more enjoyment than he found in his executive duties in the White House." Bobby agreed: When the president "was in Was.h.i.+ngton, it depressed him a little bit. Not depressed him-that's too strong a word. But you read all those columns, and none of them were very enthusiastic for him... . Everybody was, you know, sort of finding fault with him ... that's why he loved it [campaigning] so much. Every time he came back, he said, 'It's a different country.' ... The people in Was.h.i.+ngton really missed the depth of his popularity."

On the morning of November 21, as Kennedy prepared to leave for Texas, Dave Powers conferred with him in the Oval Office. Powers remembered that "he looked taller than his six feet standing there on the gray-green carpet with the American eagle woven in its center... . Although he was still plagued by his aching back, he was the picture of health"-1721/2 pounds with "the build of a light heavyweight boxer." His routine of calisthenics and swimming in the heated White House pool, with its backdrop of colorful seascape murals, had eased his back problems, though the pain was always with him, increasing and decreasing in response to his activities.

The day's schedule was a typical twenty-four hours in the life of a traveling president. A three-and-one-half-hour flight from Andrews Air Force Base to San Antonio was followed by forty-five-minute flights to Houston and then Fort Worth. Greeting hundreds of people at the three airports and riding for two and a half hours in motorcades waving to crowds was exhilarating and exhausting. The dedication of an aeros.p.a.ce medical facility in San Antonio and remarks in Houston to the League of Latin American Citizens and at a dinner honoring Congressman Albert Thomas, a Kennedy ally who had helped win appropriations for the s.p.a.ce program, were satisfying but unexceptional events. Jackie's presence on the trip gave the crowds and press something to talk about. And the open hostility between Connally and Yarborough, punctuated by news accounts of Yarborough's refusal to ride in a car with Johnson, Connally's ally, generated additional local interest in the president's visit.

The possibility of overt right-wing demonstrations against Kennedy had raised doubts about the wisdom of visiting Texas. After a crowd of ultraconservatives had jeered and physically threatened Adlai Stevenson during a United Nations Day visit to Dallas on October 24, some of the president's friends wondered whether he should risk going to the city. On November 4, Texas Democratic National Committeeman Byron Skelton sent Bobby a newspaper story about retired general Edwin Walker, a supporter of the radical-right John Birch Society, who said that "'Kennedy is a liability to the free world.' A man who would make that kind of statement is capable of doing harm to the President," Skelton advised. "I would feel better if the President's itinerary did not include Dallas. Please give this your earnest consideration." Bobby had pa.s.sed the letter along to O'Donnell, who had concluded that "showing the letter to the President would have been a waste of his time." Kennedy would have dismissed him as mad if he had suggested "cutting such a large and important city as Dallas from the itinerary because of Skelton's letter."

A John Birch Society ad in the Dallas Morning News Dallas Morning News on November 22 gave resonance to the concern. It accused Kennedy of being soft on communism, while allowing his brother to prosecute loyal Americans who criticized the administration. The ad implied that the Kennedys were pro-communist. When he showed the black-bordered ad to Jackie, the president said, "We're heading into nut country today. But, Jackie, if somebody wants to shoot me from a window with a rifle, n.o.body can stop it, so why worry about it?" on November 22 gave resonance to the concern. It accused Kennedy of being soft on communism, while allowing his brother to prosecute loyal Americans who criticized the administration. The ad implied that the Kennedys were pro-communist. When he showed the black-bordered ad to Jackie, the president said, "We're heading into nut country today. But, Jackie, if somebody wants to shoot me from a window with a rifle, n.o.body can stop it, so why worry about it?"

Of course, there were security precautions that could be taken, but in protecting the president from potential threats during his trip to Texas, and Dallas in particular, the Secret Service and FBI worried too much about the ultraright and too little about a possible a.s.sa.s.sin from the radical left. Consequently, neither agency picked up on the fact that Lee Harvey Oswald, an unstable ne'er-do-well who had lived in Russia for almost three years, openly identified himself with Castro's Cuba, and unsuccessfully tried to breach a State Department ban on visiting the island, might be a threat to the president. If they had been attentive to Oswald's movements, they would have noted his presence in Dallas, where he worked in the downtown Dealey Plaza building of the Texas School Book Depository, which overlooked Kennedy's motorcade route. If he had been an object of clear concern, they would have taken notice of the mail-order Italian rifle he purchased shortly after the president's visit was announced.

Unimpeded by any law enforcement agency and animated by possibly nothing more than resentment against a symbol of the authority, success, and fame he craved and could never hope to achieve, Oswald fired three shots from the sixth-floor window of the Depository building at the president riding directly below in an open car. The second bullet struck Kennedy in the back of the neck. Were it not for a back brace, which held him erect, a third and fatal shot to the back of the head would not have found its mark. At 1:00 P.M. P.M. central time, half an hour after the attack, doctors at Dallas's Parkland Memorial Hospital told Mrs. Kennedy that the president was dead. central time, half an hour after the attack, doctors at Dallas's Parkland Memorial Hospital told Mrs. Kennedy that the president was dead.

KENNEDY'S DEATH SHOCKED the country more than any other event since the December 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. The a.s.sa.s.sination produced an outpouring of grief that exceeded that felt by Americans over the killings of Lincoln, James A. Garfield, and William McKinley, or over FDR's sudden death in April 1945. However traumatic Lincoln's a.s.sa.s.sination, the four years of Civil War bloodletting, which took 620,000 lives, somewhat muted the horror of losing the nation's leader. It was as if Lincoln's demise was foreordained-the culmination of a four-year catastrophe that tested the nation's capacity to survive. The Garfield and McKinley a.s.sa.s.sinations were a.s.saults on presidents serving in a politically diminished office and on men who enjoyed a lesser hold on the country's imagination than FDR or JFK did. The approaching victory in World War II made Roosevelt's pa.s.sing less traumatic than if it had come in the midst of the conflict, when the loss of his leaders.h.i.+p would have seemed more difficult for the nation to surmount. the country more than any other event since the December 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. The a.s.sa.s.sination produced an outpouring of grief that exceeded that felt by Americans over the killings of Lincoln, James A. Garfield, and William McKinley, or over FDR's sudden death in April 1945. However traumatic Lincoln's a.s.sa.s.sination, the four years of Civil War bloodletting, which took 620,000 lives, somewhat muted the horror of losing the nation's leader. It was as if Lincoln's demise was foreordained-the culmination of a four-year catastrophe that tested the nation's capacity to survive. The Garfield and McKinley a.s.sa.s.sinations were a.s.saults on presidents serving in a politically diminished office and on men who enjoyed a lesser hold on the country's imagination than FDR or JFK did. The approaching victory in World War II made Roosevelt's pa.s.sing less traumatic than if it had come in the midst of the conflict, when the loss of his leaders.h.i.+p would have seemed more difficult for the nation to surmount.

By contrast, Kennedy's sudden violent death seemed to deprive the country and the world of a better future. Despite initial glaring misjudgments about civil rights, Cuba, and Soviet Russia, Kennedy's subsequent performance had raised global expectations that he could improve the state of world affairs. His transparent eagerness for better relations between the United States and the USSR and for higher standards of living everywhere had impressed people as not simply the usual peace and prosperity rhetoric promised by all politicians but the product of thoughtful conviction. When he called for tax cuts and legislation guaranteeing the equal treatment promised in the Const.i.tution, it seemed fresh and bold and likely to advance the national well-being. When he urged nuclear arms limitations, he seemed to be not only a defender of the national interest but also a humanist arguing the case for a rational world struggling against the age-old blights of fear, hatred, and war.

The British philosopher and historian Isaiah Berlin reflected feeling abroad when he wrote Schlesinger, "I do not wish to exaggerate: perhaps it is not at all similar to what men may have felt when Alexander the Great died; but the suddenness and the sense of something of exceptional hope for a large number of people suddenly cut off in mid-air is, I think, unique in our lifetime-it is as if Roosevelt had been murdered in 1935, with Hitler and Mussolini and everybody else still about and a lot of [Neville] Chamberlains and [Edouard] Daladiers knocking about too."

In the United States, the theologian Reinhold Niebuhr lamented, "I never knew how his brief and brilliant leaders.h.i.+p had touched the imagination and the hearts of the common people until this terrible deed ended his career." Chief Justice Earl Warren undoubtedly spoke for millions of Americans when he wrote Jackie, "America now has a higher duty to undertake-completion of the unfinished work of your beloved husband. No American during my rather long life ever set his sights higher for a better America or centered his attack more accurately on the evils and shortcomings of our society than did he. It was G.o.d's will that he should not remain with us to complete his self-prescribed task, but I have the faith to believe it was also G.o.d's will that we who survive him should use this adversity to memorialize his farsightedness and humanitarianism. That memorial should be the consummation of his ideal for our nation. I feel confident that there are many millions of Americans, of whom I am one, who will consider this to be their solemn duty."

IN THE FORTY YEARS since Kennedy's a.s.sa.s.sination, family, friends and the whole country have struggled to come to terms with his senseless murder. What could possibly explain the sudden violent end to the life of someone as young, attractive, and politically powerful as John F. Kennedy? Is there some way to give constructive meaning to his death? since Kennedy's a.s.sa.s.sination, family, friends and the whole country have struggled to come to terms with his senseless murder. What could possibly explain the sudden violent end to the life of someone as young, attractive, and politically powerful as John F. Kennedy? Is there some way to give constructive meaning to his death?

Jacqueline Kennedy, the most directly affected by JFK's death, struggled to maintain her rationality. White House physician Dr. James M. Young, who saw her in Was.h.i.+ngton and Hyannis Port two or three times a day during the ten days after the a.s.sa.s.sination, remembers her as "emotionally distraught" but generally composed and self-contained. She "did not break down and cry," and with the help of sleeping medication "she did well." There were occasional expressions of anger at the failings of the Secret Service and at Kennedy's doctors. She called Janet Travell a "Madame Nhu," George Burkley, who would pa.s.s patients off to other physicians, a "communist," and Eugene Cohen, who was at odds with Travell, a "psychopath."

Her husband's tragic death seemed to have dissolved her anger toward him for his womanizing. At least she said nothing to Dr. Young about the problem, but to the contrary, spoke only lovingly of Jack, remembering the scars on his back as a symbol of his fort.i.tude in dealing with his physical pain, the hard mattress he needed, and the pleasure of being with him in bed.

She seemed to find purpose and solace in preserving JFK's memory. Only thirty-four years old, deprived of decades of life with her husband, faced with raising her six-year-old and three-year-old children without their father-whom they would never know-Jackie kept her balance-indeed sanity-by focusing on Kennedy's legacy. She understood that no one was going to forget him; rather, her concern was how the world would remember him.

She began with his funeral. Although some members of the family wished to bury the president in Brookline, Ma.s.sachusetts, JFK's birthplace, Jackie insisted on Arlington Cemetery. An eternal flame, like one in Paris at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier built after World War I at the base of the Arc de Triomphe, was to mark the grave. She also asked that the ceremony resemble Lincoln's, the most revered of the country's martyred presidents. A procession from the White House to the Roman Catholic St. Matthew's Cathedral, eight blocks away, consisted of Jackie, Bobby, Ted, President and Mrs. Johnson, princ.i.p.al Kennedy a.s.sociates, and representatives of ninety-two nations, including de Gaulle and Anastas Mikoyan, Khrushchev's first deputy. The international contingent and fears that a.s.sa.s.sins a.s.sociated with Oswald or incited by his example might try to kill some of the dignitaries made the ceremony a more portentous occasion than that of Franklin Roosevelt's pa.s.sing.

It may be that Jackie, as one writer said, "needed the myth of her fallen husband to secure her own brittle ident.i.ty," but a more generous a.n.a.lysis should admit that her effort to lionize Kennedy must have provided a therapeutic s.h.i.+eld against immobilizing grief. A few days after his funeral, she granted an interview to Theodore White, whose book on the 1960 election had drawn a flattering portrait of her husband. Describing Kennedy's death as marking the end of Camelot, a romanticized a.s.sociation with King Arthur's court that White faithfully recorded in a Life Life magazine article on December 6, Jackie helped create an idyllic portrait that Schlesinger has said "would have provoked John Kennedy to profane disclaimer." magazine article on December 6, Jackie helped create an idyllic portrait that Schlesinger has said "would have provoked John Kennedy to profane disclaimer."

Their son's death staggered Joe and Rose. Still immobilized by his 1961 stroke, Joe did not attend the funeral. He was either too incapacitated or too shocked to comprehend the awful news. The family s.h.i.+elded him from the reports on television until the next morning, when Teddy and Eunice told him. Rose could not bear to be in the room when they did. "We have told him, but we don't think that he understands it," Rose said.

The news temporarily shook Rose's faith. She "walked and walked and walked" in the yard of the Hyannis Port house and on the beach and "prayed and prayed and prayed, and wondered why it happened to Jack. He had everything to live for... . Everything-the culmination of all his efforts, abilities, dedication to good and to the future-lay boundlessly before him. Everything was gone and I wondered why." Rose was so upset that she could not walk with the procession to the cathedral for fear that she might collapse.

But no one among the Kennedys suffered more acutely than Bobby. Though a man of unquestioning faith, he could not find any sense or meaning in his brother's death. "Why, G.o.d?" he asked as he sobbed in the privacy of the Lincoln bedroom the night of November 22. "The innocent suffer-how can that be possible and G.o.d be just?" he asked himself in the days after the a.s.sa.s.sination. LeMoyne Billings remembered him as devastated. He had so fully devoted himself to his brother's career that the president's death left him bewildered. "He didn't know where he was... . Everything was just pulled out from under him." In the weeks and months after the tragedy, Bobby took to reading Greek cla.s.sics by Aeschylus, Euripides, Herodotus, and Sophocles and works by the modern existentialists, especially Albert Camus, to help understand the agony and suffering in every life. They gave him the solace needed to sustain a public career, now more than ever in behalf of those most vulnerable to personal and social problems.

The depths of Bobby's anguish may partly have sprung from guilt. John McCone believed that Bobby was either directly or indirectly involved in Castro a.s.sa.s.sination plots, which Bobby suspected had led Castro agents to kill his brother. Biographer Evan Thomas concluded that Bobby "gave lip service to the single-gunman explanation" in the government's official report on the a.s.sa.s.sination, but "he never quieted his own doubts." Bobby, according to Thomas, thought the killing might have been the work of the CIA or mobster Sam Giancana or Castro or Jimmy Hoffa or the Cuban exiles.

Lyndon Johnson shared the conviction that an undetected conspiracy was behind Kennedy's a.s.sa.s.sination. He initially believed that the president's death was in revenge for Diem's killing. In time, he concluded that Castro supporters were responsible. "President Kennedy tried to get Castro, but Castro got Kennedy first," he told Joseph Califano, his domestic affairs chief. Kennedy's death came a year after Castro's government foiled a CIA-a.s.sa.s.sination plot in Havana. "We had been operating a d.a.m.ned Murder Inc. in the Caribbean," Johnson told a journalist.

Johnson saw the country's initial reaction to the a.s.sa.s.sination as "troubled, puzzled, and outraged." But after Jack Ruby, an unsavory Dallas nightclub operator, killed Lee Harvey Oswald, the prime suspect in the a.s.sa.s.sination, in the garage of a Dallas police station on his way to a court hearing, the country concluded that Kennedy's death was the work of more than just one man. Although the Warren Commission, the government's inquiry into the a.s.sa.s.sination headed by Chief Justice Earl Warren, described Oswald in its September 1964 report as the lone killer, a majority of Americans never accepted that conclusion. To be sure, the commission's failure to ferret out and disclose CIA a.s.sa.s.sination plots against Castro or to reveal and condemn the FBI for inattentiveness to Oswald raised questions later about the reliability of its evidence and judgment. But in December 1963, even before the commission published its findings, 52 percent of the country saw "some group or element" behind the a.s.sa.s.sination. By January 1967, the belief in a conspiracy had risen to 64 percent.

Despite an authoritative 1993 book, Case Closed, Case Closed, by attorney Gerald Posner refuting numerous conspiracy theories, the public, inflamed by a popular 1991 Oliver Stone film, by attorney Gerald Posner refuting numerous conspiracy theories, the public, inflamed by a popular 1991 Oliver Stone film, JFK, JFK, believed otherwise. In 1992, fewer than one-third of Americans accepted the Warren Commission's findings as persuasive. In February of that year, the believed otherwise. In 1992, fewer than one-third of Americans accepted the Warren Commission's findings as persuasive. In February of that year, the New York Times Book Review New York Times Book Review listed as bestsellers one hardcover and three paperback books describing Kennedy a.s.sa.s.sination theories. To this day, a substantial majority in America a.s.sumes that an aggrieved group rather than just Oswald was behind Kennedy's killing. The prime suspects are pro- or anti-Castro Cubans, Vietnamese retaliating for Diem's death, "the mob" or labor bosses hurt by Kennedy, and the CIA, military chiefs, and Lyndon Johnson opposed to detente with Moscow. listed as bestsellers one hardcover and three paperback books describing Kennedy a.s.sa.s.sination theories. To this day, a substantial majority in America a.s.sumes that an aggrieved group rather than just Oswald was behind Kennedy's killing. The prime suspects are pro- or anti-Castro Cubans, Vietnamese retaliating for Diem's death, "the mob" or labor bosses hurt by Kennedy, and the CIA, military chiefs, and Lyndon Johnson opposed to detente with Moscow.

The fact that none of the conspiracy theorists have been able to offer convincing evidence of their suspicions does not seem to trouble many people. The plausibility of a conspiracy is less important to them than the implausibility of someone as inconsequential as Oswald having the wherewithal to kill someone as consequential-as powerful and well guarded-as Kennedy. To accept that an act of random violence by an obscure malcontent could bring down a president of the United States is to acknowledge a chaotic, disorderly world that frightens most Americans. Believing that Oswald killed Kennedy is to concede, as New York Times New York Times columnist Anthony Lewis said, "that in this life there is often tragedy without reason." columnist Anthony Lewis said, "that in this life there is often tragedy without reason."

Despite his own suspicions of a conspiracy, Johnson was eager to rea.s.sure the country that only Oswald was involved. He feared that speculation about Cuban or Soviet responsibility might provoke a nuclear war. As he told Earl Warren when convincing him to head the commission, rumors that either Castro or Khrushchev was part of a conspiracy "might even catapult us into a nuclear war if it got a head start." To overcome Georgia senator Richard Russell's resistance to joining the commission, Johnson warned him that forty million Americans might lose their lives in a nuclear conflict if accusations about Castro and Khrushchev were not refuted.

Kennedy's a.s.sa.s.sination provoked not only conspiracy theories but also an extraordinary public attachment to his memory. Forty years after his death, Americans consistently rate Kennedy as one of the five greatest presidents in U.S. history. Fifty-two percent of respondents in a 1975 Gallup poll ranking presidents put Kennedy first, ahead of Lincoln and FDR; ten years later, he remained number one, with 56 percent backing. A poll released on Presidents Day in February 1999 declared Lincoln the greatest of our presidents, with Was.h.i.+ngton, JFK, Ronald Reagan, and Bill Clinton tied for second. In 2000, Kennedy topped the list, followed by Lincoln, FDR, and Reagan. Stories about Reagan's ninetieth birthday in 2001 propelled him to the top spot, with Kennedy second and Lincoln third.

How can one explain Kennedy's enduring hold on the public's imagination? His thousand-day presidency-the sixth-briefest in the country's history-hardly measures up to the administrations of Was.h.i.+ngton, Lincoln, and FDR, our most notable presidents. Nor are professional historians persuaded that Kennedy deserves such high standing. The want of landmark legislation, an overly cautious response to black pressure for equal treatment under the law, and a mixed record in foreign affairs, where success in the missile crisis and with the test ban treaty are balanced against unresolved Cuban problems and deeper involvement in Vietnam, have persuaded scholars that Kennedy was not a truly distinguished president.

Moreover, revelations about Kennedy's womanizing and health have raised questions about whether he could have made it through a second term. In his 1991 book, A Question of Character, A Question of Character, historian Thomas C. Reeves concluded, "Had Kennedy lived to see a second term, the realities of his lechery and dealings with [mobster] Sam Giancana might have leaked out while he was still in office, gravely damaging the presidency... . Impeachment might well have followed such public disclosure." In his 1997 book, historian Thomas C. Reeves concluded, "Had Kennedy lived to see a second term, the realities of his lechery and dealings with [mobster] Sam Giancana might have leaked out while he was still in office, gravely damaging the presidency... . Impeachment might well have followed such public disclosure." In his 1997 book, The Dark Side of Camelot, The Dark Side of Camelot, Seymour Hersh a.s.serted that JFK's tawdry behavior during his presidency put him "just one news story away from cataclysmic political scandal." Seymour Hersh a.s.serted that JFK's tawdry behavior during his presidency put him "just one news story away from cataclysmic political scandal."

In 1982, two thousand scholars asked to categorize American presidents as great, near great, above average, average, below average, and failure, ranked Kennedy as number thirteen, in the middle of the above-average group. In 1988, seventy-five historians and journalists described JFK as "the most overrated public figure in American history." An October 2000 survey of seventy-eight scholars in history, politics, and law, which gave considerable weight to length of presidential service, ranked Kennedy number eighteen, at the bottom of the above-average category.

But the public has other yardsticks for measuring presidential greatness. The muckraking about Kennedy's private life has had no significant impact on public admiration for his presidential record. Most Americans set his health problems, s.e.xual escapades, and dealings with Giancana down as unproven gossip that had no demonstrable effect on his official duties. Despite a voyeuristic interest that makes bestsellers out of books offering sensational revelations, Kennedy's personal magnetism has had more enduring appeal than allegations of deceitfulness and immoral behavior. Substantial public interest in White House tapes and a Hollywood film demonstrating Kennedy's effectiveness during the missile crisis, as well as long lines of people in New York, Boston, and Was.h.i.+ngton eager to view an exhibit of Jackie Kennedy's personal wardrobe and effects as First Lady, are fresh demonstrations of the Kennedys' continuing popularity.

The a.s.sa.s.sination and Kennedy's martyrdom no doubt remain the most important factors in perpetuating high public regard for his leaders.h.i.+p and importance as a president. But this alone cannot explain his popularity. In 1941, forty years after William McKinley, who had been among the small number of presidents elected twice, was a.s.sa.s.sinated, he was an all but forgotten chief. The advent of television, which captured Kennedy's youthful appearance, good looks, charm, wit, and rhetorical idealism and hope, also contributed to his ongoing appeal. The public's faith in Kennedy's sincerity is an additional element in his continuing hold on the country. In an era of public cynicism about politicians as poseurs who are stage-managed and often insincere, Kennedy's remembered forthrightness strengthens his current appeal. These attributes have encouraged a belief that had he lived, the United States would have avoided many of the problems it suffered under Johnson and Nixon during the 1960s and 1970s.

Public attachment to Kennedy also rests on the conviction that his election reduced religious and ethnic tests for the presidency. True, no other Catholic has become president since Kennedy, but Ronald Reagan, though not a practicing Catholic, had a Catholic father. Moreover, the vice presidential candidacies of Geraldine Ferraro, a Catholic, in 1984, and of Joseph Lieberman, a Jew, in 2000, demonstrate that JFK's presidency significantly reduced religion as a barrier to the White House. It also helped make the election of a woman to the presidency conceivable. For millions of ethnic Americans, Kennedy remains more than a bright, promising young president whose life and time in office were prematurely snuffed out. He is an enduring demonstration that ethnics and minorities, who, despite rhetoric to the contrary, did not feel fully accepted in America before 1960, have come into their own as first-cla.s.s citizens. Kennedy's identification with a rich and famous family, Harvard degree, heroism in World War II, and election to the House, Senate, and White House have been enough to make him a great president in the eyes of hyphenated Americans. Then and now, they share dreams realized by the Kennedys of becoming American aristocrats.

KENNEDY'S DEATH WAS initially a triumph of the worst in human relations over the promise of better times. But, as Warren antic.i.p.ated, the grief over his loss became a compelling drive for the enactment of legislative and international gains that remain living memorials to his vision of a fairer, more prosperous, and peaceful world. The "idealist without illusions," as Kennedy described himself, would have taken satisfaction from the advances that his senseless death helped bring to life. But it was limited compensation to those who believed that another five years in the White House and a postpresidential career might have allowed Kennedy to s.h.i.+eld the country from losses and defeats, avoiding the doubts and cynicism flowing from the a.s.sa.s.sination and the Vietnam War and bringing benefits that would have served countless millions at home and abroad. initially a triumph of the worst in human relations over the promise of better times. But, as Warren antic.i.p.ated, the grief over his loss became a compelling drive for the enactment of legislative and international gains that remain living memorials to his vision of a fairer, more prosperous, and peaceful world. The "idealist without illusions," as Kennedy described himself, would have taken satisfaction from the advances that his senseless death helped bring to life. But it was limited compensation to those who believed that another five years in the White House and a postpresidential career might have allowed Kennedy to s.h.i.+eld the country from losses and defeats, avoiding the doubts and cynicism flowing from the a.s.sa.s.sination and the Vietnam War and bringing benefits that would have served countless millions at home and abroad.

Epilogue

ALL THE MYTHMAKING-positive and negative-about Kennedy would not have interested him as much as a fair-minded a.s.sessment of his public career. He would probably have been less than happy that biographers had unearthed so much of the truth about his private life. Nor would he have had any illusions that historians would be of one mind about his policies and actions. He understood that history, as the great Dutch historian Peter Geyl a.s.serted, is an argument without end. (In October 1961, he told scholars editing the John Adams papers "how difficult it ever is to [get] to the 'bone' of truth on any great historical controversy.") All the debate generated by his congressional and especially presidential careers would not have surprised him. But he also understood that opposing judgments on his life and times did not preclude balanced appraisals, and forty years after his death-with the consequences of his actions reasonably clear and the doc.u.ments to a.s.sess his achievements and failings for the most part available-such an a.n.a.lysis seems within reach.

If Kennedy had never become president, it is doubtful that biographers, historians, and the ma.s.s public would have had a lot of interest in him. His famous father, heroism in World War II, elections to the House and Senate, publication of a Pulitzer Prize-winning book on political courage, failed bid for the vice presidential nomination in 1956, and presidential nomination in 1960 as only the second Catholic to hold that distinction would have made him an object of some curiosity. But his career probably would have generated little more than the limited interest most losing contenders for the presidency receive. Some defeated presidential candidates like Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, Stephen A. Douglas, William Jennings Bryan, Charles Evans Hughes, Robert M. La Follette, Henry A. Wallace, and Barry Goldwater are remembered for their a.s.sociations with larger political developments or other public service. But Kennedy's pre-presidential career as a relatively minor political figure would have made him less interesting to historians. He left no especially notable marks as a congressman or a senator.

As matters now stand, however, no detail about the Kennedys escapes scrutiny. Jack and Jackie, Joe, Rose, and Bobby have been the particular focus of public attention, but the other members of the family are also ongoing projects for numerous journalists, biographers