An Unfinished Life Part 4

If Jack lacked originality in addressing postwar armament and peace, at least he was well informed about foreign affairs; the same was not true of domestic issues. Yet he worked hard to round himself out. During his stay in Arizona, he became friends with Pat Lannan, a Chicago millionaire who was also nursing himself back to health. Lannan explained that "labor was going to be a very important force in the country." "Jack," Lannan told him, "you don't know the difference between an automatic screw machine and a lathe and a punch press and you ought to!" Jack took Lannan's words as a challenge and asked his father to send him a crateful of books on labor and labor law. Lannan remembered that Jack, with whom he shared a cottage, "sat up to one or two in the morning reading those books until he finished the whole crate." The episode speaks volumes about Jack's combination of intense curiosity, ambition, and compet.i.tiveness.

IN APRIL 1945, shortly before the war ended in Europe, in response to a suggestion from Joe, the Hearst Chicago Herald-American Chicago Herald-American invited Jack to cover the United Nations conference in San Francisco. He jumped at the chance, perhaps seeing his work in journalism as a prelude to a political career-a career whose scope might be hinted at by the fact that writing for Hearst newspapers in Chicago and New York (the invited Jack to cover the United Nations conference in San Francisco. He jumped at the chance, perhaps seeing his work in journalism as a prelude to a political career-a career whose scope might be hinted at by the fact that writing for Hearst newspapers in Chicago and New York (the Journal-American Journal-American) was not an especially effective way to win political standing in Ma.s.sachusetts. In addition, in May 1945, when Joe wrote daughter Kathleen about a possible appointment in the new Truman administration, he said, "But if he's going to give me a job, I'd rather have him give it to Jack and maybe make him minister to some country or a.s.sistant Secretary of State or a.s.sistant Secretary of the Navy." That said, neither father nor son saw Jack running for office.

In sending Jack to San Francisco, the newspapers were not doing the Kennedys a favor. They received good value for the $250 a dispatch they paid Jack. As the author of a successful book on foreign affairs, someone with access to significant American and British officials-including the amba.s.sador to Moscow, Averell Harriman; Soviet expert Charles E. Bohlen; and British foreign secretary Anthony Eden-and a navy hero who could speak "from a serviceman's point of view," Jack had credibility with his editors and reading audience as an expert on postwar international affairs.

However, just how hard he worked is debatable. Arthur Krock described Jack in his room at San Francisco's Palace Hotel, "dressed for a black-tie evening, with the exception of his pumps and evening coat ... lying on his bed, propped up by three pillows, a highball in one hand and the telephone receiver in the other. To the operator he said, 'I want to speak to the editor of the Chicago Herald American. Chicago Herald American.' (After a long pause:) 'Not in? Well, put someone on to take a message.' Another pause. 'Good. Will you see that the boss gets this message as soon as you can reach him? Thank you. Here's the message: Kennedy will not be filing tonight.'"

But however much of a social lion he may have been in San Francisco, Jack did manage to file seventeen 300-word stories between April 28 and May 28, princ.i.p.ally reporting tensions with the Soviets and emphasizing a need for realism about what the new world organization could achieve. Jack explained that Soviet foreign minister Vyacheslav Molotov had shocked and frustrated the American and British delegations by his overbearing manner and insistent demands to ensure his country's national security. Jack warned against expecting good relations with the USSR: Twenty-five years of distrust between Russia and the West "cannot be overcome completely for a good many years," he accurately predicted. Yet the fact that the Soviets were partic.i.p.ating in the conference and were interested in creating a world organization was a hopeful sign.

But in the end, the conference eroded Jack's optimism. By the close of the meeting, he saw a war between Russia and the West as a distinct possibility and the U.N. as an ineffective peacemaker. He thought that the new world body would be little more than "a skeleton. Its powers will be limited. It will reflect the fact that there are deep disagreements among its members... . It is unfortunate that more cannot be accomplished here. It is unfortunate that unity for war against a common aggressor is far easier to obtain than unity for peace." Jack feared that "the world organization that will come out of San Francisco will be the product of the same pa.s.sions and selfishness that produced the Treaty of Versailles in 1919."

Privately, Jack expanded on his views in a letter to a PT boat s.h.i.+pmate. "Things cannot be forced from the top," he said. "The international relinquis.h.i.+ng of sovereignty would have to spring from the people," but they were not yet ready for world government. "We must face the truth that the people have not been horrified by war to a sufficient extent to force them to go to any extent rather than have another war... . War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today."

With the close of the San Francisco Conference, Jack's thoughts turned to political developments in Europe, where the British were about to hold an election and the victorious powers were planning a summit meeting in Potsdam, Germany. His U.N. articles persuaded the Hearst editors to send him to England and Germany to cover what they hoped would be the next big international stories.

After a month in England following Churchill's campaign around the country, Jack reluctantly concluded that despite his indomitable war leaders.h.i.+p, Churchill and his Conservative party faced a left-wing tide that seemed likely to sweep them away. Perhaps blinded by admiration for the man he saw as the most extraordinary leader on the world scene, Jack could not bring himself to accept Churchill's probable defeat, and as the campaign came to a close, he forecast a narrow Conservative victory, although he did not think it would last long. It was only "a question of time before Labor gets an opportunity to form the government," Jack told American readers. Labour's triumph came sooner than Jack antic.i.p.ated: The July elections replaced Churchill and gave Labour a landslide majority.

The conclusion of the British elections freed Jack to travel to the Continent as a guest of U.S. navy secretary James Forrestal. The secretary, who knew Joe well and was greatly impressed by his twenty-eight-year-old son, wanted Jack to join his staff in the Navy Department. But first he invited Jack to go with him to Potsdam and then around Germany for a look at the destruction of its cities and factories from five years of bombing, and a.s.sess the challenges posed by rehabilitating a country divided into Russian and Western sectors. In the course of their travels, Jack met or at least saw up close many of the most important leaders of the day: President Harry Truman; General Dwight D. Eisenhower; Britain's new Labour leaders, Prime Minister Clement Attlee and Foreign Secretary Ernest Bevin; and Soviet foreign minister Molotov and Amba.s.sador Andrey Gromyko. When Forrestal's plane landed in Frankfurt, a journalist recalled, "the plane doors opened, and out came Forrestal. Then, to my amazement, Jack Kennedy. Ike was meeting Forrestal. So Jack met Ike."

Watching all these influential but fallible men in action stirred feelings in Jack that he could do as well. His a.s.sumption came not from arrogance or a belief in his own infallibility or even a conviction that he could necessarily outdo the current crop of high government officials but from the sort of self-confidence that sometimes attaches itself to people reared among power brokers and encouraged to think of themselves as natural leaders. Aside from perhaps Churchill, he believed that his ideas were a match for the officials-East and West-he saw in action. The issue was to how make his voice heard.

ENTERING POLITICS or taking on public obligations did not intimidate Jack. But it was nothing he had seriously thought to do as long as his brother Joe was alive. As he explained later, "I never thought at school or college that I would ever run for office myself. One politician was enough in the family, and my brother Joe was obviously going to be that politician. I hadn't considered myself a political type, and he filled all the requirements for political success. When he was twenty-four, he was elected as a delegate to the Democratic Convention in 1940, and I think his political success would have been a.s.sured... . My brother Joe was killed in Europe as a flier in August 1944 and that ended our hopes for him. But I didn't even start to think about a political profession for more than a year later." or taking on public obligations did not intimidate Jack. But it was nothing he had seriously thought to do as long as his brother Joe was alive. As he explained later, "I never thought at school or college that I would ever run for office myself. One politician was enough in the family, and my brother Joe was obviously going to be that politician. I hadn't considered myself a political type, and he filled all the requirements for political success. When he was twenty-four, he was elected as a delegate to the Democratic Convention in 1940, and I think his political success would have been a.s.sured... . My brother Joe was killed in Europe as a flier in August 1944 and that ended our hopes for him. But I didn't even start to think about a political profession for more than a year later."

In fact, discussions with his father and others about a political career had begun earlier than Jack retrospectively claimed. There is evidence that Joe raised the matter of a political career with his son in December 1944, only a few months after Joe Jr.'s death, at Palm Beach. Paul "Red" Fay, a navy friend from the Pacific, who spent the Christmas holiday with Jack in Florida, recalled Jack telling him, "When the war is over and you are out there in sunny California ... I'll be back here with Dad trying to parlay a lost PT boat and a bad back into a political advantage." In August 1957, Joe told a reporter, "I got Jack into politics. I was the one. I told him Joe was dead and that it was therefore his responsibility to run for Congress." At the same time, Jack himself told another reporter, "It was like being drafted. My father wanted his eldest son in politics. 'Wanted' isn't the right word. He demanded demanded it. You know my father." it. You know my father."

But nothing was settled that December. Jack still had not been released from the navy, and his health was too precarious for any firm planning. He was also reluctant to commit himself to a political career. As he told Fay, "Dad is ready right now and can't understand why Johnny boy isn't 'all engines ahead full.'" One day in Palm Beach, as he watched his father cross the lawn, he said to Fay, "G.o.d! There goes the old man! There he goes figuring out the next step. I'm in it now, you know. It's my turn. I've got to perform." Arthur Krock was asked later whether he fully subscribed to the theory that Jack was filling Joe's shoes when he entered politics. He answered, "Yes. In fact, I knew it. It was almost a physical event: now it's your your turn." And Jack "wasn't very happy. It wasn't his preference." Joe himself recalled in the 1957 interview that Jack "didn't want to [do it]. He felt he didn't have ability... . But I told him he had to." turn." And Jack "wasn't very happy. It wasn't his preference." Joe himself recalled in the 1957 interview that Jack "didn't want to [do it]. He felt he didn't have ability... . But I told him he had to."

Still, despite his father's wishes, Jack hesitated throughout 1945. When Jack spoke to Lannan in Arizona about future plans early in 1945, "[he] said he thought he'd go into 'public service.' It was the first time I'd ever heard that term," Lannan recalled. "I said, 'You mean politics?' He wouldn't say 'politics' to save his life. It was 'public service.'" Such a phrase covered a mult.i.tude of possibilities. "I take it that you definitely have your hat in the ring for a political career," Billings wrote him in January 1946. But in February, Jack told Lem, "I am returning to Law School at Harvard ... in the fall-and then if something good turns up while I am there I will run for it. I have my eye on something pretty good now if it comes through." Exactly what Jack had in mind remained unsaid, but it was clearly no more than a contingency.

If Jack was a reluctant candidate, he found compelling reasons to try his hand at electoral politics. As his former headmaster George St. John perceptively wrote Rose that August: "I am certain he [Jack] never forgets he must live Joe's life as well as his own." Joe Sr. hoped St. John was right. "Jack arrived home," Joe wrote an English friend on August 22, "and is very thin, but is becoming quite active in the political life of Ma.s.sachusetts. It wouldn't surprise me to see him go into public life to take Joe's place."

For someone who prided himself on his independence-whose sense of self rested partly on questioning authority, on making up his own mind about public issues and private standards-taking on his elder brother's ident.i.ty was not Jack's idea of coming into his own. Indeed, if a political career were strictly a case of satisfying his father's ambitions and honoring his brother's memory by fulfilling his life plan, it is more than doubtful that he would have taken on the a.s.signment. To be sure, he felt, as he wrote Lem Billings, "terribly exposed and vulnerable" after his brother's death. Joe's pa.s.sing burdened him with an "unnamed responsibility" to his whole family-to its desire to expand upon the public distinction established by Joe Sr. and to fulfill Joe Jr.'s intention to reach for the highest office.

Nor was his father completely confident that Jack was well suited for the job. As Joe said later, his eldest son "used to talk about being President some day, and a lot of smart people thought he would make it. He was altogether different from Jack-more dynamic, more sociable and easy going. Jack in those days back there when he was getting out of college was rather shy, withdrawn and quiet. His mother and I couldn't picture him as a politician. We were sure he'd be a teacher or a writer." Mark Dalton, a politician close to the Kennedys in 1945, remembered Jack as far from a natural. He did not seem "to be built for politics in the sense of being the easygoing affable person. He was extremely drawn and thin... . He was always shy. He drove himself into this... . It must have been a tremendous effort of will." Nor was he comfortable with public speaking, impressing one of his navy friends as unpolished: "He spoke very fast, very rapidly, and seemed to be just a trifle embarra.s.sed on stage."

Yet not everyone agreed. Lem Billings thought that politics was Jack's natural calling. "A lot of people say that if Joe hadn't died, that Jack might never have gone into politics," Lem said much later. "I don't believe this. Nothing could have kept Jack out of politics: I think this is what he had in him, and it just would have come out, no matter what." Lem echoed the point in another interview: "Knowing his abilities, interests and background, I firmly believe that he would have entered politics even had he had three older brothers like Joe." Barbara Ward, an English friend of Jack's sister Kathleen, remembered meeting Jack during his visit to England in 1945. "He asked every sort of question of what were the pressures, what were the forces at work, who supported what ... and you could see already that this young lieutenant [sic] was political to his fingertips... . He seemed so young-but with an extraordinarily ... well-informed interest in the political situation he was seeing."

Jack himself was not as sure as Billings about the direction his professional life would have taken had Joe lived. Political curiosity and "well-informed interest" don't automatically translate into political ambition. But Jack did recall that his attraction to politics rested on much more than family pressure or faithfulness to his brother's memory. He remembered that the responsibilities of power-"decisions of war and peace, prosperity and recession"-were a magnet. "Everything now depends upon what the government decides," he said in 1960. "Therefore, if you are interested, if you want to partic.i.p.ate, if you feel strongly about any public question, whether it's labor, what happens in India, the future of American agriculture, whatever it may be, it seems to me that governmental service is the way to translate this interest into action." If this sounds similar to what his father had said in 1930 about how "the people who run the government would be the biggest people in America," it is not only because the son had been influenced by the father but because the father had been correct.

Comparisons with other professions made politics especially appealing to Jack. Alongside the drudgery of working in a law firm, writing "legislation on foreign policy or on the relations.h.i.+p between labor and management" seemed much more attractive. "How can you compare an interest in [fighting an ant.i.trust suit] with a life in Congress where you are able to partic.i.p.ate to some degree in determining which direction the nation will go?" Nor did he see journalism as a more interesting profession. "A reporter is reporting reporting what happened. He is not what happened. He is not making making it happen... . It isn't partic.i.p.ating... . I saw how ideally politics filled the Greek definition of happiness-'a full use of your powers along lines of excellence in a life-affording scope.'" Two of Jack's closest aides later said that Jack "was drawn into politics by the same motive that drew Dwight Eisenhower and other World War II veterans, with somewhat the same reluctance, into the political arena-the realization that whether you really liked it or not, this was the place where you personally could do the most to prevent another war." "Few other professions are so demanding," Jack said later, "but few, I must add, are so satisfying to the heart and soul." In 1960, he told an interviewer, "The price of politics is high, but think of all those people living normal average lives who never touch the excitement of it." it happen... . It isn't partic.i.p.ating... . I saw how ideally politics filled the Greek definition of happiness-'a full use of your powers along lines of excellence in a life-affording scope.'" Two of Jack's closest aides later said that Jack "was drawn into politics by the same motive that drew Dwight Eisenhower and other World War II veterans, with somewhat the same reluctance, into the political arena-the realization that whether you really liked it or not, this was the place where you personally could do the most to prevent another war." "Few other professions are so demanding," Jack said later, "but few, I must add, are so satisfying to the heart and soul." In 1960, he told an interviewer, "The price of politics is high, but think of all those people living normal average lives who never touch the excitement of it."

A strong family interest, great family wealth, and a personal belief in the "necessity for adequate leaders.h.i.+p in our political life, whether in the active field of politics or in the field of public service," had all given him the incentive to seek elective office. Encouragement from professional politicians also persuaded him to run. He remembered how after he gave a public address in the fall of 1945 to help raise money for the Greater Boston Community Fund charity, "a politician came up to me and said that I should go into politics, that I might be governor of Ma.s.sachusetts in ten years." Joe Kane, a Kennedy cousin and highly regarded Boston pol, a man described as "smart and cunning, with the composure of a sphinx and ever present fedora pulled down over one eye in the manner of [then popular movie actor] Edward G. Robinson," encouraged Jack by telling Joe, "There is something original about your young daredevil. He has poise, a fine Celtic map. A most engaging smile." In a dinner speech, "he spoke with perfect ease and fluency but quietly, deliberately and with complete self-control, always on the happiest terms with his audience. He was the master, not the servant of his oratorical power. He received an ovation and endeared himself to all by his modesty and gentlemanly manner." From what we know about Jack's less-than-perfect public speaking abilities in 1945, Kane was ingratiating himself with Joe. Nevertheless, he was among the first to see the qualities that would ultimately make Jack such an attractive national public figure.

WHILE JACK WAS MAKING UP his mind, Joe was setting the stage for Jack's political career. Asked later what he did for Jack, Joe denied playing any part; he was eager to ensure that, as Rose wrote Kathleen, "whatever success there is will be due entirely to Jack and the younger group." When pressed by the interviewer, who said, "But a father who loves his son as you so obviously do is bound to help his son," Joe replied, "I just called people. I got in touch with people I knew. I have a lot of contacts. I've been in politics in Ma.s.sachusetts since I was ten." Two of JFK's later aides, Kenneth P. O'Donnell, a college friend of Jack's brother Bobby, and David F. Powers, a Boston Irish politician Jack recruited for his 1946 campaign, downplayed Joe's part. They said that "his reputation as a prewar isolationist and his falling out with the New Deal might do Jack some harm," so Joe stayed behind the scenes. But even there he confined himself to "fretting over small details, worrying whether Jack's unpolitician-like style of campaigning was wrong for the Boston scene." When JFK biographer Herbert Parmet interviewed O'Donnell in 1976 about Joe's part in the events of 1945-46 that brought Jack into politics, he "became heated at suggestions that the Amba.s.sador had played a prominent role... . He scoffed at stories about Joe Kennedy's expertise and ... pointed out that the Amba.s.sador had been 'out of touch' with Boston politics for a long time. 'He no longer knew a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing about what was going on in Ma.s.sachusetts.'" his mind, Joe was setting the stage for Jack's political career. Asked later what he did for Jack, Joe denied playing any part; he was eager to ensure that, as Rose wrote Kathleen, "whatever success there is will be due entirely to Jack and the younger group." When pressed by the interviewer, who said, "But a father who loves his son as you so obviously do is bound to help his son," Joe replied, "I just called people. I got in touch with people I knew. I have a lot of contacts. I've been in politics in Ma.s.sachusetts since I was ten." Two of JFK's later aides, Kenneth P. O'Donnell, a college friend of Jack's brother Bobby, and David F. Powers, a Boston Irish politician Jack recruited for his 1946 campaign, downplayed Joe's part. They said that "his reputation as a prewar isolationist and his falling out with the New Deal might do Jack some harm," so Joe stayed behind the scenes. But even there he confined himself to "fretting over small details, worrying whether Jack's unpolitician-like style of campaigning was wrong for the Boston scene." When JFK biographer Herbert Parmet interviewed O'Donnell in 1976 about Joe's part in the events of 1945-46 that brought Jack into politics, he "became heated at suggestions that the Amba.s.sador had played a prominent role... . He scoffed at stories about Joe Kennedy's expertise and ... pointed out that the Amba.s.sador had been 'out of touch' with Boston politics for a long time. 'He no longer knew a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing about what was going on in Ma.s.sachusetts.'"

The record says otherwise. In the spring and summer of 1945, Joe made a special effort to renew the Kennedy presence in Ma.s.sachusetts. If memories of his amba.s.sadors.h.i.+p did not serve him in most parts of the country, his home state was more forgiving. In April, Joe made the front page of the Boston Globe Boston Globe when he lunched with Governor Maurice J. Tobin, gave a speech urging postwar reliance on the city's air and sea ports to expand its economy, announced a half-million-dollar investment in the state, and agreed to become the chairman of a commission planning the state's economic future. The chairmans.h.i.+p a.s.signment allowed Joe to spend much of the summer crisscrossing Ma.s.sachusetts to speak with business, labor, and government leaders. "When he took the economic survey job for Tobin," a Boston politician stated, "it was to scout the state politically for Jack." In July, Joe added to the family's public visibility with a s.h.i.+p-launching ceremony for the USS when he lunched with Governor Maurice J. Tobin, gave a speech urging postwar reliance on the city's air and sea ports to expand its economy, announced a half-million-dollar investment in the state, and agreed to become the chairman of a commission planning the state's economic future. The chairmans.h.i.+p a.s.signment allowed Joe to spend much of the summer crisscrossing Ma.s.sachusetts to speak with business, labor, and government leaders. "When he took the economic survey job for Tobin," a Boston politician stated, "it was to scout the state politically for Jack." In July, Joe added to the family's public visibility with a s.h.i.+p-launching ceremony for the USS Joseph P. Kennedy, Joseph P. Kennedy, which reminded people that two of his sons were war heroes. There were also discussions with Tobin about Jack's becoming his running mate in 1946 as a candidate for lieutenant governor. which reminded people that two of his sons were war heroes. There were also discussions with Tobin about Jack's becoming his running mate in 1946 as a candidate for lieutenant governor.

But Joe and Jack preferred a congressional campaign that could send Jack to Was.h.i.+ngton, where he could have national visibility. There was one problem, however: Which district? To this end, Joe secretly persuaded James Michael Curley to leave his Eleventh Congressional District seat for another run as Boston's mayor. A fraud conviction and additional legal actions had put Curley in substantial debt, and he welcomed Joe's hush-hush proposal to help him pay off what he owed and to finance his mayoral campaign.

The Eleventh District included Cambridge, with 30 percent of the registered voters, where former Cambridge mayor and state legislator Mike Neville was well entrenched; parts of Brighton, with 22,000 uncommitted Democrats; three Somerville wards, distinguished by warehouses, factories, and a large rail center that employed many of the area's residents; one Charlestown ward populated by Irish Catholic stevedores who worked at the nearby docks and supported John Cotter, well known in the Eleventh as the long-serving secretary to the district's congressmen; Boston's North End, where Italian immigrants had largely replaced the Irish; and East Boston's Ward One, another Italian American working-cla.s.s enclave, which, like the North End, seemed warmly disposed to Joseph Russo, who had represented them on the Boston City Council for almost eight years. It was by no means a shoo-in for Jack.

Despite his father's help-or perhaps because of it-Jack continued to have great doubts about whether he was making the right decision. He could not shake the feeling that he was essentially a stand-in for Joe Jr. When he spoke with Look Look magazine, which published an article about his campaign, he said that he was only doing "the job Joe would have done." Privately he told friends, "I'm just filling Joe's shoes. If he were alive, I'd never be in this." He later told a reporter, "If Joe had lived, I probably would have gone to law school in 1946." He disliked the inevitable comparisons between him and his brother, in which he seemed all too likely to come off second-best, but it seemed impossible to shake them. magazine, which published an article about his campaign, he said that he was only doing "the job Joe would have done." Privately he told friends, "I'm just filling Joe's shoes. If he were alive, I'd never be in this." He later told a reporter, "If Joe had lived, I probably would have gone to law school in 1946." He disliked the inevitable comparisons between him and his brother, in which he seemed all too likely to come off second-best, but it seemed impossible to shake them.

Jack's poor health also gave him pause. One returning war veteran who knew Jack in 1946 said, "I was as thin as I could be at that time, but Jack was even thinner. He was actually like a skeleton, thin and drawn." Despite the steroids he was apparently taking, he continued to have abdominal pain and problems gaining weight. Backaches were a constant problem. Because hot baths gave him temporary relief, he spent some time every day soaking in a tub. But it was no cure-all, and considerable discomfort was the price of a physically demanding campaign. He also had occasional burning when urinating, which was the result of a nonspecific urethritis dating from 1940 and a possible s.e.xual encounter in college, which when left untreated became a chronic condition. He was later diagnosed as having "a mild, chronic, non-specific prostat.i.tis" that sulfa drugs temporarily suppressed. Moreover, a strenuous daily routine intensified the symptoms-fatigue, nausea, and vomiting-of the Addison's disease that would not be diagnosed until 1947. A more sedate lifestyle must have seemed awfully attractive when compared with the long hours of walking and standing demanded of anyone trying to win the support of thousands of voters scattered across a large district.

Jack also felt temperamentally unsuited to an old-fas.h.i.+oned Boston-style campaign. False camaraderie was alien to his nature. He was a charmer but not an easygoing, affable character like his grandfather Honey Fitz, who loved mingling with people. Drinking in bars with strangers with whom he swapped stories and jokes was not a part of JFK's disposition. "As far as backslapping with the politicians," he said, "I think I'd rather go somewhere with my familiars or sit alone somewhere and read a book."

One local pol who met Jack in 1946 "didn't think he [Jack] had much on the ball at all. He was very retiring. You had to lead him by the hand. You had to push him into the pool rooms, taverns, clubs, and organizations." He would give a speech at a luncheon and try to escape as quickly as possible afterward without trying to win over members of the audience. "He wasn't a mingler," one campaign volunteer recalled. "He didn't mingle in the crowd and go up to people and say, 'I'm Jack Kennedy.'" The volunteer remembered how Jack had snubbed him and his wife one afternoon when he saw them on the street walking their baby in a carriage. "Sometimes," the volunteer said, "I used to feel that ice water rolled in his veins... . I don't know if he was shy or a sn.o.b. All I'm getting at is that he was very unpolitical for a man who was going to run for Congress." Jack himself said, "I think it's more of a personal reserve than a coldness, although it may seem like coldness to some people."

Jack also doubted that he could bring many voters to his side with his oratory. He accurately thought of himself as a pretty dull public speaker at the time. Stiff Stiff and and wooden wooden were the words most often used to describe his delivery. One observer said that Jack spoke "in a voice somewhat scratchy and tensely high-pitched," projecting "a quality of grave seriousness that masked his discomfiture. No trace of humor leavened his talk. Hardly diverging from his prepared text, he stood as if before a blackboard, addressing a cla.s.sroom full of pupils who could be expected at any moment to become unruly." were the words most often used to describe his delivery. One observer said that Jack spoke "in a voice somewhat scratchy and tensely high-pitched," projecting "a quality of grave seriousness that masked his discomfiture. No trace of humor leavened his talk. Hardly diverging from his prepared text, he stood as if before a blackboard, addressing a cla.s.sroom full of pupils who could be expected at any moment to become unruly."

Family members tried to help him become a more effective speaker. At one gathering, his sister Eunice noticeably mouthed his words as he spoke. Afterward, Jack told her, "Eunice, you made me very very nervous. Don't ever do that to me again." And Eunice said, "Jack, I thought you were going to forget your speech."

Joe was more subtle and successful in boosting him. Eunice recalled that "many a night when he'd come over to see Daddy after a speech, he'd be feeling rather down, admitting that the speech hadn't really gone very well or believing that his delivery had put people in the front row fast asleep. 'What do you mean,' Father would immediately ask. 'Why, I talked to Mr. X and Mrs. Y on the phone right after they got home and they told me they were sitting right in the front row and that it was a fine speech. And then I talked with so-and-so and he said last year's speaker at the same event had forty in the audience while you had ninety.' And then, and this was the key, Father would go on to elicit from Jack what he he thought he could change to make it better the next time. I can still see the two of them sitting together, a.n.a.lyzing the entire speech and talking about the pace of delivery to see where it worked and where it had gone wrong." thought he could change to make it better the next time. I can still see the two of them sitting together, a.n.a.lyzing the entire speech and talking about the pace of delivery to see where it worked and where it had gone wrong."

Jack also had to worry about disciplining himself sufficiently to keep to a schedule. Even before he announced his candidacy, a friendly critic warned him that he needed to rein himself in. "You must organize yourself first and your campaign second," Drew Porter, a bank official, wrote him. "You cannot run a campaign for Congress on a Fraternity brotherhood basis. It must be on a strict, hard boiled, cut throat, business basis. I was shocked this A.M. when you answered the phone. Our original meeting was for 10 o'clock and you moved it up to 11 o'clock. OK. At 11:45, I called you. In business and politics, we have to break many dates, but we always promptly call and say we cannot be on time or we cannot keep the appointment. In this case, it was not important, but in others, you will lose contact and friends."

The advice only partly registered on Jack. Dave Powers, who became a princ.i.p.al aide in the campaign and a friend with whom Kennedy could find welcome relaxation from the daily political grind, remembered that "Jack had a funny sense of time and distance... . I've been with him in his apartment in the middle of Boston and he's soaking in the tub at quarter of eight, and we're due in Worcester at eight, and he'd say, 'Dave, how far is it to Worcester?' And I'd say, 'Well, if we're driving, we're late already.' It would go like that."

Jack also justifiably worried that political opponents would attack him as an outsider with no real roots in the Eleventh Congressional District. In fact, newspaper stories and private speculation that he would run brought out just such antagonism. Before he entered the race, an encounter with Dan O'Brien, a Cambridge undertaker with political clout and a Neville supporter, confirmed Jack's worst fears. In a meeting at O'Brien's funeral parlor on a snowy night in January, Jack looked to O'Brien "like a boy just out of school who had no experience politically, and ... I don't think he even knew where the district was." O'Brien told him scornfully, "You're not going to win this fight. You're a carpetbagger. You don't belong here. I'll tell you what I'll do-if you pull out of the fight and let Neville go to Was.h.i.+ngton, I guarantee you I'll get you the job down there as Neville's secretary." As Jack left, he vented his annoyance with the sort of wry humor that became a trademark of his political career, mentioning that he "would rather not have O'Brien handle his funeral arrangements." O'Brien and Neville went to see Joe before Jack announced his candidacy: They said that if Jack did not run, they would give him "a shot later on. And he [Joe] coldly sat back in his chair and he said, 'Why[,] you fellows are crazy. My son will be President in 1960.'"

The private show of antagonism to Jack's candidacy became a drumbeat in the speeches and newspaper columns of opponents. One of Jack's compet.i.tors for the congressional seat said in a radio talk, "We have a very young boy, a college graduate, whose family boasts of great wealth. It is said they are worth thirty million dollars. This candidate has never held public office." He did not even have a residence in the district. "He is registered at the Hotel Bellevue in Boston, and I daresay that he has never slept there. He comes from New York. His father is a resident of Florida and because of his money is favored by the newspapers of Boston... . Insofar as certain responsibilities are concerned, this candidate does not live in the district ... and knows nothing about the problems of its people."

One newspaper, the East Boston Leader, East Boston Leader, was furious at Jack's "unmerited" candidacy. They parodied his campaign by announcing: "Congress seat for sale-No experience necessary-Applicant must live in New York or Florida-Only millionaires need apply." A was furious at Jack's "unmerited" candidacy. They parodied his campaign by announcing: "Congress seat for sale-No experience necessary-Applicant must live in New York or Florida-Only millionaires need apply." A Leader Leader columnist belittled Jack as "Jawn" Kennedy, the rich kid who was "[ever] so British... . In my opinion, Kennedy's candidacy is the nerviest thing ever pulled in local politics. He moves in and establishes a phoney residence in a hotel and solely on the strength of his family connections announces that he is undecided whether to become lieutenant governor or a congressman... . What has he, himself, ever done to merit your vote?" columnist belittled Jack as "Jawn" Kennedy, the rich kid who was "[ever] so British... . In my opinion, Kennedy's candidacy is the nerviest thing ever pulled in local politics. He moves in and establishes a phoney residence in a hotel and solely on the strength of his family connections announces that he is undecided whether to become lieutenant governor or a congressman... . What has he, himself, ever done to merit your vote?"

Personal limitations and the prospect of ad hominem attacks certainly discouraged Jack, but the challenge of mastering a demanding political campaign was more an inducement to run than to back away. Nor did he see harsh personal attacks as a reason to stand aside; he did not need to be a politician to understand that politics was a tough game in which compet.i.tors went all-out to win. For him, on one level politics was another form of the compet.i.tive sports like football or boat racing that excited his lifelong drive to be the best. Indeed, the fight was was the fun. "The fascination about politics," he told a reporter in 1960, "is that it's so compet.i.tive. There's always that exciting challenge of compet.i.tion." the fun. "The fascination about politics," he told a reporter in 1960, "is that it's so compet.i.tive. There's always that exciting challenge of compet.i.tion."

Of greater concern to him were practical questions about how to defeat better-known local rivals for the Eleventh District seat by winning enough blue-collar ethnic-mainly Irish and Italian-votes in an area that extended across Boston and some of its suburbs. It was no small challenge. When Dave Powers first met Jack, he privately echoed Jack's own concerns. "Here's a millionaire's son from Harvard trying to come into an area that is longsh.o.r.emen, waitresses, truck drivers, and so forth," Powers remembered. "I said, 'To start with, I'd get somebody on the waterfront for sure, somebody tied up with the labor unions and all that.' And he's writing this stuff down, and I'm thinking to myself, 'It won't do him any good. A millionaire's son from Harvard, they're going to laugh at him down there.'"

The challenge as Jack saw it was not only to create some sort of connection to the working-cla.s.s folks living in the district but also to overcome the apathy that marked a primary campaign in which no more than 20 to 25 percent of voters usually went to the polls. How could he convince people that a vote for Jack Kennedy might make a difference in their lives? He had every confidence that his war record and seriousness of purpose would make voters see him as a deserving young man. But would that be enough?

Curley, whose well-funded mayoral campaign was successful, said, "With those two names, Kennedy and Fitzgerald, how could he lose?" Jack, too, understood that his family ties would give him visibility in the campaign from the moment he announced his candidacy. He also appreciated that his background made him "a new kind of Democrat in town, a sort of aristocrat of the ma.s.ses, at once engagingly modest yet quick of mind, well-read and self-confident." One of Jack's backers said, "Compared to the Boston Irish politicians we grew up with, Jack Kennedy was like a breath of spring. He never said to anybody, 'How's Mother? Tell her I said h.e.l.lo.' He never even went to a wake unless he knew the deceased personally." Seeing Jack's amateur status as a distinct a.s.set, especially after a poll Joe commissioned revealed greater interest in Jack as a war hero than as a politician, the campaign gave high visibility to returning veterans working on Jack's behalf, men such as Ted Reardon, Joe Jr.'s Harvard cla.s.smate, and Tony Galluccio, Jack's college friend. The emphasis was on public-spirited young men who had done their war service and now intended to set things right at home.

Yet none of these advantages would be sufficient to win an election. Jack needed to get out on the hustings and impress himself on voters as someone who understood their needs and problems. Despite his misgivings, he began going into saloons and barbershops and pool halls and restaurants to talk to the men and women who controlled his fate: the letter carriers, cabdrivers, waitresses, and stevedores. He went to factories and the docks, where he stood on street corners introducing himself and asking for votes. One day when Joe saw Jack across a street shaking hands with longsh.o.r.emen, he said to his companion, "I would have given odds of five thousand to one that this thing we [are] seeing could never have happened. I never thought Jack had it in him."

Gradually, he learned to give expression to his natural charm and sincerity. At a forum with several other candidates, all of whom made much of their humble backgrounds, Jack disarmingly declared, "I seem to be the only person here tonight who didn't come up the hard way." The audience loved his candor. At an American Legion hall, where he spoke to gold star mothers (women who had lost a son in the war), Jack honored the memories of the fallen men by discussing the sacrifices in war that promised a better, more peaceful future, adding, "I think I know how all you mothers feel because my mother is a Gold Star mother, too." The reaction to his talk, Dave Powers recalled, was unlike anything he had ever seen: an outpouring of warmth and affection that seemed to ensure the support of everyone in the audience.

And there was the hard work of campaigning. Out of bed by 6:15-6:30 in the morning, Jack would be on the street by 7:00-in time to stand at the factory gates and docks for an hour or more to shake hands with arriving workers. After a quick breakfast, he would start pounding the pavement, knocking on every door in neighborhoods with triple-decker houses. It made a strong impression on startled housewives, who had never had that sort of contact with a political candidate before. After lunch, he and his aides would "hit the barber shops, the neighborhood candy or variety stores and the taverns, the fire stations and the police stations. At four o'clock, back at the Navy Yard, catching the workers coming out of a different gate from the one where we worked that morning," Dave Powers recalled. They would ride the trolley cars from Park Street to Harvard Square, with Jack walking the aisles, shaking hands, and introducing himself, "h.e.l.lo, I'm Jack Kennedy."

In the evenings, Jack would make the rounds of three to six house parties organized by his sisters Eunice and Pat. They included anywhere from fifteen to seventy-five young women-schoolteachers, nurses, telephone operators-who would be served tea or coffee with cookies and would listen to an introductory spiel, more an entertainment than a political appeal, followed by Jack's arrival, a brief comment from him, and a question-and-answer session. Jack was at his best with these small groups, flas.h.i.+ng his disarming smile, answering questions with a leg draped over an armchair, combining serious discussion with boyish informality. Within days, the campaign would issue invitations to all the young women to become volunteers for Kennedy. The technique created a corps of workers who expanded Jack's ability to reach out to hundreds and possibly thousands of other voters.

Jack paid a heavy price in physical exhaustion. The people around him noticed his bulging eyes, jaundiced complexion, and a limp caused by unremitting back pain. They marveled at his stamina and refusal to complain. But he saw no alternative: The demanding schedule was indispensable not just in making contacts but in destroying the claims by his opponents that he was simply a spoiled rich man's son who never had to work for a living.

But all the hard work would not have paid off in votes if he did not have something meaningful to say, something that made ordinary people feel he was a worthy young man who understood their personal concerns. In a stroke of genius, Joe Kane captured Jack's appeal as a new kind of Irish politician who reflected the past and the future by coining a compelling campaign slogan: "The New Generation Offers a Leader."

Kane and Jack's other advisers did not have to talk Jack into emphasizing his war record as a way to reach voters. Patriotism remained a strong suit in 1945-46 and a war hero commanded unqualified public approval. Although Jack was not comfortable selling himself in this role, he accepted it as an essential starting point of his campaign. Thus, in January 1946, he helped set up the Joseph P. Kennedy Jr. Veterans of Foreign Wars post in the Eleventh District with himself as post commander; agreed to preside over a national VFW convention; and joined the American Legion. He also crafted a speech that described the sinking of PT 109, PT 109, downplaying his part in the rescue operation while praising the heroism of his men. The speech also recounted the special camaraderie among combat troops and called on his audiences to work together in a similar fas.h.i.+on to secure the country's future. His father financed the distribution throughout the district of 100,000 copies of "Survival," a downplaying his part in the rescue operation while praising the heroism of his men. The speech also recounted the special camaraderie among combat troops and called on his audiences to work together in a similar fas.h.i.+on to secure the country's future. His father financed the distribution throughout the district of 100,000 copies of "Survival," a Reader's Digest Reader's Digest summary of John Hersey's summary of John Hersey's New Yorker New Yorker article about article about PT 109 PT 109.

However strong the appeal of his war record, district voters were also keenly interested in securing their economic future. Mindful of the need to address their domestic concerns, Jack spoke repeatedly during the campaign about the bread-and-b.u.t.ter issues that mattered most to working-cla.s.s voters. He promised to fight to make housing available for returning veterans and to create more and better-paying jobs. There was no specific agenda of just how he would accomplish any of this, but when the League of Women Voters asked him to describe the most important postwar issues facing the country, he listed housing, military strength to ensure the national security, expanded Social Security benefits, raising the minimum wage to 65 cents an hour, and modernizing Congress.

As important as what he advocated was the means he used to get his name, war record, and message before the public. And here he had the advantage of Joe's wealth. Joe may have spent between $250,000 and $300,000 on the campaign, though the precise amount will never be known since so much of it was handed out in cash by Eddie Moore, Joe's princ.i.p.al aide. (A frequent location for Kennedy campaign financial exchanges was in pay toilets. "You can never be too careful in politics about handing over money," Moore said.) It was "a staggering sum" for a congressional race in 1946, Joe Kane remembered. "It was the equivalent of an elephant squas.h.i.+ng a peanut," two political journalists wrote later. Joe himself is supposed to have said, "With what I'm spending I could elect my chauffeur." It was, for example, six times the amount Tip O'Neill would spend six years later to win Jack's open seat. As Kane told the two reporters, "[Everything Joe] got, he bought and paid for. And politics is like war. It takes three things to win. The first is money and the second is money and the third is money." Jesse Unruh, Speaker of the California State a.s.sembly in the 1960s, echoed the point: "Money is the mother's milk of politics."

Joe's money allowed the campaign to hire a public relations firm, which then saturated the district with billboard, subway, newspaper, and radio ads and direct mailings. The visual displays were headed "Kennedy for Congress" and contained a picture of Jack with a war vet's father pointing at Jack and saying, "There's our man, son." Joe's spending also paid for polls that persuaded the campaign to stress Jack's war service and for locally managed campaign headquarters in every section of the district. With only a single office in their home neighborhoods, Jack's opponents could not match the aggressive promotion of his candidacy. Mike Neville, Jack's princ.i.p.al opponent, complained to a companion as they walked past a c.r.a.ps game, "Only way I'll break into the newspapers will be if I join that game and get pinched by the cops."

The money also permitted the campaign to stage an elaborate event at the Hotel Commander in Cambridge, a fancy establishment to which most of the invited guests had never been. The mainly Irish ladies who received engraved, hand-addressed invitations to attend a reception to meet the entire Kennedy family turned out in formal gowns-many of them rented-to shake hands with these new Boston Brahmins and bask in the glow of their success. Joe, in white tie and tails, and Rose, dressed in the latest Paris fas.h.i.+on, greeted almost 1,500 delighted guests. The event created a traffic jam in Harvard Square, and the newspapers carried prominently placed stories about the "tea." One reporter said it was "a demonstration unparalleled in the history of Congressional fights in this district." Coming three days before the primary, one old Boston pol predicted, "This kid will walk in."

The evening house parties and hotel reception also allowed Jack to reconnect with his sisters Eunice, Pat, and Jean, four, seven, and eleven years, respectively, his junior. Away at Choate, Harvard, and then the navy while they were growing up, Jack was not as close to them as he had been to Joe Jr. and Kathleen. The same was true of the twenty-year-old Bobby and the fourteen-year-old Ted. The campaign became an exercise in family togetherness that pleased Joe and Rose and deepened Jack's affection for his siblings.

All the hard work and family commitment to the campaign paid off in a decisive primary victory. Jack won 22,183 votes to Mike Neville's 11,341, John Cotter's 6,671, and Joe Russo's 5,661. Two other candidates split 5,000 votes, another came in below 2,000, and four others scored in the hundreds. Jack's share of the ballots was a solid 40.5 percent, but the turnout of only 30 percent of potential voters meant that Jack had won the nomination with only 12 percent of the district's Democratic voters. It was hardly a ringing endors.e.m.e.nt or a demonstration that a compelling young politician with a golden future had come on the scene. One of Jack's backers recalled that "it was very, very quiet at campaign headquarters... . We were happy that Jack had won, but there certainly was no tremendous victory celebration that night."

There was never any question about Jack's defeating a Republican who commanded only 30 percent of the district's registered voters. But a weak showing in November would not bode well for Jack's future as a Democrat in a largely Democratic state and country. Nor was it rea.s.suring that the Republicans seemed likely to score impressive gains in Congress and recapture control of the House and Senate for the first time since 1930. Jack's frustration at the low voter turnout in his district found expression in a talk at Choate in September: "In Brookline, a very well-to-do community, only twenty percent of the people voted in the primary," he said. "We must recognize that if we do not take an interest in our political life we can easily lose at home what so many young men so bloodily won abroad."

To meet the task of establis.h.i.+ng himself more strongly in the district as a good party man, Jack gave a speech t.i.tled "Why I Am a Democrat." It sounded the Roosevelt/New Deal themes that had made the Democrats the majority party in the country. He was not a Democrat simply because his family was tied to the party, he said. Rather it was because the Democrats for decades, and especially under FDR's leaders.h.i.+p after 1932, had met the test of seeing to the national well-being at home and abroad. In the spirit of the New Deal, Jack urged delegates to the Veterans of Foreign Wars convention in September to pa.s.s a resolution approving the Wagner-Ellender-Taft Bill providing for low-cost public housing to help veterans find affordable places to live.

However, with inflation, strikes by union labor, postwar scarcity of consumer goods, and fears of communist aggression abroad and subversion at home d.o.g.g.i.ng Harry Truman's administration and congressional Democrats, Jack saw party ident.i.ty as insufficient. The Republican refrain carried a compelling message: "Had enough shortages? Had enough inflation? Had enough strikes? Had enough Communism?" Jack joined in. "The time has come when we must speak plainly on the great issue facing the world today. The issue is Soviet Russia," which he described as "a slave state of the worst sort." Moreover, it had "embarked upon a program of world aggression" and unless the "freedom-loving countries of the world" stopped Russia now, they would "be destroyed." The Soviet threat represented both a "moral and physical" crisis. This speech, delivered over the radio in Boston in October and repeated several times in the closing days of the campaign, struck a resonant chord with thousands of Jack's const.i.tuents.

The November 5 vote produced a national and statewide Republican tidal wave. In Ma.s.sachusetts, the Democrats lost a U.S. Senate seat and the governors.h.i.+p; nationally, the Democrats lost control of both houses of Congress for the first time since 1930. Jack, however, did just fine. Lester Bowen, his Republican opponent, managed only 26,007 votes to Jack's 69,093. It was a decisive victory for a twenty-nine-year-old political novice and launched a House career that held out promise of greater future victories.

CHAPTER 5

The Congressman

Congress is so strange. A man gets up to speak and says nothing. n.o.body listens-and then everybody disagrees.

- Senator Alexander Wiley quoting a Russian observer (1947)

JACK'S ARRIVAL in Was.h.i.+ngton in January 1947 coincided with a dramatic turnabout in Democratic party fortunes and mounting national concern about the communist threat. With numerous labor walkouts over insufficient wage hikes to meet a 6.5 percent inflation rate in 1946 and growing fears of communist subversion and expansion, the country had rewarded the Republicans with a fifty-eight-seat majority in the House and a four-seat advantage in the Senate. in Was.h.i.+ngton in January 1947 coincided with a dramatic turnabout in Democratic party fortunes and mounting national concern about the communist threat. With numerous labor walkouts over insufficient wage hikes to meet a 6.5 percent inflation rate in 1946 and growing fears of communist subversion and expansion, the country had rewarded the Republicans with a fifty-eight-seat majority in the House and a four-seat advantage in the Senate.

Harry Truman took the brunt of the public beating. In his twenty-one months in office his approval ratings had fallen a staggering 55 points, from 87 percent to 32 percent. Republicans joked that the president woke up feeling stiff most mornings because of trying to put his foot in his mouth. They wondered how Roosevelt would have handled the country's problems, and asked, "I wonder what Truman would do if he were alive." Members of Truman's party offered little comfort. Arkansas congressman J. William Fulbright suggested that the president appoint Republican senator Arthur Vandenberg secretary of state and then resign so that, in the absence of a vice president, Vandenberg could replace him. Truman privately responded that Fulbright should be known as "Halfbright."

Rising Soviet-American tensions over Eastern Europe, Greece, Turkey, and Iran-all of which Moscow seemed intent on dominating-aroused fears of another war. And though an American monopoly of atomic weapons gave the United States a considerable advantage, the American public shuddered at the possibility of killing millions of Soviet citizens. A civil war in China between Chiang Kai-shek's nationalists and Mao Tse-tung's communists aroused additional fears that U.S. armed forces might have to intervene in Asia. Columnist Walter Lippmann wondered how a president who had lost the support of the country could possibly deal effectively with these foreign threats. As troubling, alleged communist infiltration of the government seemed to threaten the country's traditional way of life. In 1946, news of a Soviet spy ring in Canada and accusations of "communist sympathizers," or even party members, in the government agitated the public. Ma.s.sachusetts' own Joseph Martin, the new House Speaker, declared that there was "no room in the government of the United States for any who prefer the Communistic system."

NO SPECIAL CEREMONY among the Kennedys marked Jack's entrance into Congress. The family, especially Joe, saw it as little more than a first step. John Galvin, the 1946 campaign's public relations director, recalled that the Kennedys were " among the Kennedys marked Jack's entrance into Congress. The family, especially Joe, saw it as little more than a first step. John Galvin, the 1946 campaign's public relations director, recalled that the Kennedys were "always running for the next job." (Years later Arthur Schlesinger Jr., Jack and Bobby's friend and a.s.sociate, was asked whether Maryland lieutenant governor Kathleen Kennedy Townsend, Bobby's eldest child, was interested in a higher office. "Is she a Kennedy?" he replied.) running for the next job." (Years later Arthur Schlesinger Jr., Jack and Bobby's friend and a.s.sociate, was asked whether Maryland lieutenant governor Kathleen Kennedy Townsend, Bobby's eldest child, was interested in a higher office. "Is she a Kennedy?" he replied.) For freshman House Democrats eager to make their mark, the next two years under Republican control promised little personal gain. A system that favored the most senior members of the majority party meant that newcomers such as Jack would do well to establish themselves as strong voices for local const.i.tuents and temporarily give up any idea of leading significant legislation through Congress. But Jack's agenda did not include some major legislative triumph. He was less interested in what he could accomplish in the House, which he never saw as providing much opportunity for significant national leaders.h.i.+p, than in using the office as a political launching pad.

"I think from the time he was elected to Congress, he had no thought but to go to the Senate as fast as he could," Arthur Krock said. "He wanted scope, which a freshman in the House cannot have, and very few actually of the seniors; so that I think the House was just a way-station." Kennedy campaign biographer James MacGregor Burns agreed: "The life of the House did not excite him. It is doubtful that he spent ten minutes considering the possibility of the speakers.h.i.+p."

This is not to suggest that Jack had little regard for the leadersof the Eightieth Congress. Speaker Martin and majority leader Charles A. Halleck of Indiana commanded his respect, as did veteran Democrats Sam Rayburn of Texas, whose service in the House dated from 1912 and included fourteen years as Speaker, and John W. McCormack of Ma.s.sachusetts, the party's second-most-powerful House member. But most of the leaders.h.i.+p (the Republican chairmen and ranking minority members of the chamber's princ.i.p.al committees) impressed the twenty-nine-year-old Jack Kennedy as being gray and stodgy-as indeed they were. Ranging in age from sixty-eight to eighty-three, the dominant figures on the Appropriations, Ways and Means, Rules, Banking and Currency, and Foreign Affairs Committees were all conservative men who wors.h.i.+ped at the altar of party regularity and, in the words of one observer, looked like legislators-"industrious, important, responsible, high-minded, and-however deceptively in certain cases-sober." As for many other members of the House, Jack seemed to share Mark Twain's view: "Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself."

Though in theory Jack liked the idea of being one of only 435 congressmen in a country of 150 million people, he had certainly felt a greater sense of accomplishment and satisfaction from the publication of his book and the wartime heroics that had given him national attention. His friend Chuck Spalding said that "the job as a congressman after he had it for a little while began to look like a [Triple A] League job to a major-league player." One House colleague watched Jack saunter into the chamber with his hands in his pockets and an att.i.tude that said "Well, I guess if you don't want to work for a living, this is as good a job as any." Jack said of another Ma.s.sachusetts representative, "I never felt he did much in the Congress, but I never held that against him because I don't think I did much. I mean you can't do much as a Congressman." Jack was often so downcast about the day's work in the office or on the House floor that he practiced swinging a golf club in his inner office to relieve the tedium.

"We were just worms in the House-n.o.body paid much attention to us nationally," Jack said. "Congressmen get built up in their districts as if they were extraordinary," he declared in 1959. "Most other Congressmen and most other people outside the district don't know them." Lem Billings recalled that Jack "found most of his fellow congressmen boring, preoccupied as they all seemed to be with their narrow political concerns. And then, too, he had terrible problems with all the arcane rules and customs which prevented you from moving legislation quickly and forced you to jump a thousand hurdles before you could accomplish anything. All his life he had had troubles with rules externally imposed and now here he was, back once again in an inst.i.tutional setting."

Jack's advance had to be carefully orchestrated. Running too soon for the governors.h.i.+p or a Senate seat could work against him, his reach for higher office taking on the appearance of self-serving ambition devoid of serious interest in public service. And that would have been misleading, because genuine idealism and a core concern with the national well-being were central to his eagerness for political advancement. He also needed to learn some things before taking the next step. "I wasn't equipped for the job. I didn't plan to get into it, and when