The Fitzgeralds and the Kennedys 9780671231088, 0671231081, 9780743201759, 0743201752

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also by Doris Kearns Goodwin Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream

THE FITZGERALDS AND

THE KENNEDYS DORIS KEARNS GOODWIN

SIMON AND SCHUSTER NEW YORK

Copyright © 1987 by Doris Kearns Goodwin All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form Published by Simon and Schuster A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Simon & Schuster Building Rockefeller Center 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, New York 10020 SIMON AND SCHUSTER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Designed by Levavi & Levavi Manufactured in the United States of America 10

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Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Goodwin, Doris Kearns. The Fitzgeralds and the Kennedys. Includes index. Contents: bk. 1. The Fitzgeralds, 1863-1915—bk. 2. The Kennedys, 19151940—bk. 3. The golden trio, 1941-1961. 1. Fitzgerald Family. 2. Kennedy family. I. Title. CT274.F58G66 1986 920'.00929162073 86-21994 ISBN: 0-671-23108-1 The author gratefully acknowledges permission to quote from the following works:

A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. Copyright 1929 Charles Scribners Sons; copyright renewed © 1957 Ernest Hemingway. Reprinted with the permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons.

Pale Horse, Pale Rider by Katherine Anne Porter. Copyright 1937, 1965 by Katherine Anne Porter. Reprinted with the permission ofHarcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc.

For my husband, Richard

THE FITZGERALD

JAMES FITZGERALI

FAMILY

MICHAEL FITZGERALD

ELLEN WILMOUTH 1797-1875

m

THOMAS FITZGERALD 1822-1885

1

ROSANNA COX 1834-1879

— 1057

1

1

MICHAEL THOMAS J. MICHAEL J. EDWARD C. HENRY S. ELLEN R. FITZGERALD FITZGERALD FITZGERALD FITZGERALD FITZGERALD FITZGERALD 1858-1860 1861-1893 1864-1925 1867-1940 1870-1870 1875-1955

JAMES T. JOHN WILLIAMS. JOSEPH A. GEORGE F. FITZGERALD FRANCIS FITZGERALD FITZGERALD FITZGERALD 1860-1950 FITZGERALD 1865-1899 1868-1920 1871-1914 1863-1950

i

ROSE ELIZABETH FITZGERALD 1890-

MARY AGNES FITZGERALD 1892-1936

THOMAS ACTON FITZGERALD 1895-1968

HANNAH

FITZGERALD 1798-1883

MICHAEL HANNON 1832-1900

MARY ELLEN FITZGERALD 1879-1879

MARY ANN FITZGERALD 1834-1904

m

1854

JOHN HANNON 1855-1861

MARY LINNEHAN

m

EDMOND FITZ HANNON 1859-1865

ELLEN AUGUSTA HANNON 1856-1928

1

1

JAMES HANNON 1863-1889

EMILY GERTRUDE HANNON 1867-1931

MICHAEL HANNON 1860-1881

MARY JOSEPHINE HANNON 1865-1964

JOHN EDMOND HANNON 1877-1951

ELIZABETH HANNON 1869-1873

THE PATRICK KENNEDY

KENNEDY FAMILY

JOSEPH PATRICK KENNEDY 1888-1969

FRANCIS KENNEDY 1891-1892

m

1914

ROSE ELIZABETH FITZGERALD 1890-

JOSEPH PATRICK KENNEDY 1915-1944

JOHN FITZGERALD KENNEDY 1917-1963

ROSEMARY KENNEDY 1918-

KATHLEEN KENNEDY 1920-1948

EUNICE MARY KENNEDY) 1921-

I

m

m

1953

1944

I JACQUELINE LEE BOUVIER 1929-

WILLIAM CAVENDISH MARQUESS OF HARTINGTON 1917-1944

ROBERT SARGENT SHRIVER, JF 1915-

MARY JOHANNA

m

PATRICK KJLNNkD I 1823-1858

m

BRIDGET - MURPHY

1821-1888

MARY AUGUSTA

PATRICK JOSEPH KJtLINlMtLU I

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1858-1929

188/

LORETTA KENNEDY 1892-1972

MARGARET KENNEDY 1898-1974

GEORGE CONNELLY

CHARLES BURKE

PATRICIA KENNEDY 1924-

ROBERT FRANCIS KENNEDY 1925-1968

JEAN ANN KENNEDY 1928-

EDWARD MOORE KENNEDY 1932-

ETHEL SKAKEL 1928-

STEPHEN EDWARD SMITH 1927-

VIRGINIA JOAN BENNETT 1936-

I

m

1954

i

PETER LAWFORD 1923-1984

HinKFY

1857-1923

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CONTENTS

Preface

xiii

BOOK ONE: THE FITZGERALDS

(1863-1915) 1. The Immigrant World

3

2. Pageants and Processions

21

3. “The Other Boston”

40

4. Great Expectations

58

5. Apprentice to the Boss

69

6. A Long Courtship

77

7. The Boy Politician

92

8. A Most Energetic Mayor

110

9. “Eyes Full of Laughter”

130

10. “Guilty as Charged”

151

11. A Child of Mary

174

12. The Mayor’s Daughter

190

13. Harvard College’12

208

14. “Banking . . . could lead a man anywhere.”

234

15. The Balance Shifts

242

BOOK TWO: THE KENNEDYS

(1915-1940) 16. A Stranger Among Friends

267

17. Learning the Tricks of the Trade

289

18. Separation and Resolve

301

xii - CONTENTS

19. “The Wall Street Racket”

322

20. “This is ... a gold mine.”

339

21. Growing Up Kennedy

349

22. The Young Mogul

369

23. “Gloria needs handling . . .”

381

24. The Queen Kelly Curse

398

25. Riding the Roosevelt Special

419

26. Policing Wall Street

436

27. The Model Son and the Pied Piper

456

28. Children of Privilege

475

29. Tempting the Gods

494

30. Arrival in London

512

31. At the Court of St. James's

531

32. “Peace for Our Time”

548

33. The Long Weekend

574

34. “Hostages to Fortune”

590

BOOK THREE: THE GOLDEN TRIO

(1941-1961) 35. The Circle Is Broken

621

36. “Hero in the Pacific”

645

37. Forbidden Romance

661

38. “Now it's all over.”

683

39. Shadowboxing

^g

40. The Young Congressman

722

41. The Lone Survivor

742

42. “Shooting for a Star”

759

43. Triumphant Defeat

759

44. Burying the Religious Issue

787

45. A Tip of the Hat

gQ9

Notes

819

Bibliography

g92

Index

9Q5

PREFACE

I was first attracted to this family history almost a decade ago, out of my lifelong absorption in American history, and my special interest in the presidency. There were also other, more intimate reasons. My father was the son of Irish immigrants. His accounts of his heritage, and his family’s struggle to establish a place for themselves in a strange, harsh and promising land, had illuminated my childhood musings and fueled my young ambition. My own journey from our family s roots in Brook¬ lyn does not compare with the rise of the Fitzgeralds and the Kennedys from the slums of Boston’s North End to the White House, which is the subject of this book. But there was a resonance, a sense of identity. Indeed, as I progressed, it became apparent that the story of the Fitzgeralds and the Kennedys—despite its unique magnitude—was both symbol and substance of one of the most important themes of the second century of American life: the progress of the great wave of nineteenth-century immigration, the struggle of newcomers to force open the doors of American life so zealously guarded by those who had first settled the land. That story—in an undefinable sense, both real and metaphorical— culminated with the inauguration of John Fitzgerald Kennedy, which is where I end my book. The rest of the Kennedy story—his Administra¬ tion and his death, the rise and assassination of one brother, the political career of another—is a part of American political history, copiously chronicled in hundreds of volumes to which little can be added, at least until the passage of time has given us a different historical perspective. The sources of this history are detailed in the notes to this volume. But the source that most profoundly influenced the texture of this work does not fit readily into any standard academic category: the city of Boston itself. Living here allowed me a journey through time, past streets and buildings once populated by the subjects of my work. Thus, I stood at the altar of St. Stephen’s Church where John Francis Fitzger¬ ald was baptized more than a century ago, walked to the corner where the young Irish newsboy had his first glimpse of wealthy, cultured Bea¬ con Hill whose influential Yankee residents were to be both adversary and model for his own ambition.

xiv • P R E F A C E

Boston is a city that has preserved much of its past. And that past came alive again as I went through the pages of old newspapers, read descriptions in antique deed books, studied the journals of priests who had chronicled the births, the uncertain, often fragile lives and the deaths of their immigrant parishioners. The examinations and report cards of a century had been carefully filed away at the Boston Latin School, the Eliot Grammar School and Harvard Medical School. My research took me far beyond the Boston area: to England, the site of Joe Kennedy’s most luminous public achievement and his greatest tragedies and defeats; to New York and Hollywood; to Washington, Palm Beach and Hyannis Port. For the history of this family traversed bound¬ aries and continents. But at its heart—in the end as in the beginning— it was a Boston story. After nearly three years of research, I discovered that over one hundred and fifty cartons of papers belonging to Joe and Rose Kennedy had been shipped for safekeeping from the attic of their house at Hyan¬ nis Port and from the Kennedy office in New York to the Kennedy Library. Those cartons had never been catalogued or processed. They were crammed with thousands of manila folders, a multitude of enve¬ lopes stuffed with the memorabilia of a couple who kept almost every scrap of paper—old diaries, old report cards, letters, tax returns, bills, notes, memos, family pictures, canceled checks, travel vouchers, and dance cards. Once I was granted access to these papers they proved a biographer’s treasure: the hitherto unexamined records of almost fifty years. It re¬ quired over two years of work simply to read and categorize these docu¬ ments, but they were to give both detail and dimension which would not otherwise have been possible. These same records greatly increased the yield of my interviews with friends, associates and members of the Kennedy family. I had, for ex¬ ample, talked with Rose Kennedy without being able to elicit any more than the anecdotes continually repeated in other volumes and in her own memoirs. Now, however, I could show to her, during our inter¬ views, her letters dating from the early 1900s and handwritten notes from all her various trips, and read to her entries from the diary she kept while her husband was ambassador to Great Britain. This material res¬ urrected long-buried memories which she generously, often excitedly, shared with me. Perhaps no American family—with the possible exception of the Adams family—has had a more vivid and powerful impact on the life of their times. But the Kennedy tale—the spiral compound of glory, achievement, degradation and almost mythical tragedy—exerts a fasci-

P R E F A C E • xv

nation upon us that goes beyond their public achievements. For it is m the end the tale of a family that has managed to retain its bonds despite all the disintegrating forces of twentieth-century life. Nor are the ambitions and achievements of individual family mem¬ bers only accidentally related. Through this generational history, the reader will, I hope, be able to see more clearly the inescapable impact of family relationships over time, the repeated patterns of behavior, both enviable and dubious, the same strengths and the same weaknesses that crop up again and again. It is a tale, repeated in three generations, of great achievement followed by decline and failure self-inflicted or at the hands of a merciless fate. And even though the story might be the stuff of legend if we lived in a time for legends—it is not timeless. Each person and each genera¬ tion reflected the changing circumstances of the world they lived in: the small world of neighborhood, mounting personal affluence, family ties; and the larger world of depressions and reckless booms, diplomacy, wars, and, above all, politics, which was the arena whose mastery trans¬ formed the Kennedys from successful Americans, fortunate inheritors of the American dream, to subjects of the interest and passions of an entire world. I have tried to relate those aspects of the historical setting essential to informed understanding of the actions, ambitions, beliefs and moral code of each generation; hoping thereby to avoid the error of imposing the values, ideology and prejudices of the present on a very different past. Through this blending of public and private history, I have tried to tell the story of the Fitzgeralds and the Kennedys—the world that made them, and which, in part, they made. I wish to acknowledge first the indispensable assistance of my research associate and friend, Linda Vandegnft, whose devotion to this book over the nine-year period was equal to my own. She brought to the task an inexhaustible curiosity, an instinct for what was significant and what was not, and, above all, the imagination to identify with each of the figures and periods we were studying. Indeed, without her, The F itzgeralds and the Kennedys would never have come into being. I am grateful to Senator Edward M. Kennedy and the Kennedy fam¬ ily, who permitted me to examine the papers of Joseph P. Kennedy and Rose F. Kennedy without ever asking to see a page of what I had written. I am also grateful to the scores of people I interviewed over the years who gave so generously of their time and their memories without asking anything in return. They include Helen Barron, Lem Billings, Dinah Bridge, Charles Burke, Marjorie Mills Burns, Thomas Cabot, Mary

BOOK ONE

THE FITZGERALDS (1863-1915)

CHAPTER

1

THE IMMIGRANT WORLD

_

n the twelfth of February, 1863, on a morning described in the Boston newspapers as “below

freezing” and “cloudy” with a cold wind blowing hard from the north a tiny boy, John Francis Fitzgerald, not yet one day old, was carried by his father to St. Stephen s Church for baptism. For the father, Thomas Fitzgerald, the rushed baptism spoke to the extreme fragility of life in the North End, the immigrant quarter of Boston, where three infants out of ten died before the age of one. Be¬ lieving that an unbaptized child would be forever prevented from enter¬ ing the kingdom of heaven, condemning his parents to haunting visions of a little soul howling in the night, searching for water that would never

4-THE

FITZGERALDS

be found, Thomas had arranged for the baptism within twelve hours of the baby’s birth. The journey to the church from the wooden tenement house on Ferry Street in which the baby had been born took the father and son through a maze of narrow alleys and dark lanes, dignified by the name of streets, as Ferry emptied into North, North wound into Richmond and Richmond opened onto Ffanover Street, the bustling, congested center of commerce in the North End. Turning north on Hanover Street, the child and his father passed by dozens of narrow storefronts, crowded one beside the other, housing apothecaries, grocers, saloon keepers, watchmakers, tailors and dress¬ makers, all just beginning a long day of work, until they finally came to a large majestic structure that stood in commanding contrast to its con¬ gested surroundings, a breakwater of order and elegance against the chaotic tide of life in the slum. St. Stephen s Church, considered then by many observers the most beautiful of all the Catholic churches in Boston, had originally been commissioned in 1302 as a Congregational church by the old Boston families of learning and wealth. Designed by the city’s most famous architect, Charles Bulfinch, to echo the beauty of Italian Renaissance churches, this stately red brick structure boasted a splendid classical interior: it was symmetrically proportioned as a perfect square, its di¬ mensions all determined by the height of its Doric columns, its every detail related in perfect harmony to every other based upon the ideal proportions of the human body. But its life as a church of Boston’s elite had not lasted for long. For within fifty years, with the onrush of the Irish immigrants into the nar¬ row cobblestone streets surrounding the wharves, the North End had become Boston’s most densely populated slum. The old Protestant fam¬ ilies had fled to Beacon Hill and the Back Bay, abandoning their homes and their churches. With their worshipers gone, the Protestants sold their Bulfinch church to the Catholics, whose ever-expanding popula¬ tion provided an instant membership of over five thousand people. Having been through the baptismal ceremony three times before with the birth of his first three sons, Thomas Fitzgerald understood that when he arrived at the church he was to knock on the door to announce his presence and then wait outside with the baby and the baby’s sponsors while the parish priest, the Reverend Charles Rainoni, prepared the holy compound of oil and balm, the blessed salt and the natural water to be used in the sacrament. Once his own preparations were completed, Father Rainoni, carefully attired in a flowing white surplice and a long purple stole of embroidered

THE

IMMIGRANT

WORLD-5

silk that was to be worn only for baptisms, advanced to the threshold, where he asked the name of the child to be baptized. By Catholic custom at the time, the selection of a name was a serious task, for the people believed then that a child would develop the char¬ acteristics of whomever he was named after. Even the poorest of Cath¬ olic parents owned Butler’s Lives of the Saints so that they could choose a saint by whose example the child might be excited to a holy life and by whose prayers he might be protected. Other considerations also pre¬ vailed in the naming of an Irish child, such as the desire to honor a grandparent or another close relative. And, at a time when the death of a child was a common event, a new baby would often be named for a dead one, emphasizing its role as a substitute. Thus, the Fitzgeralds first son, born in 1858, was named Michael after both Michael the Archangel and his paternal grandfather, Michael Fitzgerald, and later, after the first baby Michael died of hydrocephalus before he was two, another Michael was christened in 1864. Their next son, James, born in 1860, was named for both Saint James the Apostle, and for Thomas younger brother James, while Thomas Junior, born in 1861, obviously carried on his father’s own name as well. As for the name John, it was said at the time that if parents wanted their son to be either a great writer or a great orator he should be named John, after Saint John the Apostle, the author of the mysterious Book of the Apocalypse, or after the golden-mouthed Saint John Chry¬ sostom. History does not record which ancestors, if any, Tom Fitzgerald and Rosanna Cox had in mind in choosing the name John. We know only that once the name was chosen by that generation, it would be passed on for generations to come. When the chosen name had been announced, Father Rainoni put a grain of blessed salt into the mouth of the infant. By this ancient cere¬ mony, reflecting the Biblical saying “the salt of the earth, the child was admonished “to procure and maintain in his soul true wisdom and pru¬ dence, for which salt is an emblem inasmuch as it seasons and gives a relish to all things.” Then the priest proceeded to the solemn prayers used to cast from the soul the Devil under whose power all humans were born by original sin. “I exorcise thee ... in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.” All these initial ceremonies the priest performed in the entry of the church, to signify that the infant was not worthy to enter into God’s place of worship until the Devil had been cast out of him. But after the prayer for exorcism, the priest placed the end of his purple stole on the child and brought him into the church, saying, “John Francis, come

6-THE

FITZGERALDS

unto the temple of God, that thou mayest have part with Christ unto life everlasting. Amen.” At the baptismal font, the priest anointed the child upon the breast and between the shoulders with holy oil, which outward unction was to represent the inward anointing of the soul by divine grace, fortifying him against his passions and his sexual desires. Then, with both godpar¬ ents holding their godchild, the priest poured the water upon the in¬ fant’s head three times in the form of a cross, saying at the same time these exact words: “John Francis Fitzgerald, I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.” The ceremony over, the priest recorded the event for history in the large black baptismal book which has been kept for more than a century, its leather bindings now torn and frayed, among the records of St. Ste¬ phen’s, so that even today we can read Rainoni’s original entry penned in black ink on a blue page: “Feb 12 Bap John Francis born 11 inft of Thomas Fitzgerald and wife Rosa Cox.” From what we know of the texture of the daily life of the Fitzgerald family, it is easy to understand the magic of the Catholic Church at this time and in this place. For the sheer beauty of the church building alone opened up to them, as to all their neighbors in the North End, an inner world of sounds, smells and sights in stark contrast to the world outside. Against the clamor of the teeming life in the streets—where Thomas Fitzgerald worked from dawn to dusk as a peddler—the church provided a hushed and solemn refuge. In the soft, gray silence, broken only by whispered talk and the rustle of footsteps, one could find that rarest of possessions in the city slum—privacy. In the din of the cramped tene¬ ment house, as Irving Howe has observed in World of Our Fathers, “space was the stuff of dreams; a room to oneself, a luxury beyond reach.” Yet here, in the dark, vaulted silence of the church, amid the gleam of the soft brasses of the candlesticks on the large elaborate altar, each worshiper could feel utterly alone. And there was a rich, musty smell inside—not the unbearable odor rising from the one water closet which the Fitzgerald family shared with all their neighbors in the tenement house (twenty-four adults and thir¬ teen children) along with the customers of the saloon which occupied the first floor, nor the stench of rotting food and waste only intermit¬ tently carted away by a neglectful Sanitation Department, but the fine smell of aging wood and the clinging fragrance of burnt incense. A contemporary observer, writing in The Atlantic Monthly in 1868, explained the pull of the Catholic Church on the immigrant community in these terms:

THE

IMMIGRANT

WORLD-7

If there is any such thing as realized, working Christianity, it may be seen in one of [the] poor, densely peopled Catholic parishes, where all is dreary, dismal desolation, excepting alone in the sacred enclosure around the church, where a bright interior cheers the leisure hours; where pic¬ tures, music and stately ceremonial exalt the poor above their lot; and where a friend and father can ever be found. ... All in their lot, all in their surroundings, is mean, nasty, inefficient, forbidding—except their church. Amid the rich surroundings of his church, an immigrant’s mind could soar high into the realm of hopes, away from the world of facts, hunger, dirt and despair, away from the tyranny of the here and now to a mys¬ terious romantic regime dominated by the promise of life eternal in a celestial community, governed by its own rites and images, filled with its own possibilities. Poor and unfortunate though these immigrants might be, they were admonished to find compensation for their miserable lot in this world in the knowledge that a far loftier role awaited them in the next. In the standard nineteenth-century spiritual book Catholics were told: You may be a poor man—striving by wearying, ceaseless toil for a poor living, you may have had little schooling, you may lack comforts of this life and feel envious sometimes to see your Protestant friends so much better off in this world’s way . . . but there is something you possess which our poor friends with all their wealth cannot purchase the true religion of Jesus Christ. Acceptance of one’s position was the central message pervading Cath¬ olic readers, daily catechism and Sunday sermons in the nineteenth century. This religious dictum reinforced the self-denying and pessimis¬ tic view of the world which the Irish peasants carried with them across the Atlantic, their mental baggage from the Old World. In the New World, this gospel of acceptance was to bear bitter fruit, for no slum was as fearful as the Irish slum.” Of all the immigrant nationalities in Boston, the Irish fared the least well, beginning at a lower rung and rising more slowly on the economic and social ladder than any other group. The degradation endured for generations by the poor peasant in the Old World combined with a Catholic value system in which the preparations for one’s death and rebirth eclipsed the affairs of the im¬ mediate present to produce an acceptance of conditions in the New World which few other people would have tolerated. Yet the story of the Fitzgerald family is the story of the slow escape from the grind of mere subsistence. It is a tale not of acceptance but of

8-THE

FITZGERALDS

gradual progress and achievement; of mobility, not resignation, and of ever-expanding horizons. In the immigrant slums, Oscar Handlin has argued in Bostons Immigrants, one in a hundred lived and prospered and stood to be looked at as a living monument of the American dream, but ninety-nine in a hundred were lost, never to be heard of. What do we know about the early experience of Thomas Fitzgerald in Boston that numbered him among that “one in a hundred” who lived and prospered and distinguished the story of his family from that of the overwhelming majority of Irish immigrants? The home at 30 Ferry Street to which the Fitzgerald party returned after the christening consisted of two doorless rooms no larger than closets, which were used to house the pilings of straw that served as beds, and a kitchen twelve by ten feet. Six short steps from the outer wall to the hall measured the full extent of the family’s living quarters. Behind a make¬ shift wall lived the family of the tailor Owen McLaughlin, his wife, Bridget, and their two children, and next to them the family of a laborer, Michael Sullivan, his wife, Nancy, and their three children. On each of three floors, the same pattern prevailed: the lives of nine families sepa¬ rated only by the thinnest of walls and a dark, open well of stairs. If there was no escape from the crowded conditions of tenement life, the Fitzgeralds’ quarters were on the top floor and their kitchen fronted onto the street, providing them with sunlight, a considerable advantage in their struggle for survival. Of all the ills associated with tenement housing, an investigator in Boston singled out insufficient light and air —occasioned by the haphazard partition of apartments and the building of one tenement house right up against another—as the primary cause of death and disease. In the typical tenement building, the investigator reported, “all the lower rooms are very dark ... in some rooms on the ground floor the ceiling is only 6W high ... in the rear houses the only windows . . . look on 3 and 5 storied walls only 4.4 inches away.” From such buildings—with the exception of some of the rooms on the upper¬ most floors—sunlight was almost completely excluded. A vivid testimony to the value that tenement dwellers placed on the golden sun is provided by Jacob Riis in his classic work on tenement life, where he describes a conversation with a twelve-year-old girl, the daugh¬ ter of a Polish capmaker, whose fondest dream was to move to a front room where sunlight comes right into your face.’ In her rear rooms, she knew the exact month—June—and the exact hour of the day when the sun s rays shone into their home, providing a momentary respite from the gloom of the gray walls. John Francis Fitzgerald, too, long remembered his own family’s de-

THE

IMMIGRANT

WORLD-9

scription of the warmth and the pleasure of their Ferry Street kitchen on a sunny day. And it was there in that kitchen on the twelfth of February, 1863, that the Fitzgeralds held the customary christening din¬ ner, to which the parish priest, the baby’s sponsors and the family’s relatives were invited. Since the thirty-two-year-old mother Rosanna had given birth only the day before, the duties of preparation most likely fell upon the baby’s paternal grandmother, Ellen Wilmouth Fitzgerald, who was living right around the corner on North Street. Evidently lack of space did not prevent the assembling of the whole Fitzgerald clan, which included Thomas’ three younger sisters, Bridget, thirty-five, and Hannah, thirtyfour, both married with children, and Ellen, twenty-four, who was about to be married. Also present at the christening dinner, and central to the story of the Fitzgeralds’ rise from poverty, was Thomas’ youngest brother, James, a forceful young man of twenty-five with dark-blue eyes and a deep, gruff voice, who, in the tangled course of events following the family’s immigration to America, had become the person upon whom the rest of the family pinned its hopes. The invisible loyalties which brought the Fitzgerald sisters and broth¬ ers together, on this as on so many other occasions, particularly those surrounding birth, marriage and death, had been born across the ocean in the boggy countryside of western Ireland where the small farm and the ancestral graves they had left behind provided a common stock of memories, myths and values that would stay with them all the rest of their lives. In the little farming community of Bruff where the Fitzger¬ alds had grown up, the christening of a baby was considered one of the central events in a person’s life, occasioning a large, joyous celebration at the crossroads, to which all the members of the village were tradition¬ ally invited. Here, however, in the cramped world of the city, the chris¬ tening celebration was typically a much smaller, less important affair. But this particular christening held an importance that went beyond its appearance; for at the gathering of the clan an agreement was reached which changed the direction of Thomas Fitzgerald’s life. After years of dreaming that he would eventually settle on a farm in the Midwest, Fitzgerald decided on this day to go into business with his brother James and to build his family’s future in the old North End. A broad-chested, powerfully made man with a handsome face and a ruddy complexion, Thomas Fitzgerald, or Cocky Tom as he was com¬ monly called for his having one cocked eye, had lived in America for more than ten of his forty years, and seven of these years had been spent right where he now was, in the heart of Boston s Irish slum. Yet, all these years the city had remained for him an alien and forbidding place

10 - THE

FITZGERALDS

—a place he had never intended as his home but only as a way station until he could save enough money to move his family away from the port of landing, through the interior cities of transit to the farms of the Midwest, where the open lands reached away in plenty and where once again he could be in a position to till the soil, the only livelihood he had ever wanted, the only labor he considered worthy of a man. In the Old Country where Thomas was born, nearly every boy was brought up to be a potato farmer. At the age of seven, under the direc¬ tion of his father, Michael Fitzgerald, Thomas had learned to dig the trenches for the potatoes, and by the time he was ten he was involved in the sowing of the fields. While he worked beside his father, his sisters were thrown in with their mother, learning to feed the pigs and the chickens, to rake the ashes in the hearth and to prepare the big meal at lunchtime when the men and the boys came back from the fields. For every member of the family at every age, there were a special set of tasks, allowing them all to share in the common enterprise of cultivating the soil, creating among them all, as Thomas later explained to his sons, an unbreakable bond with each other and—he thought—with the land. John Fitzgerald later said that when he listened to his father talk about his childhood in Ireland, he thought there must be no more wonderful place in all the world to grow up in. For though the family slept on a mud floor in a one-room thatched cabin on a tiny plot of rented land, and though, like all Catholics in Ireland, they were prevented by British law from voting, holding office, owning land or even attending school, they had all the food, warmth and companionship they needed to feel spirited and gay. But, as anybody who knows the history of Ireland knows, the potato failed. It is now understood that the blight of the potato in 1845—which caused the failure of four successive crops, sentenced one out of every six peasants to death by starvation and forced more than a quarter of the Irish population to emigrate—was caused by the invasion of a fun¬ gus which can be treated by spraying with a copper compound. But when this microscopic organism made its first appearance on the potato plant, in the fall of 1845, as a whitish fringe, there was no comprehen¬ sion of the nature of the blight nor any understanding of how to stop its spread. Under ordinary weather conditions, the fungus might have died of its own accord over the cold winter months, but the unusual warmth of January and February and the extraordinary wetness of the spring of 1846 favored the spread of the blight to an extent which had not been recorded before or since. First, the endless weeks of rain allowed the diseased shoots left in the ground from the year before to form millions of new spores, and then the continuously moist earth provided an un-

THE

IMMIGRANT

WORLD - 11

derground system of canals allowing the destructive spores to swim from plant to plant and field to field, working their way into every leaf and tuber, reducing green and healthy plants to decay, turning entire fields into blackened, stinking masses of decomposing rot. So completely did the conditions of life and the existence of the peo¬ ple in this least industrialized of all Western nations depend upon the soil, and in particular upon the potato, that the partial failure of one year’s crop and the total failure of the next produced a national famine. Helpless before the fate overtaking them, the starving peasants turned to the British government for help, but the relief measures which the British adopted proved indescribably inadequate to the scope of the disaster. Before the Great Famine, as it came to be called, the Irish had re¬ garded the idea of leaving their country as the most appalling of fates. But now, terrified and desperate in the wake of starvation and fever, they made their way out of Ireland by the tens of thousands. The first major exodus took place during the winter and spring of 1846 and 1847, when hordes of panic-stricken peasants simply fled, borrowing or bur¬ rowing their way onto the great “coffin ships,” so named because of the great numbers who died on board, their precise destination mattering less than the desire to escape a land they now believed to be cursed. As would be expected, the poorest class of farmers went first; all those who retained even the slightest resources for survival stayed behind in the hope that the next year’s crop would see them through. But when the two succeeding crops also failed, hope turned to terror, and by 1848 even the better and more energetic farmers readied themselves to leave. It was in this second wave of emigration, which lasted roughly from 1848 to 1855 and presumably encompassed the better class of farmers, that the Fitzgeralds came to America. In what order and by what means they came we are not sure, though family tradition suggests that James, the youngest boy, came first, followed by the three girls and their mother, Ellen, who is listed upon her arrival as a widow (evidence that her husband, Michael, had died before they left), and still later by the oldest brother, Thomas, who, legend suggests, clung to the family’s land until there was absolutely no hope of survival. “As I heard it told,” second cousin Mary Hannon Heffernan recalled, “James came over as a little boy in 1848 or 1849 with his uncle Edmond Fitzgerald and his first cousin, Mary Ann Fitzgerald, Edmond’s daugh¬ ter. He was only ten or eleven at the time and he got desperately sick on board the ship. Everyone in the family was terrified that if the captain saw how sick the boy was, he would think it was typhus and simply throw him overboard. But there was a wonderful woman on the ship, a

12 - THE

FITZGERALDS

Mrs. Williams, who took care of him. Day and night she kept him covered up with a blanket, insisting that it was only a bad cold. Then, near the end of the voyage, they ran into a terrible storm with winds so high that the ship turned itself completely around, and they were sure they were headed back to Ireland until the moment they landed in Boston.” That after a raging storm and six weeks at sea their sense of direction could have deceived them is not at all surprising. But the sensation of turning around suggests the possibility that before the storm the ship was headed somewhere else, perhaps to New York. In other words, had it not been for the high winds blowing them north, the first Fitzgeralds might have ended up in Brooklyn or the Bronx and a different tale would now be told. For, once the first members of the family settled in the North End, all the others came, drawn as by a magnet to the same congested spot. It is a fragmentary memory, yet powerful in its suggestion of the severe emotional dislocation experienced by millions of immigrants at this time who were forced to separate themselves forever from the whole circle of people and places on which they had depended, sailing across an unknown ocean to an unknown land. What internal terror there must have been for so many people to take such a spectacular risk, and how the terror must have persisted long after their arrival in America! For many of the Irish, the Church was the only salve for their anxiety, but others, the Fitzgeralds among them, found a powerful substitute for loss in the prevailing American ideology, the ideology of opportunity and success. Family tradition holds that when Thomas Fitzgerald first arrived in Bos¬ ton, he accompanied his cousin Mary Ann and her new husband, Mi¬ chael Hannon, to the little farming community of Acton, twenty-five miles west of Boston, where he worked as a farm laborer for three years in the hope of saving up enough money to buy and cultivate his own plot of land. But his meager wages as a laborer apparently kept him living so close to the margin that he was unable to accumulate the surplus he needed to alter his position, and by 1857 he had moved back to Boston, occupied as a peddler. Although his original intention was to stay in the city only as long as it took to save up the money to travel to the Midwest, he, like so many thousands of his fellow immigrants who harbored similar dreams, was somehow trapped, destined to live the rest of his days sep¬ arated from the world of nature, fenced off from the realm of birds and beasts and growing things that had once given meaning and structure to his entire being.

THE

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What thwarted his escape from the city? That he started out as a peddler seemed at first a fortunate choice, for in the nineteenth century, in the days before retail stores or supermarkets, there was money to be made in peddling, though success usually called for the peddler, his bag of stock upon his back, to move widely and freely about the country, traveling for hundreds of miles to far distant points where his supply of tools, clothes, books and candlesticks was needed and his news from the city eagerly awaited. For those with ingenuity, ambition and an entreprenurial spirit, there were, already, some inspirational examples of thriving enterprises and large fortunes built upon the peddler s trade: by such men as Daniel Drew, Jim Fisk, Collis P. Huntington and Cyrus H. McCormick. * But unlike the classic peddler, fueled with the thirst for adventure, Thomas Fitzgerald never took to the open road; he became, instead, a street peddler with a narrow route of trade circumscribed by the wharves and the docks of the immigrant district. Up each morning before dawn, carrying a large wicker basket under his arm, he would meet the return¬ ing fishing boats at Lewis Wharf and spend the morning tramping up and down the crowded cobblestone streets until he had sold all the codfish and haddock his basket could carry. Then, back to the wharf for the afternoon’s catch and another strenuous route. It was, in the words of Irving Howe, “backbreaking and soul destroying work.” That Thomas never developed a wider route of travel is not to be wondered at when we consider that his five years in peddling coincided with marriage and the rapid growth of his family. On the fifteenth of November, 1857, only one month after he had obtained his peddling license, he was married to Rosanna Cox, daughter of Irish immigrants Philip and Mary Cox. Rosanna was twenty-three when they married at St. Stephen’s Church; Thomas was already thirty-five. But like so many of the Irish, who tended to marry later in life than the native Americans, he soon made up for lost time: in the first five years of his marriage, four sons were born. Nor should we wonder at the difficulties Thomas faced in trying to save up his meager profits for his distant dream. Though the dollars he earned, measured in terms of potatoes, compared favorably with what he had earned in Ireland, here for the first time he was faced with the * The best story of a peddler’s progress was yet to be written: In the latter half of the nineteenth century, young Dick Sears, a telegrapher in a little train station in North Redwood, Minne¬ sota, would decide one day to buy up an unclaimed shipment of watches for a small sum which he then peddled for a fine profit. His success persuaded him to leave his telegrapher’s job for the peddler’s road. As his watch business grew, he found himself in need of someone to keep his watches in repair, and in answer to an ad a young man named Alvah Roebuck was hired—a fortuitous choice leading, in time, to the gigantic enterprise of Sears, Roebuck and Company

14 - THE

FITZGERALDS

necessity of purchasing his own food and clothing and at costs high beyond anything he could possibly have imagined at home. Yet before six years had passed Thomas had saved up the money he figured he needed to pick up his family, move to the Midwest and pur¬ chase a farm. Then, just before he planned to leave, came the christen¬ ing dinner for John Francis where, according to the story he later told, he received an offer from his younger brother James to stay in the city and go into business with him. The year before, James had purchased a small grocery store at 310 North Street, which he now wanted to expand; if Thomas joined him in the business and contributed his savings, they could add a supply of “bottled goods” to the stock of food already there and operate the store together as grocer and clerk. Though the idea of becoming a clerk in a store failed to correspond to any vision of happi¬ ness Thomas had hitherto entertained, he accepted his brother’s prop¬ osition. From that moment on, the city became his permanent home, the locale in which the life experience of all his children would be played out. When asked later by his son John why, against his deepest wishes, he had given up his vision of a life in the country and accepted his brother’s offer, Thomas listed three reasons: his wife, his relatives and his church. That at the moment of decision he should have been held to the city by these associations is not at all surprising: millions of immigrants were. All during the middle years of the nineteenth century, the Irish were implored by politicians, by newspapers and by social agencies to leave the cities and go west. Typical of such entreaties is the following passage in an article in the leading Catholic newspaper, The Pilot, in 1864: If we could sit by the side of every emigrant at home, this is what we would say . . . America . . . has room and work and wages for every soul of the starving poor of Europe . . . The emigrant who comes with a spirit of active industry and enterprise may soon gain an independence for him¬ self and for his children. But it is not by lingering in the crowded haunts of men that he will do this. The cities are overrun, thronged with candi¬ dates for labor . . . But there is a resource which is always open, always inviting, which is never glutted, which always has room for more and that is the land—employment upon the land.

Despite these oft-repeated words of advice and the splendid image of green meadows and open fields, only the exceptional few, estimated at less than ten percent, became farmers, among them Henry Ford’s grandfather John Ford, who cleared what was then primeval forest near Dearborn, Michigan, and made a farm; the vast majority remained hud-

THE

IMMIGRANT

W O R L D • 15

died together in the grassless cities. Possibly if when they first landed they had had enough resources to push their way into the country, this concentration would not have occurred, but the Irish had always been a highly social people, and once they had tasted of the close life in the city, where they could meet their friends and relatives on every corner, they were unwilling to give it up. It is said that the women, especially, were afraid to cut loose from the streets and the stores and all the objects of daily life that had now grown familiar; they had already experienced the harrowing process of leavetaking when they said goodbye to the land of their birth, and one such grief was enough. Contributing to the immigrants’ fear of moving, if the choice actually arose, were the bleak tales told of the isolation of life on the American farm, where, in contrast to Ireland, the ample space was too ample, creating an emptiness that seemed more troubling than the overcrowd¬ ing of the slum. Then, too, there was the fear of losing their church and finding themselves in a faraway place without a priest close by, a loss the Fitzgeralds no doubt contemplated more carefully than most, having experienced the special aesthetic pleasures of belonging to a church as magnificent as St. Stephen’s. Though the explanations Thomas gave for remaining in the city cen¬ tered mainly on the fear of leaving the familiar for the unknown, it is reasonable to suppose that he also felt drawn in a positive way to the opportunity of going into business with his brother James. John Fitzger¬ ald later remembered his father saying that he had always felt there was something special in his younger brother s character, that from the very first months when he had watched his brother working in the grocery store, he had sensed in his bones that James possessed an uncanny instinct for business which would lead him someday to achieve consid¬ erable success. And Thomas’ instincts were right, for eventually James became one of the wealthiest men in the North End. The story that comes down to us suggests that James, of all the Fitz¬ gerald children, adapted the most readily to the challenge of life in the New World. Whereas his sisters and brothers retained all their lives many characteristics of western Ireland, James, with his ready will and raw intelligence, made himself thoroughly comfortable in the city. The first job young James found turned out to be that of an assistant in the very grocery store he would eventually own and operate for fifty years. Apparently, the boss was pleased with the way the boy handled himself and he made sure that James acquired a thorough understand¬ ing of the store, its goods, its prices and its customers. Shrewd and clever, with a faculty for judging people, James learned to recognize which customers could be given credit and which could not. Always

16 - THE

FITZGERALDS

alive to necessity, he educated himself in the arts of weighing, measur¬ ing and reckoning, of bargaining, selling and even purchasing, and by the time he was sixteen he had risen to the responsible position of clerk. In his twentieth year James made the acquaintance of his future wife, Julia Adeline Brophy. Julia, possessed of an educated mind and refined temperament, was the granddaughter of Thomas Cass, a sharp-witted, successful trader who had accumulated a substantial amount of property in the North End. How it came to pass that she, who no doubt had other more suitable prospects, could have chosen a barely educated clerk remains an interesting question of history and most likely a reve¬ latory comment on James’s special character. Through his marriage, James developed a business relationship with his wife’s uncle Cornelius Doherty, one of the most successful grocers in the North End, which enabled him, when he was only twenty-four, to get his start as an independent proprietor. Though the exact nature of the business relationship is unclear, it is recorded in the city records that in 1862 James Fitzgerald received a sum of over $1,000 from the merchant Doherty. It is also recorded that in that same year James became “the grocer” at 310 North, and, considering that the average salary of a clerk at that time was two dollars a day, it is reasonable to assume that Doherty’s loan provided the cash Fitzgerald needed, be¬ yond his own savings, to purchase the store. Upon becoming a grocer, James had entered one of the few spheres of business in which immigrants had an advantage over their native competitors. “Where they relied on the patronage of their compatriots, they prospered,” Handlin observed. “Food dealers—butchers, fruiter¬ ers, and above all, grocers—dealt directly and intimately with immigrant women who preferred to purchase from those who spoke their own language, carried familiar food stuffs and served them as a friend, con¬ fidant and advisor.” But the best money in the grocery business came when the grocery doubled as a saloon, ministering to the needs of the women by day and the men by night. Such expansion was the rationale behind the partner¬ ship James offered to his brother Tom' for with Tom’s savings he could stock his store with supplies of beer, gin, whiskey and wine, while at the same time keeping his barrels filled with the conventional supplies of sugar, flour, potatoes, crackers, tea, soap, candles and kindling wood. As a combination grocery-groggery, the store at 310 North came to serve as an informal social center for all manner of neighborhood folk, and it was, as well, the locale for some of young John’s earliest memo¬ ries. Shopkeeping in those days was a family business; whenever she could that is, whenever her state of pregnancy allowed her to be up and around—Rosanna Fitzgerald worked with her husband in the store.

THE

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WORLD - 17

All his life John would remember the room in the back where he and his brothers were left to play amid the wooden casks and the barrels filled with flour while their mother handled the customers out front. For some children, the confinement of the small, cluttered room would have been torture, but not for John, who, as he recalled, “loved the sense of being right in the middle of everyone, where everything was happen¬ ing.” Later he could remember his mother telling him that when he was an infant all she ever had to do to keep him from crying was place him on a blanket in full view of the store, where he would sit contentedly for hours totally absorbed in the passing scene. The traffic would begin soon after dawn, when the neighborhood women streamed in to fill their cans and their jugs with flour and milk for the morning meal. Then, in the afternoons, they were back again for more flour and their daily supply of meat—there being neither money to buy nor room to store articles bought in bulk. For the typical immigrant family, depending as they did upon the credit of the store¬ keepers, the cost of food was very large—nearly half of their income while the quality received, in a business noted for its sharp practices, was generally very low. Yet the combination of meager wages and irregular employment which forced the typical immigrant into a relationship of credit with the storekeeper, and trapped him into buying inferior food in small quan¬ tities at high prices, assured a good profit for the grocer, and gradually the store at 310 North began to prosper. With a growing margin of profit behind them, Tom and Rosanna were able to provide their own family with a steady supply of decent food, affording them a measure of control over their daily life which few of their neighbors were able to enjoy. In contrast to the dominant experience of the slum, where food was a constant source of worry and concern, John Fitzgerald long relished the memory of good food and pleasant mealtimes at his home, he spoke of eating fish as well as meat and of having fresh vegetables every day, and he particularly remembered Sunday nights when his mother made flapjacks which he loved to drown in butter and syrup or molasses. If the store did well by day, it thrived by night as the neighborhood men, home from a long day of hard work, began to drop in for drinks. The saloon at that time was not simply a bar as we know it today. In the twelve-block area of the North End, over 540 different establishments— ranging from groceries like the Fitzgeralds to billiard parlors and bowl¬ ing alleys—served liquor; and in none of these places, according to a study by a Committee of 50 in the 1880s, was drinking the sole function. The typical “saloon” in the immigrant quarters, as committee chairman John Koren described it, supplied

18 - THE

FITZGERALDS

many legitimate wants besides the craving for intoxication. [It] is here the workingman s club, in which many of his leisure hours are spent, and in which he finds more of the things that approximate luxury than in his home ... In winter [it] is warm, in summer cool, at night it is brightly lighted, and it is almost always clean ... it is not enough to say that [the] sense of discomfort pervading the dark tenement house, with its tired, unkempt wife and restless children, leads to its use. No, at bottom, it must be a craving for fellowship underlying the unrest of the workingman’s hours that draws him into the saloon. It has often been said, only partly in jest, that among the Irish there are only two types of drinkers: alcoholics and teetotalers, those who give in completely to liquor’s seductive appeal and those who guard them¬ selves completely against it. In this context, it is curious to note that of the nine sons eventually born to Thomas and Rosanna Fitzgerald, three followed their father’s path to success by entering into some aspect of the liquor trade at some point in their lives, while three ended up as heavy drinkers and died young. It seemed as if the blessings that accrued to some members of the family as a result of the liquor trade had brought a curse upon the others, as if the profits built upon the backs of stumbling men had exacted a price in the ledger of family accountabil¬ ity. “Whenever anything bad happened in the family,” a Fitzgerald rel¬ ative remembered, “my mother would sigh deeply and then with fear and bitterness in her voice she would say, ‘It’s the curse of the liquor money, I know it.’ ” By the fall of 1866, when Johnny was three and a half years old, his father, Thomas, had accumulated enough money to move his family into larger quarters in a three-story brick building at 435 Hanover Street. By this time, Johnny and his two older brothers, Jimmy, six, and Thomas, five, had been joined by two younger brothers, Michael,' two, and William, one, and Rosanna was pregnant with Edward, who would be born the following March. But the move was more than simply a move of necessity compelled by the growing size of the family. For with the assistance of his brother, who had invested in real estate himself the year before, Thomas was able to buy the entire three-story building from Micah Dyer for $6,550, thereby shifting his status from tenant to land¬ lord and solving another major concern of all immigrant families—the disproportionate share of income that had to go for rent. Though nothing, at first glance, could seem less similar than the experience of owning and operating a tenement in a packed city slum and the situation Thomas had originally hoped to create for himself of owning a farm in the country, the signing of the papers, which marked

THE

IMMIGRANT

WORLD - 19

him for the first time in his life as an owner of property, provided him with a great feeling of accomplishment. Many years later, John Fitzger¬ ald remembered his father saying near the end of his life that “beyond his family, nothing he had done before and nothing he accomplished since meant as much to him as the possession of that small white docu¬ ment that testified to the fact that Thomas Fitzgerald at the age of fortyfour was finally the owner of his own home.” In the long view, the change from tenant to landlord brought a sub¬ stantial increase in the degree of control Thomas was able to exert over the physical conditions of his family’s daily life: windows that were patched up, a workable fire escape, a lighted hallway, stairs that were kept in repair, a clean toilet. “Only people who have never known the absence of these rudimentary amenities,” observed Irving Howe, ‘ would be inclined to minimize their values.” In their new quarters, behind a storefront which Thomas would even¬ tually convert into his own grocery store, allowing him to go into busi¬ ness completely on his own, the Fitzgerald family boasted a parlor with two windows and a kitchen heated by a coal stove, and, for the first time in their married life, Tom and Rosanna enjoyed the privacy of their own bedroom, separated by a flight of stairs from a big room in which all the children slept together, with their beds “lined up like a dorm.” Though the physical conditions were still a long way from the next generation s vision that in a comfortable home each member of the family should have a separate room, the fact that the children were separated from their parents had a significant impact on their growing up. In most of the tenements at that time, the children slept in the same room if not in the same bed as their parents, a circumstance which inevitably led to their sexual precocity and made it difficult to put them to sleep before the parents themselves were ready for bed. In their new home, however, as John Fitzgerald later recalled, there was a clear distinction between the boys’ room upstairs and their parents’ room downstairs. Only when his younger brothers were infants did they have to sleep in their parents room; once they were able to crawl, they were allowed upstairs with the rest of their brothers. Many years later, John Fitzgerald told a friend that sometimes, when he watched one of his little brothers being carried to bed in his parents’ room, he wished he were smaller so that he too could be allowed to sleep there! The wish itself is testimony to the progress the Fitzgeralds had made: only a boy who did not consciously remember the terribly cramped conditions of his earlier house at 30 Ferry Street would have wished away his separate bedroom. In the course of his long life Fitzgerald spoke only in the most positive

20 - THE

FITZGERALDS

terms of the “warm and wonderful house” in which he had grown up; but every now and then, for a political speech on his “rise to success,” he liked to use as his starting point a description of “the dingy tenement on Ferry Street,” where he was born, “that had no bathroom or electric lights or any other conveniences—not even a humble accordion, let alone a harmonica or piano”; and then, having roused his audience to sympathy and not wanting to break the rhythm of their emotions, he conveniently forgot to mention that the brick home on Hanover Street where he actually grew up represented a marked improvement over the ratty wooden tenement in which he was born. Another interesting sign of the gradual betterment of conditions at 435 Hanover Street emerges in the body of statistics gathered for the census, the city directories and the reports of the tax assessors which suggest that from 1868 on, at any one time, at least twelve people, on the average, occupied the uppermost floor as boarders. As cramped and limiting as life had once been for the Fitzgeralds, so it now was for the families of Cornelius Mahoney, a stevedore; Michael Conlan, a fisher¬ man, Thomas Cochran, a laborer; and Thomas Acorn, a painter. While the Fitzgerald family spread out on two floors, these four families had to live huddled together behind a jumble of thin walls on a single floor. There is no way of knowing how Thomas treated his renters at 435 Hanover, but stories abound that, once secure in the possession of prop¬ erty, the Irish landlord, like an apt pupil . . . merely showing forth the result of the schooling he had received, reenacting in his own way the scheme of the tenements, collected rents with the same avidity as the Yankee owners had from him.” And we do know that, with the money he earned from his rentals in just three years, Thomas was able to buy two additional tenements, at 4 Webster Place and 379 Hanover. With time, as these properties added up, Tom Fitzgerald grew more worldly, learning from the experience of his brother. Though he himself never became in any sense a wealthy man, as his brother eventually did, Thomas was able, through his business, to get a grip on his life and to achieve a mastery of sorts over the struggle for existence. If he accu¬ mulated little more through his long years of toil as a peddler on the streets and a clerk in a groggery, this in itself was a substantial achieve¬ ment, for, with food and shelter guaranteed by the store and the tene¬ ment, his children experienced the small pleasures of life—a bed with a mattress, a vacation at the seashore, a bath at the public bathhouse, the chance for an education—that broadened their horizons and transmit¬ ted to them a feeling of power at odds with the dominant fatalism so characteristic of the slums.

CHAPTER

2

PAGEANTS AND PROCESSIONS

A

mong the growing boys, even¬ tually numbering nine with the birth of Joseph in 1868, George

in 1871 and Henry in 1875, Johnny was the smallest. Always in motion, always struggling to reach a position of vantage, he battled with his puny body as with a reluctant animal that had to be mastered. Every night, when all his brothers had gone to sleep he would com¬ plete one hundred sit-ups on the narrow strip of the wooden floor that ran in front of the lined-up beds. Then, in the early morning, before the sun came up, he would venture outside to the alleyway behind his tenement house, where he would drag his body through an ordeal of exercises designed to strengthen his torso, his arms and his legs. Under cover of darkness he intended to tauten his muscles and build his stam¬ ina so that, despite his size, he could become an athlete and compete with his oldest and tallest brother, Jimmy. This self-imposed regimen went on for months until one night, his teeth clenched in a grimace as he strained to pull himself up off the floor, he noticed his brother Jimmy sitting up and staring at him. At first, so it seemed, Jimmy didn’t understand what was going on, but as soon as he did he started to laugh, and his laughter grew louder and

22 - THE

FITZGERALDS

louder until Johnny finally dived into bed and hid his face under the blanket. All that night Johnny stared at the ceiling, the echoes of his brother’s laughter worse, he remembered, than the roar of lions, but when morning came he had decided upon a course of action which carried him irresistibly forward. As he saw it, he had a choice to make now that his secret had been shamefully exposed: either he could give in to Jimmy’s superiority or he could turn his shame around by compet¬ ing against him in the full light of day. He decided to become a runner and to work at it with all the energy he possessed. In so doing, Johnny manifested what would become his characteristic approach to life, in which all difficulties represented no more than way stations to be con¬ quered on the road to success. In choosing to overcome his physical inadequacy, he exhibited a familial trait that would show itself again and again in succeeding generations. From that moment on, he devoted his whole mind to the task of propelling his body forward as swiftly and smoothly as an animal in pursuit of prey. Wherever he went, he ran: to school in the morning; home in the evening; on errands; to see friends. When he had nothing to do for a moment, he would practice his breathing and his starting release, fidgeting with the overflow of energy that was in him. He soon became a familiar figure in the North End, his skinny chest expanded to a newfound strength, as he regularly padded through the crowded streets, past the rows of shabby houses, past the shops and saloons, along the dingy waterfront, his racing legs reaching toward a goal that wasn t mere victory in a race but a claim to supremacy. So complete was his concentration on the task in hand and so resolute his will that it was only a matter of time until he began winning some races against his brother Jimmy and then against increasing numbers of the neighborhood boys as well. Soon it became “the neighborhood sport to beat little Johnny.” Week after week he found himself pitted against boys who were taller, stronger and more coordinated than he, but they ran without his urgency or his sense of purpose. And, as a result, he was always the first to cross the finish line. More than fifty years later, Fitzgerald still felt proud of his accom¬ plishment: “We used to run on the sidewalks and cobblestones of Han¬ over Street and I could always beat any of the boys. I could also sprint around the loop of old Fort Hill in a shorter time than any competitors. As a sprinter my distance was from 120 to 150 yards. I won the half mile distance cup in Boston in one year. I was a champ.” Through this experience as a champion sprinter, Johnny developed a confidence in the mastery of his will over his body which would follow him from swimming to football to baseball and allow him to achieve a

PAGEANTS

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PROCESSIONS - 23

success in the world of athletics which he later claimed had affected the course of his entire life: “I attribute my good physical condition, my mental alertness and the consequent capacity for work to an athletic youth.” It was not the individual victories that mattered, it was the sense of his potentiality being fulfilled and completed, the knowledge of what could be accomplished when his whole mind and body were directed toward a task—a knowledge he would put to good use in his first job of political organization. In the North End of Johnny’s youth, there was not a single play¬ ground, nor a gymnasium, nor even, as Fitzgerald later put it, a single blade of grass” on which the children could play. For most of the immi¬ grant children, caught as they were in a daily struggle for sheer survival, the lack of playing facilities was simply taken as a matter of course. As long as there were streets and roofs and cemeteries available, as long as there was space to move their limbs about, they did not wish for some¬ thing they had never known and they organized their games to fit the terrain. What with this lack of facilities, the games of the children necessarily took on a makeshift quality. Johnny later remembered all manner of contests: contests to see who could climb up the lamppost at the corner of Hanover and North in the shortest time, who could jump from curb to curb across Harris Street in the fewest number of steps; who could kick a can up the hill at the cemetery in the fewest kicks; who could jump from the highest point off the Warren Avenue bridge. Without a playing field, the only places for playing ball were the nar¬ row cobblestone streets, but the level of congestion was so high from the peddlers, the storekeepers and the soapboxers who trafficked on these streets that even stickball, played with a rubber ball and with a broomstick for a bat, was forbidden, and policemen, brandishing clubs, patrolled the area to enforce the decree. Undeterred, Johnny organized a system whereby two boys would take turns standing at each end of the street to tip off the rest when the police were coming. Then, as the boys on his teams got better, he moved the games to “larger facilities” at Union Wharf, where a wide-open space ot wooden planks provided a more spacious field of play. This time, he took a different approach to the police: he made friends with the cop whose daily beat included Commercial Street, and together they worked out a system where the boys were allowed to play undisturbed for nearly an hour each day. Not all of Fitzgerald’s early memories of the North End were so posi¬ tive Many years later he would point to his broken middle finger and use it as an indictment of the conditions which forced him to slide into

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first on the rough cobblestone streets. “See that finger?” he would say. “I have a baseball finger caused by playing ball in the North End.” And, until the end of his life, he would still remember the unbearable dreari¬ ness of the North End in the long winter months when the friendly streets had vanished between banks of dirty snow and when, in the absence of a recreation center, the children had no escape from their stuffy rooms, which, with their windows all boarded up and nailed down against the cold, were as dark as prisons. Beyond his recollections of athletic mastery, most of Fitzgerald’s mem¬ ories of childhood revolved about the wide array of traditional festivities and ceremonies where children regularly took part in the games, amuse¬ ments, rituals, pageantry and merriment of the adults. Organized mainly by the Church, these great seasonal festivals were the dominant means by which the Irish community strengthened its collective bonds. It is hard for us, living as we do in our more isolated world of the twentieth century, to understand the meaning which community fairs, parish processions and holiday pageants used to hold in the everyday life of the immigrant families. So powerful was the emotional impact of these seasonal festivities on Fitzgerald as a child that he would spend much of his adult political life searching for their modern-day equiva¬ lents. H As the rhythmic world of nature faded in the New World, the immi¬ grants directed the whole weight of their longings into the festivals and liturgical celebrations of the one familiar body they still had left—the Catholic Church. Down through the ages, these religious festivals and celebrations had provided men and women, faced with the bitterness and uncertainty of life, with the chance to gather together and express ceremonially their feelings about the inevitability of nights and days the changing seasons and the certainty of birth and death. And now, for the Irish immigrants in the North End, these same festivals served an addi¬ tional purpose as well: they kept alive the memories of the life and the land they had left behind and helped to fit those memories into urban Boston. In Fitzgerald’s youth, the celebrations of the Catholic Church formed an organic unit which consisted of three festivals or seasons: Christmas, preceded by Advent and followed by Epiphany; Easter, preceded by Lent; and Pentecost, followed by the rest of the year. Through the rich and varied celebrations associated with each of these cycles where times of waiting alternate with times of fulfillment, the lean weeks of Lent with the feasts of Easter and Pentecost, times of mourning with seasons of rejoicing,” the first-generation immigrants kept their city-

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born children in touch with the emotions of the changing seasons and the rhythms of nature. It was a regular custom with the Fitzgerald family, as with most Cath¬ olic families in the North End in those days, to mark the first Sunday of Advent, four weeks before Christmas, with the hanging of the Advent wreath and a reading from the Scriptures. The season of Advent was a period of preparation, a little Lent, during which good Catholics were not allowed to have weddings or attend public dances. After the abstinence of Advent came the fulfillment of Christmas, symbolized forever in Johnny’s mind by the mystery and wonder of midnight Mass. Years later, Fitzgerald told his daughter Rose that in his early childhood, before he was allowed to go to midnight Mass, he would lie awake in his bed, awaiting the sound of the church bells that were rung at vespers to announce the coming of the Savior. Then, on the stroke of midnight, he could hear the thunderous chords of the organ as it opened the processional march, and still later, the voices of the choir as they sang “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. ^ But not even this experience prepared him, he later said, for “the glory and the beauty” of the midnight Mass when he was finally allowed to attend. The church on Christmas Eve was decorated with garlands of green and beautiful flowers. The shiny white altars were dotted with red flames from dozens of small white candles which surrounded a great central one that symbolized Christ, the Light of the World. “It was so beautiful I thought I would faint,” Fitzgerald recalled. By ancient custom, the six weeks after Christmas were meant to be a time filled with merrymaking and dancing. During these “carnival weeks”—as they were sometimes called—the Fitzgeralds visited back and forth among themselves, sharing food, talk and fellowship late into the night. It was also a time for church suppers and for dances. When the last day of the carnival season arrived, the families gathered together for the Shrovetide feast, a celebration traditionally associated with games and boisterous fun before the forty days of the Lenten fast. For young Fitzgerald, the Shrovetide feast held a special pleasure, for at supper that night it was customary to eat pancakes—reflecting an o English custom of using up all the eggs, butter and milk originally pro¬ hibited during Lent—and pancakes were his favorite food. Though the rules of the Lenten fast had relaxed by the mid-nineteenth century so that dairy products were no longer forbidden, the old traditions per¬ sisted, rooted in the depths of common memory. The beginning of Lent was Ash Wednesday, when all the faithful were exhorted to kneel before the priest and receive on their forehead a sign of the cross with ashes. Once, Fitzgerald remembered, he was given the

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responsibility of bringing his younger brothers to church to receive their ashes. Always fascinated by the decorum of the church, Johnny took care to prepare his brothers ahead of time for the special etiquette in¬ volved. All went well until his youngest charge, Joseph, reached the altar and knelt before the priest. The priest dipped his thumb into the ashes and moved toward the kneeling boy, his lips just beginning to form the words of the solemn declaration which accompanied the mark of the cross: “Remember that thou art dust and unto dust shalt thou return.” Then, just as his thumb touched Joseph’s forehead, the boy let out a frantic scream and raced up the aisle toward the door. The priest simply moved on to the next person, and it was up to Johnny to lead his little brother back to the altar amid the stares of a thousand eyes. That moment lingered in Fitzgerald s memory, tinged with humiliation, so that years later he could never go through the ceremony of Ash Wednesday with¬ out a tug of fear in his heart. During the Lenten fast that followed, Fitzgerald took great pains to help his little brothers with their fasting, their resolutions and their daily prayers. It seems that whenever Rosanna needed help with the boys, she turned to Johnny. And Fitzgerald later admitted that there was something nice about having this responsibility. It made him feel older than his years. Each night during Lent, he would gather his younger brothers round his bed and inquire whether they had faithfully kept their Lenten resolutions. The reward for their constancy was a round of bedtime stories, which ranged from hoary tales of monsters and ghosts to biographies of patron saints. From his earliest days, Johnny was known as the best storyteller in the family. His capacious memory seemed to soak up everything he read or heard, and he was able to retell these tales with such enthusiasm, laughter and dramatic gestures that he kept his audience spellbound, oblivious of time and begging for more. The Lenten fast led up to Holy Week, a time Fitzgerald associated with the coming of spring, with open windows, crowded doorways and throngs of people gathered on the streets. More somberly, Fitzgerald remembered sitting through his first Tenebrae service on Holy Thurs¬ day, his hand reaching for his mother’s as, one by one, the candles on the altar were extinguished, plunging the church into total darkness to symbolize the desertion of Christ by his disciples. The solemn mood contmued through Good Friday, when, as Johnny later remembered it, t e church stood desolate and bare, its altar draped in black, its statues all covered in purple.” As Easter was preceded by forty days of sorrow, it was followed by fifty days of rejoicing leading up to Whitsunday, the Feast of Pentecost,

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commemorating the day the Apostles received the Holy Spirit. Once again the narrow streets of the North End became resplendent with the pageantry of a colorful procession, equal to any at Rome, as children crowned with wreaths and wearing colored sashes marched in line, carrying flowers, banners, mottoes and little images. Tying together the past and the present, the old order and the new, these great religious festivals were so deeply woven into the fabric of young Johnny’s life that long after he had become thoroughly acclima¬ tized to the hurried style of city life he still responded deeply to all manner of traditional pageantry, and he still viewed the changing sea¬ sons through the calendar of the Christian year. Indeed, when he reached the height of his political career he would spend substantial time and money in an attempt to recreate these festivals for the children of the modern world. “Personally,” he would later write, “I believe about the best use to which public money is appropriated, outside of money to care for the unfortunates, is for holiday celebrations. Through all of Johnny’s memories of the great festivals of his child¬ hood days runs the theme of helping out his mother: taking his little brothers to church on Ash Wednesday, reminding them of their Lenten resolutions and telling them stories at bedtime. We hear of him also at the age of seven and eight accompanying his mother to Jordan Marsh s department store to help pick out clothes for his brothers, and, a little later, helping her bundle up and march the boys to the public baths. And still later, when his younger brothers were too old to be taken to the women’s bath, Johnny was said to be the one who dragged them through the clouds of steam in the men’s bathing room, scrubbed them clean and returned them, red-skinned and shivering, to their mother on the other side. “For some reason,” Fitzgerald later wrote, it was my trust to boss the family.” That it was Johnny and not his two older brothers, Jimmy and Tommy, who took on this protective role is suggested by the accounts of his relatives who universally remember him with a rush of warmth as “the one who taught the others how to swim, how to play ball and how to whistle through their fingers,” “the mainstay of the family, the one who kept the whole family together.” The picture that emerges is of Johnny marching off into the streets with two or three adoring brothers tagging along behind. “I’ve always wondered,” niece Regis Fitzgerald Murphy later mused, “when was John Francis young? Whenever catas¬ trophe or illness came he was the one they all turned to. When he was five years old, still too young for the first grade and a decade too early for Boston’s experimental kindergarten Johnny was curious to know about this institution called school that kept his older

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brothers, Jimmy and Tommy, away from home most of the day. One morning he decided to follow his brothers as they threaded their way through the milling crowds of people and peddlers’ carts up Hanover Street and down North Bennett, where the small one-story primary school stood on the east side of the street. Keeping his distance, Johnny stayed across the street until the last of the pupils scrambled up the short stairs and in the door, and then he ran around to the side of the building and stationed himself beneath a small open window. (Each of the four classrooms in the Ware primary school boasted one rectangular window which was supposed to be kept open all year round.) There, crouched on his knees, he listened to the morning’s routine. The first voice he heard was that of a teacher reading a passage from the Bible. This was followed by some singing and then a recitation period in which each child was called upon to come to the front of the room, where he was to read aloud from his reader, his body erect, his knees and feet together, and the tips of his shoes touching the edge of a board in the floor. While these recitations were taking place, Johnny saw a small boy, not much bigger than he, running down the street, late for school. Through the open window, he traced the sound of the latecom¬ er’s footsteps as he raced into class. There was a moment of stillness and then a strange clapping sound followed by a succession of screams so loud and so horrible that they stayed in Johnny’s memory for the rest of his life. Frozen in his crouched position, he closed his eyes until the screams finally stopped and a different sound, the echoes of marching footsteps, filled the air. (In the primary schools, the children marched around the room every morning for at least ten minutes.) Lulled by the marching, Johnny was just beginning to relax when it happened againthe sound of a whip or a cane, he couldn’t tell which, striking an object, followed by a piercing cry. That Johnny was not exaggerating his experience is confirmed by the testimony of Boston School Superintendent Samuel Eliot. In his first year of office in 1879, Eliot issued some scathing observations on the use of corporal punishment in the primary and grammar schoolsI here is no question about the disorder it now excites, the sounds more like those of a menagerie than those of a school, the sullen looks the disturbed feelings, the outward and inward effects.” And the school reports for 1880 recorded 157 blows in one school in a period of a month and 130 in another in the space of twenty-one days. Slowly, Superintendent Eliot began to see that the frequent resort to physical violence was only a symptom of a deeper malady in an educa¬ tional system that defined its tasks in terms of instilling order punctual-

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29

ity, regularity and attention in its students. In each of his semiannual reports, the reformist Eliot dissected a different aspect of this problem, focusing particularly on the poor methods of teaching. “English grammar might be like a window but it is apt to be a wall, through which there is no seeing,” Eliot wrote. “Its technicalities, long since vanished from common speech and writing, are conjured up in books & exercises only to perplex the minds of young people . . . “History stands like a skeleton ... far from recalling the past, it frightens it away to return no more ...” “That the love of reading should survive is proof how deep and inexhaustible its sources are. Little wonder, Eliot concluded, that in a system of such little inspi¬ ration, discipline becomes the only way teachers can keep control of the class. That the educational problems Eliot observed characterized the sys¬ tem as a whole, from its schools in the Back Bay and on Beacon Hill to its schools in the North and South Ends, is clear from a sampling of the memoirs of any number of distinguished Bostonians ranging from Henry Adams to Henry Cabot Lodge, all of whom regarded their early educational experiences with hostility and disdain. Yet the failures of the primary-school system affected the child of the slum far more deeply than the child of means, who had many other outlets for learning. And for the Irish Catholic child there was the addi¬ tional problem of a system that was Protestant in orientation and openly prejudiced against Catholicism. William O Connell, who later became Boston s third cardinal, described his early years in the Lowell, Massa¬ chusetts, schools in the 1860s as “a perfect torture.” We lived actually in an atmosphere of fear [O’Connell wrote]. We sensed the bitter antipathy, scarcely concealed, which nearly all these good women in charge of the schools felt toward those of us who had Catholic faith and Irish names. For any slight pretext we were severely punished. We were made to feel the slur against our Faith and race ... to under¬ stand our inferiority to the other children, blessed with the prop of Prot¬ estant inheritance and English or Puritan blood. The greatest trial to the Catholic students . . . was the use of a bigoted history of England. Even the glorious case of Saint Thomas a Becket was distorted in such a way as to make Henry II, a tyrant, the hero of the tragedy, and Saint Thomas an arrogant, unreasonable subject . . . When later we arrived at the Reformation in England, we were told that all the leaders . . . even Cromwell were great saints, and that Wolsey and Cath¬ erine were traitors . . . Even the glorious name of Thomas More was slurred over and belittled, Mary Tudor was a target for endless vilification and scorn; and Elizabeth, the bastard of Anne Boleyn, was exalted upon a

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pedestal of glory ... In fact, nothing that was Catholic was right, as noth¬ ing that was Protestant could possibly be wrong.

An even more virulent form of prejudice against Catholic pupils had flared up in the North End in the decade before John Fitzgerald was born. On March 14, 1859, a young Catholic boy, Thomas Wall, was severely beaten by his teacher for refusing t participate in the morning reading of the Protestant Bible. As the story was told and retold, the boy had been instructed by his priest at St. Mary’s that to read the Protestant Bible was to commit a sin. With the fear of hell on his mind, he chose to disregard his teacher s order, which subjected him to a whipping which lasted more than half an hour, left his hands cut and bleeding and caused him to faint. The beating became a cause celebre in the Catholic community. That night large crowds of Catholic parents came together, and the next day over three hundred Catholic pupils joined together in refusing to read the required scriptural passage. The boys were immediately suspended from school and their parents notified that the indispensable condition of reinstatement was conformity to the ob¬ jectionable rules. In the meantime, they were warned, they would be liable to arrest and imprisonment for truancy. In response, Wall s father filed a suit against the headmaster alleging assault and battery on his son, but the Yankee-dominated court dropped all the charges and ordered the rebellious students back to school, ar¬ guing that foreign priests were attempting to take from the schoolroom the Bible that had been its household god from the infancy of our country. At this juncture, the Catholics gave in, though the incident sparked the development of the parochial-school system that would eventually—but not in time for John Fitzgerald—take nearly half of the Catholic students in the city away from the public schools. So it was that the fear Johnny experienced as he stood outside the window on that cold and windy morning had a strong basis in reality. But the determined boy refused to be dominated by his initial feeling. After kneeling in terror for more than an hour, he peeked through the window and then he saw the villainous woman—Miss Kate Sawyer. With her black hair pulled tightly back from her long, thin face with her long black dress and her black shoes, she looked to him like a wicked witch, and he quickly dropped down out of sight. But, moments later, as he told his own story, he summoned his courage back, and when school was dismissed for lunch he followed her as she walked up Salem Street and turned into a local grocery store. From the doorway he heard her voice as she talked with the owner, and he was surprised to hear how soft it sounded. Then, still more surprisingly, he saw her lean down

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and pat the head of a little girl who darted out from behind the counter. When the teacher herself turned to come out, Johnny turned and ran all the way home. But the next week he followed her every day into the store until she finally smiled at him and asked him his name. From that moment on he knew he was safe, and all summer long he looked forward to school. We can see here in the young boy’s ability to charm a potential enemy the threads of a pattern that would characterize his behavior all his life. He seemed to possess the unusual gift of responding to things that trou¬ bled him by moving toward them rather than backing away. Even at this early age, his positive approach to school set in motion a positive cycle, distinguishing his educational experience from that of all his brothers. His enthusiasm was contagious, and his teachers responded in kind as he showed a natural ability for reading, spelling and writing and devel¬ oped a set of sharp arithmetical skills. At the end of three years, he was promoted to the Eliot Grammar School, a significant attainment which less than 10 percent of the students who lived in the North End at that time achieved. On the late afternoon of January 27, 1870, the Fitzgerald household was filled with a general rejoicing. After eight sons, Rosanna Fitzgerald had given birth to a fair-skinned, blue-eyed little girl. Though Johnny was only in his sixth year, he remembered the occasion so clearly that sev¬ enty years later he described it to a friend: ‘I can still remember my grandmother coming out into the kitchen to tell my father that the new baby was a girl. I had just come home from school, and he lifted me up in his arms and brought me into the bedroom, where I saw the baby lying next to my mother. My father bent down and kissed the baby s forehead and then took my mother’s hand, and I’ll never forget what he said: ‘Well, Rosie, we’ve finally got our little girl and she’s as beautiful as an Irish morning.’ ” They named her Ellen Rosanna after her mother and her grand¬ mother, and as Johnny remembered it they watched over her with spe¬ cial care. “Every time she got a fever, my mother was sure she was going to die,” Fitzgerald recalled. “I don’t know why, but she seemed to worry about little Ellen all the time. Later, I wondered if it had been a premo¬ nition.” Rosanna’s high anxiety at the first sign of her child s sickness was not uncommon in the Irish community at that time. Since so many mothers had actually seen one or more of their children wake up healthy in the morning and die before nightfall of smallpox, typhus or cholera, and since so little was understood about the causes and nature of disease, it

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is not surprising that they interpreted the early symptoms of any illness as a prelude to death. The diary of the Reverend Hilary Tucker, a Catholic priest in the South End in the 1860s, is filled with stories of being called to administer last rites to feverish children whose parents mistakenly assumed they were dying. “The poor people, God bless them,” Tucker wrote in 1862, “the moment a croup or a big flea bit[e]s them, send for the priest. This shows the strength of their faith, but it so often verges on superstition, and especially [tries] the patience of the poor priest.” Yet, if they tended to multiply the situations in which death seemed to be looming, the Irish parents had good reason to be anxious about steering their children through their first five years in life. For though the mortality rates for young children born in Boston in the 1870s were not as severe as in the Puritan days, when Cotton Mather, seeing eight of his fifteen children die before the age of two, wrote that “a dead child was a sight no more surprising than a broken pitcher or a blasted flower,” they were still alarmingly high. The annual reports of the City Registrar for the early 1870s showed that out of every one hundred children born in Boston, nearly twenty would die before their first birthday and an¬ other fifteen would be dead before the age of five. Beyond the age of five, Boston’s mortality rates compared favorably with other cities’, but the shocking percentage of deaths in Boston in the early years was higher than in any other city in the United States, matched only by the most unhealthy of English towns—Liverpool and Newcastle. Alarmed by these annual statistics, Boston’s Board of Health ap¬ pointed a committee of five physicians to conduct a thorough investiga¬ tion of the mortality rates of Boston. The committee’s report, issued in 1875, attributed Boston’s high rate of death to the large proportion of foreign immigrants, whether foreign born or children of foreign parent¬ age, who suffered much higher death rates than those which prevailed among the purely native population. The report also found that of the total foreign-born population of the city, over two-thirds consisted of the Irish, giving Boston the largest proportion of Irish inhabitants of all the great cities in the United States. And, compared with all the different foreign races domiciled in the U.S. —Germans, English, Welsh, Swedes, French, Italians, etc.—the Irish exhibited the greatest mortality rate. The source of Boston’s problem, as the committee saw it, was therefore abundantly clear—it was the Irish, whose “inborn predisposition to certain constitutional diseases (con¬ sumption and cancer) together with various unwholesome habits and traditions in matters of hygiene” accounted for the disproportionate rates of death in the city as a whole. Against this interpretation, which essentially blamed the Irish as a

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nationality for their excessive susceptibility to death and diseases, there was a different interpretation which stressed the poverty of the Irish immigrants rather than their nationality and placed the blame on the squalid conditions under which the Irish lived in their crowded, unven¬ tilated, unsanitary tenements. Analyzing the cholera epidemic in the North End in 1849, a medical committee observed: “This whole district is a perfect hive of human beings, without comforts and mostly without common necessaries; in many cases, huddled together like brutes with¬ out regard to sex, or age . . . , grown men and women sleeping together in the same apartment, and sometimes wife and husband, brothers and sisters in the same bed.” So it was that despite the comparative means her parents possessed, young Ellen Fitzgerald was subjected from birth to the same unwhole¬ some conditions of tenement life that threatened the existence of every child of the slum. Yet, as the winter months gave way to the balmy days of April and May, the baby was, as Fitzgerald was later told, “in the bloom of health.” And the grocery store at 310 North Street was also prospering. R. G. E)un & Co. (later Dun & Bradstreet) reported in 1870 that “James Fitzgerald is making money in business, assisted by his brother (Thomas), both working attentively.” Then came the sweltering months of summer, marked in 1870 by an unprecedented heat wave and an almost total absence of rain, and in the first weeks of August the dreaded disease of cholera came once again to the North End, killing more than eighty children in twelve days. In the nineteenth century, cholera was considered “the most fatal disease known to the annals of medicine.” Though its cause would not be known until 1883, when the German bacteriologist Robert Koch isolated the Vibrio cholerae bacillus, which is transmitted by fecescontaminated drinking water and food, experience had taught that it attacked the poor, living in crowded, unsanitary conditions, in a much larger proportion than the rich, and that its transmission was favored by the high temperatures found in the summer months. The explosive character of the 1870 scourge suggested a simultaneous infection probably caused by water contaminated with sewage. Just three months earlier, a group of physicians had warned the city about the sanitary problems in the district of the North End. And a later commission report, “The Sewage of Boston, found that in the poorer areas of the city there were several hundred “open mouthed cesspools. the water occasionally evaporates from these traps during the sum¬ mer, exposing the contents to the air and leaving direct communication between the sewers and the outer air. ... No dispensary physician who has [the Haymarket] district can have failed to notice the deleterious influ-

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ence of such conditions upon the health of people who are absolutely powerless to help themselves.

As Rosanna Fitzgerald watched the disease spread down Hanover Street, its fatal progress marked by the appearance of a black ribbon on the door of each stricken house, she redoubled her efforts to protect her family. In a later conversation, Thomas Fitzgerald told his son John that she would not allow anyone in the family to eat any fruit or meat that summer until it was personally inspected by her, that every morning she disinfected the privy with dry earth and lime and that she hung news¬ papers over the screenless windows in an attempt to keep out the flies which were thought to carry the disease. Yet, despite her precautions, on the cloudy morning of August 16, 1870, cholera struck the Fitzgerald household, and the person it struck was the one who was the least able to fight back: little Ellen Rosanna, six months old. Fitzgerald was told later that his sister had been put to bed the night before in perfect health but that when she awakened in the morning, the disease had already set in. “Indeed, it is folly to talk of curing cholera,” Dr. Thomas Hawkes Tanner wrote in 1872, “when the principles which should guide us are undecided. Until we know whether recovery depends on a persistence of the intestinal evacuations or suppression of them, how can we pre¬ scribe?” In the absence of scientific prescription, the people relied on a variety of folk remedies: mustard poultices and hot turpentine frictions over the abdomen; frequent doses of Dr. Strickland’s anticholera mix¬ ture (opium, cayenne pepper, camphor and calomel); and hot-water bottles to the soles of the feet and the calves of the legs. Which of these remedies Rosanna Fitzgerald tried we do not know; we know only that nothing she did was successful in arresting the deadly progress of the disease, in which diarrhea and vomiting produce a cu¬ mulative dehydration followed by agonizing muscle cramps and extreme thirst. The disease then advances rapidly into a second stage character¬ ized by extreme collapse: the skin becomes cold, dry and wrinkled, the features become pinched, the cheeks hollow, the eyes sunken, and the voice is reduced to a hoarse whisper. This condition can result in death within one day. Such was the case of Ellen Rosanna, who was dead before the first day of her illness had passed. There is no record of where or when she was buried—her body does not lie with the rest of the Fitzgerald family at Holy Cross Cemetery, Malden. We do know, however, that, to prevent the spread of the dis¬ ease, the body was supposed to be removed from the house immedi¬ ately, placed in a hermetically closed casket and buried privately. There were other measures to be taken as well; we can assume Rosanna Fitz-

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gerald took some of them, since not one of her seven boys came down with the disease. “The sickroom is to be emptied of furniture, curtains, and carpets,” the authorities advised, “while sawdust wetted with diluted carbolic acid is as an excellent disinfectant to sprinkle over the floor. All the excreta are to be received in pans containing disinfectant fluid and then at once buried in the ground. Soiled bed and body linen are to be soaked in a solution of chloride of lime.” That the Fitzgerald family was deeply affected by the loss of this little girl is clear from the length of time John Fitzgerald held on to his memory of her short life and his understanding of her painful death. Yet they had a consolation for their loss in the idea of heaven, in the belief that Ellen’s death in this world was just the beginning of her eternal life in a far better world, a world where she would meet her brother Michael—who had died ten years before almost to the day— and where, in peace, happiness and comfort, the two of them could anticipate the time when the whole family would be together once again. Yet, if the idea of heaven lessened the personal pain for the parents of the dead child, it did not lessen the injustice of a society in which the child of poverty was three times more likely to die before the age of five than the child of means. Boston’s renowned minister Edward Everett Hale spoke to this point in an essay on an earlier cholera epidemic. “In the epidemic among children in the summer of 1864,” he wrote, 1,000 children of less than five years of age died in Boston in 100 days. I suppose that of the Boston people who read these pages not one in ten knows that there was any such epidemic. If the deaths had been propor¬ tional among all classes of society, at least ten of these deaths would have taken away infants from the parish of which I am minister, which em¬ braces 1% of the population of the city. But that is a body of people in comfortable circles, living in comfortable houses. And, in fact, in that epidemic, not one of our children died.

Unlike his parents, who found their solace in the Church, young Johnny responded to his sister’s death with frantic activity, a pattern of response that would characterize his family for generations to come. On the day after Ellen’s burial, he entered a swimming contest at Lewis Wharf, and, with all the neighborhood children watching, he came in first. “I felt it was important to do something great to take away the sadness,” Fitzgerald later recalled, “and winning the swimming meet was the only thing I could think of to do. When he walked through the iron gates of the Eliot Grammar School, Johnny was entering one of Boston’s oldest schools, established in the early eighteenth century. Entering with Johnny in the sixth and lowest

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grade (the numbering system ran backward from six to one) were 180 boys from three different primary schools. Each year, however, marked a gradual attrition in the numbers as the necessity for work in the Irish slum ate away at educational opportunity. By the fourth grade, when the children reached eleven and twelve, the total had dropped almost by half, to 108. The number remained constant until a huge exodus took place between the second and first grades. Of the 110 children who left the second-highest grade in June 1876, only thirty-five, John Fitzger¬ ald among them, reappeared after the long summer vacation to enter the first or final grade. The explanation is simple: during that period, a large majority of the students reached fourteen, the magic age when they were legally allowed to quit school and go to work—a choice fully understood and even expected in a community which depended upon the labor of its children in order to survive. For those who remained, the curriculum and the teaching were on a much higher level than what we think of today as grammar school. John Fitzgerald later looked back with justifiable pride on the quality of the education. To teach at the grammar-school level, the aspiring teacher had to pass a wide-ranging examination that tested his or her knowledge in psychology, music, Fatin, history, geography, English history, Amer¬ ican history, civil government and the principles of education. In con¬ trast to the all-female primary-school staffs, male teachers, known as masters, were now mixed in almost equal numbers with females, who were called assistants and typically were paid only half of the male teach¬ ers annual salary of $2,700. Though the material was still largely taught through textbooks—Swinton’s Language Lessons, Warren’s Common School Geography, Worcester’s History and Cooley’s Natural Philosophy and though learning was still largely through recitation, it was not as mechanical as in the earlier grades, since the teachers were better equipped to move beyond the books in order to create curiosity and interest in the child. We have no official record showing John Fitzgerald’s ranking among the thirty-five graduates, but the family tradition has it that he graduated near the top of his class and that during his six years at the Eliot School e emerged as a natural leader among his peers. And whatever his ranking, we know that in the immigrant community at that time the sheer attainment of a grammar-school diploma was considered a sub¬ stantial achievement, which ranked in popular regard with graduation from high school in another district or the obtaining of a college degree in yet more favored circles. For each of the thirty-five graduates and for their families, the June graduation ceremony was an occasion for wearing their best clothing,

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despite a warning issued by the School Department the year before on the need to guard against forcing “a needless indulgence” on families suffering from an actual need of food and clothing. As Mary Antin, author of The Promised Land, explained: “A mother who had scrubbed floors for years to keep her girl in school was not going to have her shamed in the end for want of a pretty dress . . . There was not a girl who came to school in rags all the year round that did not burst forth in sudden glory on Graduation Day. Fine muslin frocks, lace-trimmed petticoats, patent leather shoes, perishable hats, gloves, parasols, fans— every girl had them. ” And a similar level of pride marked the appearance of the boys. Though he would go on to higher education, to John Fitzgerald the Eliot School remained the most tangible object of his childhood affec¬ tions and loyalties. As soon as he could afford the entrance fee, he became an active member in the old graduates’ association, and more than thirty years later he played a prominent role in organizing a public commemoration of the school’s two hundredth birthday. Such loyalty to the neighborhood school was typical in the immigrant community at that time, for the graduate of a grammar school carried with him not only the dignity of his initial achievement but a store of senti¬ ments, traditions, memories and friendships which deepened as the years went by. At the age of fourteen, Johnny was full of the most unshakeable selfconfidence. He was a sturdy youth, courageous and defiant, a bright boy with a bright face, a ruddy complexion and clear blue eyes. He had a curious, receptive mind and was forever asking questions with an intense desire for an intelligent reply. The world seemed an exciting place where something interesting was always happening to him. In September of 1877, Johnny obtained a license to hawk newspapers on the streets of Boston—an enterprise which engaged him for nearly two years until he returned full time to school. In that town, in those days, newspaper selling was a lucrative business: the 1,100 minors li¬ censed as newsboys cleared an average of $2.50 a week, which was more than the average weekly salary of an experienced clerk. On these earn¬ ings, the newsboy (fittingly described by one former hawker as half child and half man, with the worldliness of a man and the sensitivity of a child) not only supported himself but often provided a large share of his family’s income. And for those who were willing to stick to their work through the bitter cold of winter mornings and the steamy summer afternoons, the job was uncommonly secure. With the passing years, the immigrant newsboy of the nineteenth

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century has acquired a picturesque image. “The unwritten story of their rise,” Frank Mott writes, would be a romantic chapter in the history of American journalism. They appeared on the streets of the large cities as soon as the penny papers became established—a heterogeneous, loud-voiced, shrewd lot . . . The ragged, shouting, insistent . . . newsboy . . . was something new to the world. Often he was a thorough street gamin . . . but again, he was the sole support of a widowed mother and selling papers was for him a step¬ ping stone to independence and fortune: such as he were the heroes of many edifying novels and plays.

Even in the haze of memory, the impulse to romanticize the news¬ boy s lot must be resisted. Year after year, educators, reformers and philanthropists alike despaired at the harmful features of this most visi¬ ble form of child labor, arguing that “the late hours, the indiscriminate handling of money and the contagion of the street often undermines the character and health of these boys,” placing them “constantly in the way of temptation” and “leading them directly into crime.” Moreover, the necessity of getting up at half past three or four in the morning in order to buy their papers and be at their corners by six or seven “brings them to school tired out and altogether unfitted to do the classroom work, or so completely exhausted they go to sleep at their desks.” Having finished grammar school, Johnny was in a different position from most of his fellow workers. Amid a large fleet of boys frustrated by conflicting aspirations and divided desires between school and work, his talents and his capacities moved in one direction. The goal of making money united all elements of his vibrant personality, assuring his suc¬ cess. Moreover, at fourteen, Johnny was already a sophisticated student of human nature, ready to respond to the fascinating range of characters he encountered each day in the process of selling his papers. From childhood, he had loved the sport and the gossip of political life; he had listened for hours to the men talking politics in his father’s store; now, as he stood on the street, his bundle of papers under his arm, his voice calling out the headlines of the day, he experienced himself as a partici¬ pant in that larger world. During his first weeks on the job, he would get up at three o’clock in the morning to be first in line to pick up his papers and thus first on the street. In those days, a carrier visited each newspaper office in order to collect his assortment of papers for the day. For Johnny it was a tenminute walk up Hanover Street and across Congress to the corner of State Street where the old Traveler stood. From there he turned right to reach the Advertiser on Court Street and then right again on Washing¬ ton, where the Journal and the Herald stood on opposite sides of the street. To the left it was half a block to the Post on Water Street and

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then another half block to the Transcript at the corner of Milk. Then he would walk up Milk to State, where the Globes original building was situated. Even at this early hour, the newspaper offices were filled with dozens of people—editors, reporters, office boys and apprentices—milling around the tall black rotary press that stood in the center of the printing room like an organ in a church. When the machine was working, the room was filled with the smell of damp newspapers and of fresh printing ink, and everybody’s eyes followed the roll of paper as it fed into the press with four feeders and four takers off, permitting ten thousand copies of a four-page newspaper to be printed in an hour. Fitzgerald later said that from the moment he set foot in his first newspaper office he knew he was going to like the work. Naturally gre¬ garious, brimming over with curiosity and a love of adventure, he must have responded at once to the hum of life in the newsroom, the quick¬ ened pace, the noisy atmosphere and the continuous talk. But, as much as he might have enjoyed staying around for hours, making himself useful in a dozen different ways, he understood that a newcomer’s only hope of turning a profit was to arrive on the streets before the working¬ men began their day’s work. For in contrast to the experienced news¬ boys, who all had regular corners, the newcomers were obliged to sell their papers by roaming up and down the streets, a far more difficult task, since most people habitually bought their papers at the same cor¬ ner every day. Johnny evidently went about his relationship to the city streets in the right spirit. He walked everywhere, this day up Tremont and down Charles, that day up Washington and down Beacon. His wanderings took him into strange and new parts of the city where he had never been before and introduced him to new types of people. A shrewd judge of character, he took pleasure in guessing from outward demeanor which paper each passerby wanted and would take it from his bundle before he was even asked. He made it a practice to scan all the papers before he began—a substantial achievement, given the crowded pages and the tiny nonpareil type which confronted readers at that time—and, with his knowledge of the leading stories, he could choose which headlines to call out. Johnny’s diligence and enthusiasm met their reward. According to his own account, he was always the first of the newsboys at large to sell out his entire bundle of papers, and at times he even completed his work before any of the regulars were done. At the same time, with his un¬ canny faculty for making friends, he developed a network of new rela¬ tionships all over the city. The job was all that he had expected it to be and more.

CHAPTER

3

“T H E O T H E R BOSTON”

,

L, _.. _

I witnessed a series of dramatic developments in journalism which, in turn, reflected the sweeping changes that were taking place in American economic and social life. A consequence of the great indus¬ trial expansion of the time, with its mushrooming urban centers, its multiplication of factories, smokestacks and mills, and its spread of lit¬ eracy, was the rise of the newspaper to a new position in American life. Writing in the late 1870s, Justin Wmsor observed that uthe newspaper press of the U.S. has attained an importance . . . unparalleled in any

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other country. Nowhere does the number of newspapers bear so large a proportion to the population, nowhere else are newspapers so univer¬ sally read.” These years also witnessed the birth of a much livelier and more dramatic concept of news—a pronounced shift away from editorial com¬ ment and party politics toward human-interest features, fictionalized serials, sports and amusement. Reflecting the changed conditions of city life—the hurried pace, the rise of organized spectator sports, the devel¬ opment of mass entertainment and the desire for an escape from the daily struggle for survival-—this new journalism, as it was called at the time, produced an immense growth in the numbers of people who read newspapers. The stimulus of the Civil War had enlarged the scope of newspapers as well. Wartime necessity had taught readers to value a paper’s rapid and accurate reporting of the news. Before the war, most of the leading dailies were morning papers, distinguished mainly by their editorial col¬ umns and their party identification. But the war had whetted the public appetite for up-to-the-minute news on the results of battles, and, as a result, “extra” editions—which eventually evolved into evening papers —were commonly issued in the afternoons. Coming into the newspaper field in this era of dramatic change, Johnny witnessed the rise and fall of a number of Boston dailies. He developed a keen interest in understanding why some of the older papers remained vigorous, changing with the changing times, while others, unable or unwilling to depart from tradition, began to languish. Years later, when he became the publisher of a weekly paper, The Republic, he was fond of maintaining that his boyhood experiences as a newsboy had taught him “more about the business of publish¬ ing than any of those fancy colleges across the river.” He was probably right. An even deeper seal was set on Johnny’s young consciousness through his acquisition of the choicest hawking corner in the city of Boston— the corner of Park and Beacon Streets, facing the trees, the benches and the grassy space of the Common in one direction and the front of the State House, with its long sweep of broad stone steps, its terraced lawn and its familiar gilded dome, in the other. When Johnny first began selling papers, the corner belonged to a neighbor, a tall, spare boy named Fred, several years older than he and very serious. To Johnny, Fred appeared as a heroic figure. In three years he had established a reputation as the most energetic and enterprising of all the newsboys; from the earnings of his profitable stand, he supported his

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widowed mother and grandmother and his five younger sisters and brothers. Johnny made it a practice each morning to fall in line with Fred as he gathered up his bundle of papers on Newspaper Row, and at night he would deliberately schedule his own route to end up by Fred’s corner so that they could walk home together. He soon discovered that Fred shared his love of history and fascination with politics, and they became friends. In the free hours during the afternoons, they would often go together to the Boston Public Library to read in the cavernous reading room. Johnny later said that he felt in Fred a kindness, a maturity and a conscience he had never encountered before. At length they began to spend their Saturdays together as well, and Johnny introduced the book¬ ish boy to baseball, swimming, football and coasting. Wrapped about with Johnny’s goodwill, Fred slowly lost his reluctance and began to talk about himself. He told Johnny that his family had enjoyed a steady income with his father working as a lamplighter, until a dreadful accident occurred. One night, when his father was standing with his back to the street, his hands directing the long pole toward a jet of gas, he was struck from behind by a heavy wagon pulled by runaway horses. Positioned only inches away, Fred watched helplessly as his father s skull was shattered against the lamppost. The terror of that night took a terrible toll on the thirteen-year-old boy. He dropped out of school, never to return, and for weeks he was barely able to speak. When he finally recovered enough to function in the world, he threw himself so completely into his responsibilities as the new head of the family that he had little time or energy for anything else. All this Fred shared with Johnny, and as the months went by their friendship continued to strengthen. Every day of their crowded lives they managed to spend some time together—talking, laughing, reading or playing ball. Then, in the middle of January 1878, Fred fell sick with bronchitis, which developed into tuberculosis—or consumption, as it was com¬ monly called. His body wasted away to a skeleton, but he refused to stay in bed, understanding only too well the governing structure of the news¬ boy’s world in those days. As another former newsboy later described it, once a boy had worked up a corner by coming regularly for a period of time and establishing it into a profitable stand, it became his property and all the other newsboys recognized it as his. No matter how small he was and no matter how big and tough his competitor, this right was respected. But the moment a boy stopped coming regularly, his stand was up for grabs. Johnny responded to the situation with an urgent and obstinate force. Recognizing that Fred would never get well unless his work load was

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lightened, Johnny conceived of a plan whereby he would take responsi¬ bility for both his own and Fred’s bundles of papers. All that Fred had to do was drag himself to the corner at the start of the day so that his presence could be noted and recorded; then he could go home and stay in bed while Johnny took care of the rest, his abundant energy allowing him to work double time. This went on for several weeks, until one particularly cold morning when Fred, pale and shivering, his eyes glow¬ ing with fever, collapsed. Johnny propped him up and pulled him home, where he was put to bed, and though he tried every morning until the February morning when he died, he never could get up again. All the while his friend was dying, Johnny reported each day as usual to the Beacon Street corner, but as the news of Fred’s illness spread, first one and then another of the older newsboys began to drop around, eying the corner with suspicion. Johnny knew it was only a matter of time until one of them took over, for it was, after all, the best stand in the city. To let it go to a newcomer was unthinkable. He also knew, however, that he had a short period of grace while the potential rivals argued among themselves, and in this period he laid out his course of action. Johnny figured that Fred’s successor was most likely to emerge from the ranks of “the hawks,” as the toughest group of newsboys liked to call themselves. Were he to defend himself against these waiting foes, he would need allies, and he knew at once where those allies could be found. There was a scattered group of young newsboys who stood in terror of the older bullies. Walking home alone at night, most of them had been roughed up and robbed a number of times by one or more of the hawks and then told that they’d be left alone so long as they agreed to split a portion of their weekly profits with the gang. Fearful of losing even more if they failed to comply, most of them had given in and kept their silence. But with each passing week their hatred of the bullies grew stronger; they were ripe for some kind of revolt. Johnny based his plan on the psychology of numbers: he organized the younger boys in patrols of six to walk home together each night. In return for the protection this gave them at night, the younger boys stood by Johnny at the start of each day to help him establish his position on the corner of Beacon and Park. Johnny’s offensive took the hawks by surprise. At length, fearing they might lose their licenses if one of the younger boys tipped off the police about the extortion scheme, they decided to let both the corner and the racket go, lying in wait for a break in Johnny’s ranks. Then, with the passage of time, a new element came into play: the corner was becoming Johnny’s. And once it was so recog¬ nized, no one could take it away.

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It was through his experience of selling papers at the corner of Beacon and Park that Fitzgerald saw “the other Boston” for the first time—not the teeming city of immigrant poverty but the clean, cultured world of Beacon Hill, a world aloof and untouched by the vices of time, a world inhabited by an impeccable Yankee elite later referred to as the Boston Brahmins. From his central location on Beacon Street—aptly described by Oliver Wendell Holmes as “the sunny street that holds the sifted few” Johnny stood right in the middle of the most aristocratic quarter of the city, in sight of some of the finest and most elegant residences in all of New England. Within a few minutes’ walk, under the spreading elms of stately Mount Vernon Street, along gracious Chestnut Street, down the quaint slope of Pinckney with its houses standing endwise to the sidewalk, or in Louisburg Square, Johnny observed entire neighbor¬ hoods filled with splendid, spacious mansions of quiet dignity such as he had never dreamed existed. He was astonished at the beauty of their terraced lawns, their elaborate arched entrances and large bay windows. For the first time in his life, Johnny saw a profusion of silk-hatted liveried coachmen sitting erect in open victorias, carrying couples, ele¬ gantly attired, on their way to parties—the gentlemen resplendent in frock coats, fancy waistcoats and high hats, the ladies in lace shawls and billowing dresses, holding delicate parasols above their heads. In the winter, the hacks were replaced by covered sleighs with coachlike bodies cozily lined with red plush or silk, and Johnny watched as men in fur caps and ladies snugly tucked in beside them in fur robes, their hotwater bottles held in tiny muffs to keep their hands warm, glided over the hard-packed snow, sleigh bells jingling in the frosty air. For the child of the slum, this was a glimpse of happy privilege at the highest pitch_ a glimpse which remained printed on John Fitzgerald’s memory in such a way that forty years later he was able to recreate for his daughter Rose both the sights and the sounds of Boston society as he first encountered it on Beacon Hill. In truth, Johnny had confronted these Bostonians before, though never in the full context of their world. From earliest childhood, he had participated in the legendary snowball fights between the North Enders and the Beacon Hillers of which so many Brahmins later boasted in their memoirs. Restricted by their parents from playing near the marshes or on the back of Beacon Hill where the foreigners had built their humble settlements, the Brahmin boys took great delight in waging what they described as “Homeric” and “savage” combats against the c 1 dren of the immigrants on the only playing ground available to both groups—the Boston Common. To a visitor watching the spectacle at midcentury, it must have

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seemed an odd affair. The two groups were strangers to each other; neither had anything to say in which the other might have displayed the slightest interest; there was not between them even the beginnings of friendliness or even of sportsmanship. On the one side, a homogeneous group of carefully manicured young gentlemen in woolen suits, knee pants, cotton stockings, Eton collars and caps; on the other, a motley assortment of Irish youths, looking bigger and tougher in their worn and shabby pants, baggy coats and ill-fitting caps, their sheer presence in¬ spiring fear in the hearts of many of the upper-class boys. Looking back later, Charles W. Eliot, who became the president of Harvard Univer¬ sity, vividly remembered the pains and griefs of these boyhood encoun¬ ters on the Common, which became linked forever in his mind with all sorts of dark and childish fears. “It was no small deliverance,” he recalled, “to outgrow the fear of bigger boys, particularly of MasonStreeters and of North-Enders, and of dogs and ferules, and of the imaginary imps and robbers that haunted dark rooms, and lurked under beds and in closets, and hid behind trees in the dim woods, and among the rocks upon the lonely shore.” Yet, for most of the Brahmin boys, these ritualistic challenges were later remembered as the high point of their childhood days; for the contest was not as one-sided as it seemed at first glance. Living so close to the Common, the Beacon Hillers had a great advantage: they could prepare their snowballs the day before, leave them to freeze overnight and carry them in large baskets to the field of battle. Then, in the midst of combat, if they scored a direct hit on the cheeks or the chin, they could draw the “mucker’s” blood. (“Muckers” was the name the Brah¬ min boys used for the Irish youths.) But in the end the Beacon Hillers were generally defeated by the North Enders. For most of the children in the North End, such fleeting images of the well-to-do remained their only contact with the insular world of the Boston Brahmins. But to Johnny, standing day after day at the center of Beacon Hill, the ways of the Brahmins became familiar, and this famil¬ iarity would color his ambitions and his hopes just as surely as his daily experience in the North End. Those days and nights on the Hill opened up for him a different world—a world whose pleasures and privileges he would crave as long as he lived. Johnny’s years on the corner of Beacon and Park witnessed the wan¬ ing days of an extraordinary period in the history of Boston’s elite. From the beginning of the century through the Civil War, Boston had enjoyed a position as the trading capital of America, a dominance made possible in large part through the great speed of her native clipper ships, with their long, slender lines, their tall raking masts and their overhanging

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bows, which outbid any competitor for the Far Eastern trade. Prosperity in shipping had fostered prosperity in manufacturing as well; the first factories in America were developed in Massachusetts. With the wealth gathered from the sea, a score of old Boston families, the Lowells, the Cabots, the Lees, the Higginsons, the Tracys and the Jacksons, had turned to manufacturing, and in this turn a revolutionary new system of factory organization was born. Lor the first time, all the processes of manufacturing a complex commodity were carried on in the same place under a single management; raw cotton went in at one end and came out finished cloth at the other. With both its merchants and its manufacturers moving forward, Bos¬ ton had enjoyed its most prosperous era. In the first half of the nine¬ teenth century, Boston’s available capital was greater even than New Yorks; cotton, railroads, textile mills and mining operations were all financed from Boston, and Boston’s banking system stood at the center of the entire region. It was, in short, a dazzling time, a time, as Fortune magazine later described it, “when Boston was a great port and Boston ships were great ships and Boston banks were great banks and the name of Boston carried the Union Pacific over the Continental Divide.” Moreover, in its moment of economic triumph, Boston, affectionately dubbed “the hub of the universe” by Oliver Wendell Holmes, possessed unchallenged authority in the cultural world as well. As commerce, that great civilizing agency, began to rouse the New England imagination with the tales of travelers, and as the Industrial Revolution and the textile mills on the Merrimack began to weave a new pattern of life, New England produced a cultural renaissance, a phenomenal burst of literary activity. More than a century and a half later, historians would still marvel at the extraordinary concentration of intellectuals, writers and poets who flowered together in the same time and in the same place. The wondrous parade began in the field of history, with the coming of age of an exceptional group of scholars—George Ticknor, William Prescott, Erancis Parkman, George Bancroft, John Motley and John Palfrey—whose large, splendid works on Spain, Mexico, Peru, the Netherlands and the United States would blaze a new trail in the narra¬ tive writing of history. These same years also witnessed an explosion of literary activity in the writing of stories, novels, poems and essays which taken together, proclaimed the birth of a new American literature In the two decades before the Civil War an array of books was produced in New England—including the works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathan¬ iel Hawthorne, Henry David Thoreau, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow John Greenleaf Whittier and Louisa May Alcott—which, in the critic Perry Miller s words, “still staggers our realization.”

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The unusual coherence and community which marked Boston’s lit¬ erary life in these golden years can be traced in part to the remarkable pattern of living which had been established in Boston and existed no¬ where else in the United States. As in Florence in the Renaissance or England in the sixteenth century, early-nineteenth-century Boston had a leading core of citizens who lived in town, saw each other regularly and married into one another’s families; who patronized the arts and letters and interested themselves in local institutions. In an age of in¬ creasing privatism, Boston’s men of wealth still believed in public re¬ sponsibility and in familial values. By the nineteenth century, the “city set on a hill” had, by Puritan standards, become a secular city and religion had yielded its centrality to commerce and politics, but the nonmaterialist ideal of living re¬ mained formidable enough to produce in Boston, more than in any other city in the United States, a culture in which the life of the mind was accorded a dignified and important place. It was this tradition that led New England’s men of commerce to consecrate large portions of their money to learning, to the building of libraries, the endowment of universities, the support of free lectures and the publication of books. And still there was something more. When a Brahmin family had accumulated a certain wealth, instead of trying to build it up still further it would, often enough to take notice, step out of business altogether and try to accomplish something in politics, public service, education, medical research, literature or the arts. Surely there were families like this in other cities, but in Boston, as Samuel Eliot Morison observed, “there were so many of them as to constitute a recognized way of life.” One has only to think of the Quincys, who produced three generations of Boston mayors plus a president of Harvard (indeed, Brahmin leader¬ ship in the mayor’s office was typical down to the Civil War); the Lodges (two senators, a poet, a museum director); the Lowells (a jurist, an educator, an author, a judge, a historian, an astronomer, a president of Harvard and two poets); the Phillipses (a philanthropist, an educator and an abolitionist); the Shattucks (four generations of medical reformers); the Holmeses (a clergyman, an M.D. author, a Supreme Court justice); the Eliots (a mayor, a superintendent of schools, a president of Harvard); the Peabodys (an educator, two professors, an architect, a headmaster and a poet) and what they collectively accomplished in public service, education and the arts to see what was meant by the uniqueness of Boston. And then, of course, there was the incomparable Adams family, which produced a patriot-governor, two Presidents, a diplomat, a histo¬ rian and a writer, with each succeeding generation spurred on by the

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achievements of the past. “I must study politics and war,” John Adams had said at the start of the family dynasty, “that my sons may have the liberty to study math and philosophy. My sons ought to study math and philosophy, geology, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.” These curiously blended families produced a vigorous leadership caste whose houses were alive with the hurry and bustle of politics, reform, combat and crisis. Always in touch with the central currents of contem¬ porary life, they took on the task of directing the destiny of their city and their nation with the same self-confident vigor with which they had sailed the seven seas and built the first factories. In the middle decades of the nineteenth century, Boston was animated by the conviction that commerce and politics, word and deed, thought and action, interact. The politicians and the merchants, the poets and the storytellers, the essayists and the philosophers shared the sense of belonging to a com¬ munity which believed in the disciplined use of words in writing and speaking to provide moral guidance and political leadership to society, a community full of idealism and humanitarianism, experimental theories and radical thoughts. It was the time in the life of the mind of New England when Channing was preaching the optimistic doctrines of unitarianism, when Emer¬ son was inventing the idea of inner perfectibility, and when Margaret Fuller was speaking out for women’s rights. It was the time of The Dial and Brook Farm; it was the time when Elawthorne’s brother-in-law, Horace Mann, later known as the father of the common school, was revolutionizing America’s ideas about public education, when Dorothea Dix was leading her crusade to reform prisons, almshouses and insane asylums, and when Samuel Gridley Howe was pioneering in social re¬ forms for the handicapped. Of all the cities Charles Dickens visited in America, he reserved his highest praise for Boston, “where the tone of society [was one] of perfect politeness, courtesy, and good breeding,” and where he found “the air so clear, the houses were so bright and gay; ... the bricks were so very red, the stone was so very white ... the knobs so marvellously bright and twinkling . . . that every thoroughfare in the city looked exactly like a scene in a pantomine.” “I sincerely believe,” Dickens concluded, “the public institutions and charities of the capital of Massachusetts are as nearly perfect as the most considerable wisdom, benevolence and hu¬ manity can make them.” Through his readings in school, Johnny developed a heroic image of Boston s “merchant princes” who had built their fortunes out of their

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own enterprise and then turned their energies back to the benefit of their city. In his fertile imagination, he could see himself standing in their place, accumulating a fortune and then using it to improve the welfare of his city. Even as a young boy he felt a special tie to Boston, a feeling that his history and the history of Boston were magically inter¬ twined. Though that other Boston was as far removed from his own life in the North End as Ireland was from America, he felt curiously con¬ nected to all the old parts of Boston, convinced that the heritage of the patriots and the abolitionists, the clipper ships and the counting houses, belonged to him as much as it did to anyone else. Required to read Dickens’ glowing description of Boston in school, Johnny took it so to heart that years later he could still recite large portions of it to his daughter Rose. But even as Charles Dickens proclaimed the glory of Boston, the city’s days of dominance were coming to an end. Ironically, it was the Civil War, which tinged the Bostonians with their culminating glory, that served as the agency of their dissolution. While the best energies of the city’s leading citizens were absorbed in the tasks of preserving the Union and freeing the slaves, the nation and the city were changing in such far-reaching ways that the old Bostonians returning from the battlefields of war barely recognized the world they had left behind. The stimulus of the Civil War had enormously quickened the tempo of the age, has¬ tening the spread of the Industrial Revolution, the expansion of the railroads and the development of the factory system. “The headlong growth of business,” observed historian John Higham, “made the city, the machine, and the capitalist the controlling forces in American cul¬ ture.” The dawn of a new spirit was rising in the land, but for Boston it was sunset; her building days were over. With the ending of the Civil War, the interior of the continent rapidly sprang into civilized life. A wholly new America was shaping itself a vastly expanded America in which the balance of power, in numbers of population, in wealth, in productivity and in speculation, was rapidly shifting to the West, opening up vast natural resources and creating a national market capable of absorbing them, an America with which Boston had as yet little relationship. It was a time of recklessness and rapid change calling on men of a practical and opportunistic turn of mind; those who could not adapt to the new conditions were left behind, stranded. Such was Boston’s fate. In the postwar era, her enterprise and vitality were gone. Refusing to follow the way the other parts of the country were hastening, Boston turned its mind backward and clung to the past.

50 - THE

FITZGERALDS

As compared with all the other great cities of the East which did manage to move in harmony with the buccaneering spirit of the new order, Boston alone failed to create a substantial route of trade connect¬ ing it with the vitality of the ever expanding West. Undertaken with vigor in the 1850s, the construction of railroads came to a premature close at the end of the war. To be sure, it would have taken a great deal of Yankee ingenuity to enable Boston’s railroads to compete with the Erie Canal, which had established a link between New York and the fertile plains of the trans-Allegheny West, but the point is that Boston’s capitalists never really tried. And without a direct link to the Midwestern markets, Boston’s foreign commerce languished: line by line the ships from Canton, from Cal¬ cutta, from Russia and from the western coasts of Africa began to change their routes, sending Boston’s trade into a permanent decline. By 1880 Boston’s export trade had declined to 30 percent of the prewar decade, and the harbor stood relatively empty. The waterside streets no longer thronged with sailors, the welcoming wharves became sorely di¬ lapidated, and, as Charles Francis Adams observed, grass began to grow in front of the once bustling warehouses, from the counting-room win¬ dows of which the old merchant princes had looked down on the decks of their vessels. In the prewar era, prosperity in shipping had fostered prosperity in manufacturing; so now the steady decline in commerce went hand in hand with a marked decline in Boston’s manufacturing position. Throughout Boston’s manufacturing community, the spirit of aggressive enterprise was gone. By the mid-1880s, Boston had even lost its edge in the manufacture of readymade clothing. Why this decline occurred is a complex question, although many old Bostonians liked to point to the massive influx of immigrants in the midnineteenth century as the reason for Boston’s decline. For years, these old Bostonians argued, Boston had retained a remarkably homogeneous population. Geographically unsuited to receive large numbers of immi¬ grants—its small area surrounded on all sides by water—it had increased its population slowly during the half century following the American Revolution. Before 1830, the number of immigrants from abroad land¬ ing in Boston annually had never exceeded 2,000; before 1840 it reached 4,000 only once (1837) and most of these were transients, westward bound. Compared to other great port cities these numbers were excep¬ tionally small, and of those who remained the overwhelming majority were drawn from a narrow range of mostly English-speaking countries. As a result, Boston was allowed to preserve its original air of homogene¬ ity longer than the other large cities. A visitor from New York in the 1840s, observing the crowd in the streets, exclaimed, “Why, all these

"the

other

b o s t o n” • 51

people are of one race. They behave like members of one family, whereas with us a crowd is an assembly of all the nations upon the earth.” In this closely knit community in which the leading families spent most of their time together, went to the same schools and shared the same religion, in which most things were within easy walking distance of one another, an aristocratic way of life had been sharply defined which, it can fairly be said, contributed to Boston’s great accomplish¬ ments and achievements in the prewar era. In the aftermath of the Civil War, however, as industrialism and immigration pressed forward with a speed which seemed to leave all the old landmarks behind, this comfort¬ able way of life was threatened with disruption. For all Americans in all parts of the country, the Industrial Revolution introduced massive ele¬ ments of confusion and recklessness into everyday patterns of life. Yet, while others were able to overlook this confusion in the heady atmo¬ sphere of optimism and cheer produced by the humming mills and the smoking factories, the Bostonians, precisely because their culture had been the most coherent, despaired and withdrew into themselves. The familiar world they knew was slipping from its moorings and they were fearful of the crude open seas into which they were plunging. To them, the postwar world represented the triumph of materialism and un¬ abashed vulgarity, the loss of traditional standards and distinction in manners and dress, the end of dignity and repose.. They saw change going on and they interpreted it as decay. The most dramatic change, the influx of immigrants, can be traced, ironically, to the central position which Boston originally held in the shipping trade, a position which induced the famous British steamship company the Cunard Line to establish its terminus in Boston in 1841, and before long others followed its route, adding considerably to Bos¬ ton’s importance as a port. But Cunard’s decision had other conse¬ quences in the years ahead as the necessity of the poor became the opportunity of the wealthy. In the wake of the massive exodus from Ireland following the potato famine, Sam Cunard recognized the profits to be made in filling his ships bound for America with immigrants and then returning with cargo for Europe. By 1850, the Cunard Line was making more than a dozen such trips a year, bringing throngs of desti¬ tute Irish from the port of Cork to Boston. So it happened that a startled and scarcely prepared Boston, whose population was already too large for the confines of the original peninsula, was suddenly flooded by the unanticipated arrival of thousands of immigrants. In the nine years up to 1845, only 33,346 immigrants had landed in Boston. In 1847, in a single year, somewhere over 37,000 arrived in a city of 114,366.

52 - THE

FITZGERALDS

Moreover, in contrast to the earlier immigrants who chose to move on rather than settle under the unfavorable conditions dictated by Bos¬ ton’s physical, economic and social structure, the penniless Irish new¬ comers had no choice but to remain in a city which had no space in which to lodge them, trying to eke out a miserable existence in an atmosphere of cultural homogeneity that was rigidly forbidding to aliens. As a result, Boston’s population swelled from 85,475 in 1840 to 136,881 in 1850. In 1855 there were 55,000 Irish in Boston—more than 34 percent of the total population of the city. The numbers alone make it easy to understand the shock Boston received from its Irish “invaders.” In contrast, New York, though receiving a far larger absolute number of famine immigrants, was three times Boston’s size in population_ 371,223 in 1845 compared with Boston’s 114,366—and its area was six times as large. Moreover, New York in the 1840s was more fluid and diverse in its makeup, a boisterous and open city, far readier than Bos¬ ton to tolerate the new arrivals. In the long view, the influx of the Irish immigrants spoke of a richer and more varied culture for Boston, but at the time it must have been a wrenching experience for the old Bostonians to witness the transforma¬ tion of their cherished, well-ordered city into a slum-ridden metropolis. For even with the land that was added by cutting down the hills and hlling in the Back Bay, Boston’s space was still wholly inadequate for ousing the newcomers, and overcrowding occurred on a fantastic scale. By the second half of the nineteenth century, large areas of Bos¬ ton had lapsed into slum regions of tenements and lodging houses spreading too rapidly to control. Obliged to find shelter wherever and however they could, the Irish were easy prey for speculative landlords who utilized every yard, garden and court, every cellar and every attic to yield the maximum number of hovels that might pass as homes. By 873 more than sixty thousand Irish, one fifth of the population dwelt in tenements. ’ fashionable North End was the first section to give way by the 1870s the West and South Ends had been destroyed as well. The narrow and crooked streets where Sam Adams and John Quincy had dwelt among their fellow patriots, merchants and artisans lost their fa¬ miliar character, rotten now and choked wth dust, straightened out and widened to make room for the mushrooming tenements. In the process many of the Revolutionary landmarks disappeared. New buildings arose upon sites that had once been shaded by great trees, in gardens where birds had sung; gone from the city was the atmosphere of quiet repose for which Boston had been so widely acclaimed. Almost everywhere one looked, life had become abrasive and clamorous.

i i

THE

OTHER

B O S T O N” •

53

Despite the best ideals of the Brahmins, a proletariat was in the mak¬ ing, rapidly shattering the sentimental hope of a shared community life. For with the slums and the poverty came all the attendant problems of pauperism, disease, vice and crime which Boston had heretofore largely escaped. And at the other end of the scale, “power and arrogance accu¬ mulated no less swiftly,” defying all the initial hopes for moderation. Many individual Yankees benefited greatly in this new industrial era, but typically their excess profits came, not from their pitting themselves against the risks of the open seas as in the old days, but from the impov¬ erishment, brutality and debasement of their fellow citizens. As a con¬ sequence, the contrast between the poor and the rich grew sharper and eventually the sodden wretchedness of the slums cast a pall over the entire city. Feeling that their way of life was vanishing beneath their feet, the old Bostonians recoiled in despair. Overwhelmed, they retreated, withdraw¬ ing from their active, robust lives in the once spirited neighborhoods of the North and South Ends to the higher and more rarified ground of Beacon Hill and the Back Bay. There, in the seclusion and safety of their cultivated gardens, surrounded by leather chairs and rare books in their elegant town houses, they were able to forget the slums, the im¬ migrants and the vulgar industrialism engulfing their city. The recoil of fashionable Boston took the form of Anglophilism, in which the ideas, customs and social standards of the British aristocracy assumed an enor¬ mous sway. The British influence affected everything about Boston so¬ ciety in the late nineteenth century—from its literary taste to its taste in clothing, from its custom of afternoon tea to its cotillion, from its hunt balls to the names chosen for the new Back Bay streets—Berkeley, Clar¬ endon, Dartmouth, Exeter, Gloucester and Hereford. “The more the center of gravity of the nation shifted to the West,” Van Wyck Brooks argued, “the more the Boston mind, thrown back upon itself, resumed its old Colonial allegiance.” Anglophilism served as a bulwark against the immigrant invasion; by stressing tradition, lineage and decorum, it sanctioned the Brahmins’ position by right of birth, tying them by invisible bonds to one another, directing them in their tastes and associations, separating them forever from the parvenus and the foreigners. As each year went by, the mood of retreat deepened: by the 1870s, a substantial portion of Boston’s elite had abandoned city living altogether to build large and gracious estates in the country, where their souls could respond once again to the ro¬ mance of the rural ideal and to the pleasures of good conversation with weekend guests of their own choosing. Disentangled from the ebb and flow of the real world, the Brahmins found again the quiet and the

54 - THE

FITZGERALDS

repose they had lost. But in the shifting of their residential patterns, they gave geographic borders to the ethnic and class cleavages of their city, destroying forever the community ideals which had shaped Boston's earlier identity. This mood of retreat had significant economic consequences too as the older families began, branch by branch, to withdraw from produc¬ tive enterprises, choosing instead to salt away their capital in family trust funds which left only a small part of the inheritance fluid, just enough to bring up and educate the children. The rest of the estate was then thoroughly tied up beyond reach, with specific provisions denying the heirs the right to borrow against their inheritances. Developed as a holding action against the future, these trusts enabled the Boston elite to protect their wealth against the materialism of the postwar era. As a consequence, in contrast to the experience in other cities—where the fortunes of the old nineteenth-century families were typically squan¬ dered by the twentieth century according to the cherished American maxim of shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations—the old Bos¬ ton families were able to prolong their power and position for genera¬ tions. In the second quarter of the twentieth century Fortune magazine declared: “The great family trusts stand between the Bostonians and the activities of contemporary life like the transparent but all too solid glass which separates the angel fish of an aquarium from the grubby little boys outside. Indeed, so well did this system work that more than a century later most of Boston’s first families could still trace their lives of privilege to their original family trusts. The trustee system had a deadening impact on Boston's economy, immobilizing its capital for generations. By nature, tradition and design’ the trustees chosen to manage the funds were conservative investors; their task was to multiply the family’s capital in a cautious, steady manner, not to take risks. “I never invest in anything I can’t see from my office window,” an old Bostonian once observed. By the 1870s and 1880s, a mood of guardianship had replaced the earlier mood of enter¬ prise. With the ebbing of Boston’s economic vitality, its mind appeared to atrophy as well. The springtime feeling, the joyous sense of awakening, that had marked its development in the decades before the war gave way to a mood of cheerlessness, of nostalgia and retrospection. The golden era of New England’s literary dominance had come to an end- in its place appeared a sad sterility that masked itself in superiority a genteel cu ture arrogant m its rejection of all the fresh and vital impulses arising in the West and the Midwest, in the writings of such men as Mark Twain or Bret Harte.

“the

other

boston

•

55

In politics as in literature the Enlightenment was over in Boston, and the progressive spirit passed on to New York and the West. The ardor of reform that had burned fiercely in the decades before the war subsided into a well-bred interest in temperance, Negro schools and foreign mis¬ sions. Finding it easier to extend their human sympathies to the Negroes in the South than to the Irish in their own corner, the native Bostonians became more interested in admiring their past accomplishments than in moving forward. The generation of Brahmins who matured after the Civil War—the sons and grandsons of the merchant princes and the manufacturing pioneers—were a different breed from their daring fathers, almost a caricature of the earlier ideal. By and large—there were always excep¬ tions—they were content to be secretaries of the Somerset Club and of Harvard College rather than secretaries of state; successful members of fashionable law firms rather than judges or statesmen; genealogists and antiquarians rather than historians; doctors with lucrative practices rather than contributors to public health and the development of medi¬ cine. Whereas the fathers had championed the public-school system and the Boston Latin School, the sons were enrolled almost from birth in private schools and tapped for membership in private clubs where they could respond to people of their own class and to conversation on their own level. By the 1880s, the archetype of a once virile and creative ruling group had become the Back Bay gentleman who lived on the income from his income, who ate his oatmeal every day even though he hated it, and who carried his umbrella under his arm even on the sunniest of days: the John Adamses had yielded to the George Apleys. Paradoxically, while the old Brahmin world was being swept away, it was at its most fervent; while the days of the Brahmins’ intellectual, industrial and political supremacy were drawing to a close, the social life of the period reached its zenith, shining down to us even now like a masterpiece of art, a portrait in pastels of polite ladies drinking tea and making conversation, of sporting gentlemen in silk top hats, set against a soft background of calling cards and gaslit chandeliers, of butlers in striped trousers and children’s nurses all in white, of drawing rooms and dancing schools, of private clubs and cotillion balls. Insulated in its privileges, ideas and habits, still commanding a very large portion of the wealth, prestige, social dominance and standing in the community, the Brahmin society became more difficult to penetrate than ever be¬ fore. It was this fleeting moment, this moment of high privilege and exqui¬ site social form, that young John Fitzgerald caught in 1879 from his

56 - THE

FITZGERALDS

special position at Beacon and Park. Standing there on his corner, look¬ ing up at the lighted windows, he pictured the people inside, sitting beside a bright fire, reading, talking and sipping wine, and he wanted more than anything else in the world to share in their company. Indeed, the one interior glimpse he was afforded of a Beacon Street home remained with Fitzgerald throughout his life. It chanced that one particularly cold evening, when he had stayed on his corner longer than usual in order to sell out an extra late edition of the Boston Globe, he saw a large, kindly-faced Irish woman, laden with bundles, trying to negotiate her way up the slippery street, and he offered to carry her packages home. Her destination was 31 Beacon, a large red brick man¬ sion which stood across from the Common only a short distance down from the golden-domed State House. In this elegant home she had worked for nearly fifteen years as the second cook, and now, since the master was away for the evening, she invited Johnny in for a warming cup of tea. Seated in the servants’ kitchen, Johnny was possessed of an enormous curiosity about the organization of the household; in particular, he was fascinated with the large number of servants required to keep such a place functioning: a butler, a house footman who waited on tables and cleaned the pantry, a valet, a cook, a second cook, a housemaid who attended to bedrooms, dressing rooms and bathrooms, a parlormaid who was responsible for the drawing room and the library, and a ladies’ maid whose duties included hairdressing, packing and mending. Never shy in moments like this, Johnny asked his new acquaintance if she would take him through some of the rooms upstairs before he had to go. It was during this tour that he came upon the children’s playroom, providing the vision that would remain in his memory. “That playroom was the most extraordinary sight,” Fitzgerald later recalled, “filled with the most elaborate wooden toys you could ever imagine—beautifully carved miniature soldiers and horses, handpainted boats with movable parts, wood-burning locomotives and brightred fire engines with tall ladders.” In coming upon the children s playroom, supervised by a governess and cordoned off from the world of adults, Johnny was also encounter¬ ing an entirely different and more distinct concept of childhood from the one he had experienced in the North End, where life was much less segmented and the separation between childhood and adulthood much less clear. Yet, as he later reconstructed the scene, his thoughts on entering the room and seeing “all those toys, neatly stacked on shelves,” ran in a more personal direction. “I stood in the doorway and made a promise to myself that someday, when I had children of my own, I

< , 1942, requesting inactive duty for six months for an operation and recuperation. He then spent time at the naval hospitals in South Carolina and Chelsea, Mass., but resumed regular duty June 24, 1942; Personal Papers, Box 11, JFK. 647 “You cannot believe . . .”: RFK to JPK, Jr., Sept. 29, 1942, RFK. 647 “crazy about the school”: KK to LB, Sept. 25, 1942, LB. 647 Jack performed excellently: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 48. 647 had to sleep with a piece of plywood: Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., pp. 161, 181. 647 Jack was sorely disappointed: John Harlee, OH-JFKL. 647 “causing his mother . . .”: JPK to M. Sheehy, Oct. 28, 1942, JPK. 647 “the most powerful . . .”: John Harlee, OH-JFKL. 648 “Frankly ... I have not met . . .”: D. I. Walsh to JFF, Dec. 21, 1942, Pre-Presidential Papers, Box 585, JFK. 648 “As to conditions . . .”: JFK to parents, April 1943, RFK. 649 “what they say about Japs . . .”: JFK to parents, May 10, 1943, RFK. 649 Lennie Thom . . . wrote: Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 179; JFK to parents, April 1943, RFK. 649 “Jack was a big . . .”: Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 182. 649 “He was very brilliant . . .”: Ibid., p. 183. 649 “He just seemed like . . .”: Ibid. 649 “Going out every other . . .”: JFK to parents, May 14, 1943, RFK. 650 “lying on a cool . . .”: JFK to KK, June 3, 1943, RFK. 651 “to know that all nuns . . .”: JFK to family, June 24, 1943, RFK. 651 assures his mother: JFK to parents, May 14, 1943, RFK. 651 “You will be pleased . . .”: JFK to RFK, June 24, 1943, RFK. 651 “We were both Catholics . . .”: quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 182. 651 On the night of July 17-18: Ibid., pp. 201-5. 652 “We had a letter from Jack . . .”: JPK to J. O’Leary, Aug. 16, 1943, JPK. 652 “He never really got over . . .”: JFK to parents, Sept. 12, 1943, RFK. 652 On the PT 109 incident see generally Robert J. Donovan, PT 109 (1961); Richard Tregaskis, John F. Kennedy and PT 109 (1962); John Hersey, “Survival,” New Yorker, June 17, 1944, pp. 31-43. 653 “the most confused . . .”: Robert Bulkeley, At Close Quarters (1962), p. 123. 653 It was now about 2:30: New Yorker, loc. cit., p. 31. 654 This is how it feels . . . : Ibid. 654 “Who’s aboard?”: Ibid. 655 “Mr. Kennedy! . . .”: Ibid., p. 32. 656 He thought he had never known: Ibid., p. 34. 656 “Ross, you try it . . .”: Ibid. 657 “I have a letter for you . . .”: Ibid., p. 42. 657 “You’ve got to hand it . . .”: Robert Donovan, p. 187. 657 Rose seems grateful: Rose Kennedy, p. 315. 658 “Kennedy’s Son Is Hero . . .”: NYT, Aug. 20, 1943, p. 1. 658 “blazing new saga . . .”: BH, Aug. 20, 1943, p. 1. 658 “their least effective . . .”: Bryan Cooper, The Battle of the Torpedo Boats (1970), p. 151. 658 “It was easy. They cut my PT boat . . .”: Theodore C. Sorensen, Kennedy (1966), p. 18. 658 “What a splendid story . . .”: M. Beaverbrook to JPK, Nov. 6, 1943, JPK. 659 “It certainly should occur . . .”: JPK to Dr. Hall, Aug. 25, 1943, JPK. 659 “I imagine he’s pretty well . . .”: JPK to JPK, Jr., Aug. 31, 1943, RFK. 659 “I’m sure if he were John Doake’s . . .”: JPK to A. Houghton, Sept. 14, 1943, JPK. 659 “too young to be out . . .”: JFK to JPK, Aug. 1943, RFK. 659 “It certainly brought home . . .”: JFK to parents, Sept. 12, 1943, RFK. 659 he had finally learned: JPK to JFK, Oct. 30, 1943, RFK.

878 • N O T E S

660 “It’s a funny thing ...” JFK to I. Arvad, Sept. 26, 1943, as quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 386. 661 “fast and dangerous . . Hank Searls, p. 181. 662 “The most excited man . . Ibid. 662 “I read this about three hours ...” JPK, Jr., to family, Aug. 29, 1943, RFK. 662 “considerably upset that during . . JPK to JPK, Jr., Aug. 31, 1943, RFK. 662 “With the great quantity ...” JPK, Jr., to parents, Aug. 29, 1943, RFK. 663 At a festive dinner: Hank Searls, p. 183. 663 “Joe Darling ...” RFK to JPK, Jr., Sept. 16, 1943, RFK. 663 “Feel all kinds of affection . . John White Diary. 663 “I love you . . .”: Lynne McTaggart, p. 115. 663 “Here we are on the high seas . . LB to KK, July 1942, LB. 664 “He had been leaping . . .”: LB to KK, Feb. 4, 1943, LB. 664 “He is the most amazing . . KK to LB, May 23, 1943, LB. 664 George Mead: Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 89. 664 “He died trying to rescue . . .”: KK to LB, Sept. 25, 1942, LB. 664 “Future days may bring . . Quoted in Lynne McTaggart, p. 120. 664 “He is buried near the beach . . .”: JFK to parents, April 1943, RFK. 665 On the American Red Cross, see George Korson, At His Side (1945), pp. 258-66; Robert Bremmer et al., The History of the American Red Cross (1950), vol. 13, pp. 53-64. 665 Hans Crescent Club: KK to family, July 10, 1942, RFK. 665 “I consider ourselves most lucky . . .”: T. Mclnerny to JPK, July 28, 1943, RFK. 665 “Don’t get too upset . . JPK to KK, July 3, 1943, RFK. 666 “I’m not sure yet . . .”: KK to F. Waldrop, July 20, 1943, FWP. 666 “The director . . . just had a little chat . . .”: KK to family, Aug. 26, 1943, RFK. 666 “I don’t know how much . . JFK to family, August 1943, RFK. 666 young woman was summarily dispatched: Lynne McTaggart, pp. 129-30. 666 “I judge . . . that you are not . . .”: JPK to KK, Sept. 8, 1943, RFK. 667 she would much prefer: KK to family, Sept. 23, 1943, RFK. 667 “What a woman . . .”: T. Mclnerny to JPK, Sept. 30, 1943, RFK. 667 “Aren’t you longing . . .”: KK to LB, March 25, 1943, LB. 667 “I am really so pleased . . .”: KK to family, July 10, 1943, RFK. 667 “She has gone very far . . .”: KK to family, July 20, 1943, RFK. 667 surrounded by her old friends: T. Rosslyn to JPK, July 1943, RFK. 667 “very good company”: KK to JFK, July 29, 1943, RFK. 668 “It really is funny . . .”: KK to family, July 14, 1943, RFK. 668 “For 24 hours I forgot . . .”: KK to JFK, July 29, 1943, RFK. 668 “I wish his father . . .”: KK to family, Aug. 10, 1943, RFK. 669 “She talks a lot about you . . Nancy Astor to RFK, Aug. 18, 1943, RFK. 669 “As far as I’m concerned . . .”: JPK to KK, Sept. 8, 1943, RFK. 669 “absolutely thrilled . . .”: KK to LB, Aug. 26, 1943, LB. 669 “Of course the news . . .”: KK to family, Aug. 24, 1943, RFK. 669 “the biggest event of the week”: KK to family, Sept. 29, 1943, RFK. 669 “They are so far ahead . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, Sept. 30, 1943, RFK. 670 “easily the nicest girl . . JPK, Jr., to parents, Oct. 27, 1943, RFK. 670 Dining at the Savoy: Ibid. 670 Pat Wilson: Lynne McTaggart, pp. 144-45; marriage to the Earl of Jersey, NYT, Jan. 13, 1932, p. 27; marriage to Robin Wilson, NYT, Sun., Sept. 12, 1937, Sect. 6, p. 4. 670 reported to her father that Pat: KK to family, Nov. 11, 1943, RFK. 670 “living in a mud hole”: JPK, Jr., to parents, Nov. 9, 1943, RFK. 670 “We hopped, skipped . . Quoted in Hank Searls, pp. 189-90. 671 “A small stove . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, loc. cit., RFK. 671 “It was the first party . . .”: KK to parents, Nov. 17, 1943, RFK. 671 Irving Berlin: Ibid. 671 “Kick handled herself . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, Nov. 23, 1943, RFK. 671 Lists of guests attached to Kathleen’s letter, Nov. 17, 1943, RFK.

N O T E S • 879

671 Hartington, now stationed: hank Searls, p. 260. 672 By 1943 many young married women: Lynne McTaggart, p. 146. 672 romance was “unknown . . JPK, Jr., to Pat Kennedy, Jan. 2, 1944, RFK. 672 “Next Saturday is Elizabeth Cavendish’s . . .”: KK to family, Jan. 2, 1944, RFK. 672 “Mother will long for them”: KK to family, Jan. 6, 1944, RFK. 672 made her realize how much: KK to family, Jan. 12, 1944, RFK. 672 “I think it shows . . Ibid. 672 Billy had been granted leave: KK to family, Jan. 20, 1944, RFK. 673 His opponent was Charles White: R. W. P. Cockerton, recollection, unpublished; see also Angus Calder, pp. 637-40. 673 “Palace on the Peak”: Lynne McTaggart, p. 149. 673 letter of support from Churchill: Derbyshire Times, Feb. 11, 1944, p. 1, RFK. 673 “I saw a by-election . . KK to LB, Feb. 23, 1944, LB. 673 Billy could not bring himself: KK to “Mother and Daddy only,” week of Jan. 21, 1944, RFK. 674 “some stretch of the rules”: Rose Kennedy, p. 319. 674 “He took the trouble . . KK to “Mother and Daddy only,” loc. cit. 674 went to see Bishop Matthew: KK to family, Jan. 29, 1944, RFK. 674 “Please try and discover . . KK to JPK, Feb. 22, 1944, RFK. 674 he went to see Francis Spellman: Rose Kennedy, p. 319. 674 “As I’ve told you . . JPK to KK, Feb. 21, 1944, RFK. 675 “the benefit of your counsel . . .”: JPK to JPK, Jr., Feb. 21, 1944, RFK. 675 “Daddy . . . feels terribly . . .”: RFK to KK, Feb. 24, 1944, RFK. 675 “Dear Rose . . Marie Bruce to RFK, Jan. 23, 1944, RFK. 675 “Marie Bruce hasn’t heard . . .”: KK to parents, March 4, 1944, RFK. 675 “Billy also went . . .”: KK to family, April 4, 1944, RFK. 676 “let all the rest of us . . JPK to KK, March 8, 1944, RFK. 676 Kathleen recalled the conversations: KK to LB, May 18, 1944, LB. 676 the Duke presented to her: KK to family, Feb. 22, 1944, RFK. 676 three days with Billy: KK to family, April 24, 1944, RFK. 676 “I have loved Kick . . .”: B. Hartington to RFK, April 30, 1944, RFK. 677 “She said she would . . .”: T. Rosslyn to JPK, May 6, 1944, RFK. 677 “heartbroken and horrified”: Rose Kennedy, “Personal Reminiscences—Private,” RFK. 677 “I thought it would . . Ibid. 677 “Heartbroken. Feel you have been . . .”: Quoted in ibid. 677 “I can’t help admiring Rose . . .”: Interview, Dinah Bridge. 678 “Once she had definitely . . JPK, Jr., to parents, May 8, 1944, RFK. 678 with his potential Catholic constituency: KK to RFK, May 9, 1944, RFK. 678 “Billy is crazy about . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, loc. cit. 678 “Never did anyone . . .”: Quoted in John F. Kennedy (ed.), p. 54. 678 The wedding took place: Derbyshire Times, May 12, 1944, RFK; LT, May 7, 1944, p. 6; BP, May 6, 1944, pp. 1, 3; Time, May 13, 1944, p. 12. 679 “everything was wonderful”: Telegram, JPK, Jr., to RFK, May 7, 1944, RFK. 679 “You would rejoice . . .”: Telegram, Marie Bruce and Nancy Astor to RFK, May 7, 1944, RFK. 679 “The power of silence . . .”: Telegram, JPK, Jr., to JPK, May 7, 1944, RFK. 679 the newspapers headlined the story: Time, loc. cit. 679 the press barraged: Boston Traveler, May 5, 1944, pp. 1, 12; JPK to JPK, Jr., May 24, 1944, RFK. 679 “May the Blessed Mother . . .”: Rev. H. O’Donnell to RFK, May 1944, RFK. 679 she was praying: Grace C. Daumaine to RFK, May 24, 1944, RFK. 679 Rose was inconsolable: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 680 “With your faith . . Quoted in Lynne McTaggart, p. 160. 680 Rose to enter a hospital: BG (eve.), May 6, 1944, pp. 1-2. 680 “Your cable made my happiest . . .”: Telegram, KK to JPK, May 8, 1944, RFK. 680 “I was very worried . . .”: KK to RFK, May 9, 1944, RFK. 681 “She has done the best . . JPK to JPK, Jr., May 24, 1944, RFK.

880 • N O T E S

681 “carried her over the tough time”: Ibid. 681 to send a cable to Marie: KK to family, May 18, 1944, RFK. 681 “now I feel I can . . KK to RFK, May 8, 1944, RFK. 681 “It’s very comfortable . . .”: KK to family, loc. cit. 681 “Just lately she has . . Duke of Devonshire to JPK, Aug. 14, 1944, RFK. 681 “Billy and I talk . . Ibid. 682 “I’m delighted that you . . .”: JPK to JPK, Jr., May 24, 1944, RFK. 682 “as Irish as . . KKH diary and scrapbook, May 17, 1944, RFK. 682 “Although I’ve been . . .”: Ibid., June 13, 1944. 682 “Oh my darling . . B. Hartington to KKH, undated, ibid. 683 “I don’t mind much . . .”: JPK, Jr., to JPK, March 24, 1944, RFK. 683 “I sincerely hope . . JPK to JPK, Jr., April 7, 1944, RFK. 684 “I have finished . . JPK, Jr., to parents, May 8, 1944, RFK. 684 “In any case I am giving . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, May 17, 1944, RFK. 684 Joe Junior took off from Dunkeswell: Hank Searls, pp. 210-11. 684 “I am delighted that I stayed . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, June 12, 1944, RFK. 684 “I stayed with Pat Wilson . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, June 23, 1944, RFK. 685 “Rumor hath it . . .”: RFK to JPK, Jr., July 19, 1944, RFK. 685 “I had a wonderful birthday . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, July 26, 1944, RFK. 685 For a thorough description of the mission see Hank Searls, pp. 223-56. 685 On the V-l flying bombs see Peter G. Cooksley, Flying Bomb (1979), pp. 61-83. 685 “unmanned jet aircraft . . .”: Hank Searls, p. 217. 685 “the doodlebugs”: KKH diary and scrapbook, June 15 and July 3, 1944, RFK. 686 Civilian casualties: Peter G. Cooksley, p. 81. 686 begged Reedy to let him go: Hank Searls, p. 214. 686 “I am going to do . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, July 26, 1944, RFK. 687 “I can quite understand . . .”: JPK to JPK, Jr., Aug. 9, 1944, RFK. 687 “There was never an occasion . . .”: L. Papas to JPK, Aug. 22, 1944, RFK. 688 “I’m about to go . . .”: Hank Searls, p. 242. 688 “the biggest explosion I ever saw”: Quoted ibid., p. 250. 688 It was early Sunday: Rose Kennedy, pp. 323-24. 689 “No. This cannot wait . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 689 Rose ran upstairs: Rose Kennedy, p. 324. 689 “Children, your brother Joe . . .”: Edward M. Kennedy (ed.), p. 207. 689 “loving him as much . . .”: Pat Wilson to RFK, Aug. 14, 1944, RFK. 690 “I do not understand . . .”: Pat Wilson to JFK, Sept. 8, 1944, RFK. 690 “Dear Kick has been . . .”: Duke of Devonshire to JPK, Aug. 14, 1944, RFK. 690 “I’m so sorry I broke down . . .”: Quoted in Hank Searls, p. 258. 690 Jack and Kathleen . . . church: Lynne McTaggart, p. 175. 691 “the blackest hours . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 691 she confessed that because: Ibid. 691 “I have never known . . .”: M. Soden to Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, Aug, 18, 1944, RFK. 691 “Their words created . . . JPK to Duke of Devonshire, Aug. 1944, RFK. 692 “There was something . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 692 “Don’t get worried . . .”: JPK, Jr., to parents, Aug. 4, 1944, RFK. 692 “Joe threw the letter . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 692 “As soon as I fully . . .”: Ibid. 692 “I had been longing . . .”: Mother Patterson to RFK, Aug. 27, 1944, RFK. 693 “When young Joe was killed . . .”: JPK to W. Howey, March 4, 1954, JPK. 693 he could not regard: JPK to M. Sheehy, Jan. 6, 1945, RFK. 693 “It was one of the most . . .”: Arthur Krock, OH-JFKL. 693 “I still can’t read . . .”: JPK to G. St. John, Dec. 7, 1944, JPK. 693 “I just can’t get in the mood . . .”: JPK to J. Calder, Sept. 26, 1944, JPK. 693 “because all my plans . . .”: JPK to A. Houghton, Sept. 11, 1944, JPK. 693 “When the young bury . . .”: JPK to B. Green, May 8, 1945, JPK. 694 “After almost nine years . . .”: JPK to W. Howey, March 4, 1954, JPK. 694 Unable to relax with her mother: Lynne McTaggart, p. 177.

N O T E S • 881

694 certain social niceties: Ibid., pp. 180-81. 694 brave and fearless . . J. Crowley to KKH, undated, RFK. 694 “The last six days . . B. Hartington to KKH, Sept. 4, 1944, RFK. 694 “They were deliriously happy . . Quoted in Michael Howard and John Sparrow, The Coldstream Guards (1951), p. 284. 695 “The reception we have had . . Billy Hartington to KKH, Sept. 4, 1944, RFK. 695 “That night a sharp dose . . Michael Howard and John Sparrow, p. 286. 695 On the morning of Sept. 8: Ibid., p. 289; Lynne McTaggart, pp. 182—83. 695 “Come on, you fellows . . Derbyshire Times, Sept. 22, 1944, RFK; LT, Sept. 20, 1944, p. 7. 696 news reached Kathleen: Lynne McTaggart, pp. 184-85. 696 she left for Quebec: Telegram, JPK to Duke of Devonshire, Sept. 19, 1944, JPK. 696 “So ends the story . . .”: KKH diary and scrapbook, RFK. 696 “He loved his Derbyshire home . . .”: LT, Sept. 20, 1944, p. 7. 697 “I guess God has taken . . .”: Quoted in Richard J. Whalen, p. 375. 697 “This is a very hard . . .”: KKH to LB, Nov. 29, 1944, LB. 697 “Please tell Kathleen . . .”: Telegram, FDR to JPK, Sept. 1944, JPK. 697 “Repeated blows . . .”: Telegram, JPK to Winston Churchill, Sept. 20, 1944, JPK. 697 “For a fellow who didn’t . . .”: JPK to M. Beaverbrook, Oct. 23, 1944, JPK. 698 “completely powerless . . .”: Quoted in Lynne McTaggart, p. 176. 698 “his superiority sealed . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 698 “terribly exposed . . .”: Ibid. 699 “His worldly success ...” John F. Kennedy (ed.), p. 5. 699 “could read only . . .”: JPK to A. Krock, June 21, 1945, JPK. 699 “Joe used to talk about . . .”: Francis Russell, The President Makers (1976), p. 361. 700 Kennedy had asked Kane: JPK to J. Kane, Feb. 8, 1944, JPK. 700 “There is something original . . .”: J. Kane to JPK, Feb. 14, 1944, JPK. 700 “still his gay self . . .”: JPK to R. Fay, March 26, 1945. 700 voiced the fear: JPK to Bobby Kennedy, March 19, 1945, RFK. 701 “You could set your clock . . .”: Quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 367. 701 “it was the one thing . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 701 “his father had set up . . Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 367. 701 “If I hadn’t been warned . . .”: Joseph P. Kennedy, “Notes on the 1944 Political Campaign,” JPK. 702 “a huge and unprovable faith . . .”: James M. Burns, Roosevelt: The Soldier of Free¬ dom (1970), pp. 611-12. 702 Ruppel reached Jack: Telegram, L. Ruppel to P. O’Leary, April 23, 1945, Pre-Presidential Papers, Box 73, JFK. 702 “It would be very easy . . .”: Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr., A Thousand Days (1965), p. 88. 703 “I think your column . . .”: JPK to JFK, May 11, 1945, RFK. 703 his heart swelled: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 703 “offered him quite a responsible . . .”: JPK to R. Wilson, June 21, 1945, JPK. 703 “Will see Eden ...” JFK to JPK, May 28, 1945, RFK. 703 “was fighting a tide . . .”: New York Journal American, June 24, 1945, JPK. 704 “this boy had the makings . . .”: Arthur Krock, OH-JFKL. 704 “He’s planning to go back . . .”: JPK to L. Ruppel, Aug. 7, 1945, JPK. 704 Merchandise Mart: NYT, Sun., July 22, 1945, p. 32; Time, July 30, 1945, p. 84. 704 “Joe had a genius for seeing . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 704 “At the time air-conditioning . . .”: quoted in Edward M. Kennedy (ed.), p. 47. 705 “Harry Truman has taken . . .”: JPK to J. Calder, Aug. 22, 1945, RFK. 705 Jack spent “hours on end”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 705 did not have “a temperament . . .”: Ibid. 705 “It was like being drafted. . . .”: Quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 356. 705 “Jack arrived home . . .”: JPK to J. Calder, loc. cit. 706 “a stranger in the city . . Richard J. Whalen, p. 393. 706 two-room suite at the Bellevue: “A Kennedy Runs for Congress,” Look, June 11, 1946, p. 35.

882 • N O T E S

706 public speaking did not come: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 65. 707 “It was a most interesting . . Mary R. Lincoln to JFK, Sept. 13, 1945, Pre-Presidential Papers, Box 11, JFK. 707 “Many a night when . . Interview, Eunice Kennedy Shriver. 707 “If I walked out on the stage . . Interview, Dave Powers. 708 "He never once said to anybody . . Kenneth O Donnell and David F. Powers, “Johnny, We Hardly Knew Ye" (1970), p. 59. 708 “There was a basic dignity . . Interview, Dave Powers. 708 “in a state where money . . J. Kane to JPK, March 3, 1944, JPK. 708 “Your Jack is worth . . .”: Ibid. 708 “Joe Kane had such . . Interview, Lem Billings. 708 “I thought Jack wouldn’t last . . Interview, Dave Powers. 708 “It was a strange thing . . Ibid. 709 Curley ran a victorious campaign: BP, Nov. 7, 1945, pp. 1, 10, 14. 709 “Give the kid a break! . . .”: J. Kane to JPK, March 7, 1946, RFK. 710 “Therefore, since he would have . . .”: JPK to J. Kane, March 11, 1946, RFK. 710 “The temper of the times . . .”: BG, April 23, 1946, p. 11. 710 On Mike Neville see Cambridge Chronicle, April 4, 1946, pp. 1, 10. 710 “The poor little rich . . .”: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 65. 710 “During the bitter . . .”: Cotter speech, undated, Pre-Presidential Papers, Box 73, JFK. 710 “People said he was simply . . Interview, Dave Powers. 711 “almost victory—politically speaking”: J. Kane to JPK, Jan. 29, 1946, RFK. 711 “There was something about . . .”: Interview, Dave Powers. 711 “There was only a twenty-watt . . .”: Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, pp. 5253; interview, Dave Powers. 712 recalled a similar: John Droney, OH-JFKL. 713 Powers recalled a similar: Interview, Dave Powers. 713 “It was the strangest . . .”: Ibid. 713 “Joe Kennedy was the mastermind . . .”: Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 398. 713 “The Ambassador was the essential . . .”: Mark Dalton, OH-JFKL. 713 “behind the scenes . . .”: RFK to KKH, June 6, 1946, RFK. 714 working “like a beaver”: JPK to J. Kane, Feb. 11, 1946, RFK. 714 Jack would be addressing: J. Kane to JPK, Feb. 25, 1946, RFK. 714 “Men who pushed back . . .”: Pre-Presidential Papers, Box 11, JFK. 714 “My story about the collision . . Herbert S. Parmet, p. 111. 714 “After he’d been in a bar . . .”: Interview, Dave Powers. 715 “I felt that his courage . . .”: Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, pp. 66-67. 715 “I remember saying to the man . . .”: Joe McCarthy, p. 20. 715 “Fitzgerald was a cheerleader . . .”: Interview, Billy Sutton. 716 “All he had to do . . .”: William De Marco, OH-JFKL. 716 “I seem to be the only . . .”: Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, p. 59. 716 “Kennedy was at his best . . .”: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 67. 717 “The older ladies seemed . . .”: John Droney, OH-JFKL. 717 “Miss Kirby and Miss Norton . . .”: May 21, 1946, Pre-Presidential Papers, Box 98, JFK. 717 “from Irish bartenders . . .”: Bobby Kennedy to RFK, May 1946, RFK. 717 “hot weather campaigner”: Billy Sutton, OH-JFKL. 718 The story is told: Interview, Dave Powers. 718 “everybody wanted . . .”: Richard J. Whalen, p. 401. 718 “too effeminate”: John Droney, OH-JFKL. 719 “It created a gigantic traffic . . .”: Quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 473. 719 “Every girl there . . .”: Ibid. 719 “I have an obligation . . .”: Look, June 11, 1946, p. 32. 719 “He has guts . . Ibid, pp. 34-36. 720 nearly $250,000: Ralph G. Martin and Ed Plaut, p. 133. 720 a contribution of $600,000: The newspaper reported the gift during the first weeks of August; see Pre-Presidential Papers, JFK.

N O T E S • 883

720 “I’m not a politician . . Released June 17, 1946, Pre-Presidential Papers, Box 98, JFK. 720 votes were all counted: BH, June 19, 1946, pp. 1, 14. 720 It was a jubilant group: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 68; BG (eve.), June 19, 1946, p. 4; BH, June 19, 1946, p. 14. 720 “If Mr. Kennedy lives up to . . BG, July 9, 1946, Herald Morgue Files. 721 “I find myself with a new . . .”: JPK to John Clark, Nov. 1, 1946, JPK. 721 “My crystal ball . . .”: H. B. Swope to JFK, Nov. 6, 1946, Pre-Presidential Papers, Box 5, JFK. 722 Eunice . . . executive secretary: NYT, Jan. 17, 1947, p. 20; Worcester Evening Ga¬ zette, Jan. 20, 1947, JFK. 722 “substantial efforts . . NYT, loc. cit. 722 “Eunice was born . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 723 “If that girl had been born . . Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 159. 723 “Of all the kids . . .”: Quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 524. 723 The Georgetown house was a lively: Herbert S. Parmet, pp. 172-73; Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., pp. 518-26. 723 The women in Jack’s life: Herbert S. Parmet, pp. 167-68; Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., pp. 499, 551-53. 723 “He was young, rich, handsome . . Quoted in Ralph G. Martin, A Hero for Our Time (1983), p. 54. 723 “I could walk with Jack . . Ibid., p. 53. 723 “I went to his house . . Quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., pp. 516-17. 724 “Jack liked girls ...” Ibid., p. 526. 724 “I was at some posh restaurant . . .”: Quoted in Ralph G. Martin, p. 54. 724 “his continual, almost heroic sexual ...” Garry Wills, p. 33. 724 “He’d read everything . . Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 175. 725 “The whole thing with him . . Ibid., p. 176. 725 “would strike down . . .”: Congressional Quarterly fact sheet, week ending May 13, 1960, p. 846. 725 “While he loved the process . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 726 “I don’t think he really . . .”: Quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 512. 726 “I think time was heavy . . .”: William O. Douglas, OH-JFKL. 726 Curley had been indicted: The trial began Nov. 19, 1945; see BP, Nov. 20, 1945, p. 1. 726 “most serious and precarious . . .”: BG, June 24, 1947, p. 1. 726 there was a new numbness: BG, June 25, 1947, p. 6. 726 denied his plea: BG, June 26, 1947, pp. 1, 14. 727 Calling the sentence “cold”: BG, June 27, 1947, p. 2; see also CR, 80th, 1st, June 26, 1947, pp. 7763-64. 727 “I don’t know how many . . .”: Mark Dalton, OH-JFKL. 727 he sided with Joe Kane: Charles Murphy, OH-JFKL. 727 implored Jack to find out: Ralph G. Martin and Ed Plaut, p. 153. 728 “I think they were so . . .”: Garrett Byrne, OH-JFKL. 728 “If Jack signed . . .”: Quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 551. 728 “It was not easy . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 728 singled him out in the press: BG (eve.), July 8, 1947, p. 1; unidentified clippings, July 8 and 9, 1947, Herald Morgue Files. 728 “Well I’m dead now, . . Ralph G. Martin and Ed Plaut, p. 153. 728 “I thought he made a . . .”: Daniel O’Brien, OH-JFKL. 728 met by scores of jubilant: Unidentified clipping, Nov. 27, 1947, Herald Morgue Files. 728 “We do not begrudge . . .”: Reprinted in unidentified clipping, Dec. 14, 1947, Herald Morgue Files. 729 “to study education . . .”: BG (eve.), Sept. 10, 1947, JFK. 729 Leaving Boston on Sunday: BH, Sept. 1, 1947, p. 33. 729 “a picture book castle”: Rose Kennedy, diary notes on Lismore Castle, RFK. 729 “the most perfect place”: KKH to LB, Sept. 3, 1947, LB.

884 • N O T E S

729 “Anthony Eden arrives . . . Ibid. 729 “rather depressed”: KKH to LB, April 1, 1945, LB. 729 “It nearly kills me . . KKH to parents, March 24, 1945, RLK. 730 “I try and do lots . . KKH to parents, April 25, 1945, RLK. 730 “Just got Daddy’s letter . . KKH to parents, Leb. 27, 1945, RLK. 730 “Thinking of you . . Telegram, JPK to KKH, May 2, 1945, RLK. 730 “Why does that daughter ...” Interview, Pamela Churchill Harriman. 730 “those attractive old . . RLK to JPK, Sept. 1947, RLK. 730 “I feel that I have ...” KKH to LB, Sept. 20, 1945, LB. 730 found herself once more surrounded: Lynne McTaggart, pp. 205-6. 730 “I love your letters . . .”: Anthony Eden to KKH, Jan. 10, 1948, RLK. 731 “We have a varied group . . .”: KKH to JPK, Sept. 18, 1947, RLK. 731 “rather quietly, rather . . Quoted in Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., pp. 558-59. Lor description of Ireland trip, interview, Pamela Churchill Harriman. 732 It was during one of their long talks: Interview, Lem Billings. 732 On Peter Litzwilliam see Lynne McTaggart, pp. 206-8, and his obituary, LT, May 15, 1948, p. 6. 733 all the tickets were sold: KKH to parents, June 16, 1946, RLK. 733 On the night of the ball: Lynne McTaggart, p. 209. 733 “Peter and Kathleen . . Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 166. 733 “Peter had all the charm . . .”: Ibid. 733 “like Joe Kennedy . . Ibid. 733 Kathleen told Jack: Interview, Lem Billings. 734 Kathleen shared with Jack: Ibid. 734 “she has all her friends . . .”: RLK to JPK, Sept. 1947, RLK. 734 “got on terrifically well . . .”: KKH to LB, Dec. 27, 1947, LB. 734 diagnosed a victim of Addison’s: Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 561. 734 “That young American . . Quoted ibid. 734 When the Boston papers: BH and BT, Oct. 6, 1947, and BP, Oct. 11, 1947, JLK. 735 “At least one half . . Robert Kennedy, “Tribute to JLK,” Look, Leb. 25, 1964, p. 38. 735 “He went along . . .”: Rose Kennedy, p. 217. 735 “Those who knew him . . .”: Look, loc. cit., p. 38. 735 It was a bitter winter: BT, March 6, 1948, pp. 1, 2. 736 including Kathleen, who had arrived: KKH to LB, Leb. 21, 1948, LB; Lynne Mc¬ Taggart, p. 219. 736 before returning to England: KKH to LB, loc. cit.; Lynne McTaggart, p. 228. 736 Promising to be the social event: Life, May 10, 1948, p. 153; Time, April 26, 1948, p. 85. 736 “I don’t know what to do . . .”: Quoted in Lynne McTaggart, p. 228. 737 “She looked really alive . . .”: Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 169. 737 “I was going to take . . .”: Marie Bruce to JPK, May 6, 1952, RLK. 737 absolutely “radiant”: Lynne McTaggart, p. 129. 737 “If he objects . . Quoted ibid., p. 230. 738 Description of the airplane ride: Ibid., pp. 232-36. 739 “I’m not sure . . Ibid., pp. 236-37. 739 Jack was lying: Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 170. 739 had a sweet voice: Ibid. 739 Ambassador Kennedy heard the news: BH, May 14, 1948, p. 1. 739 Meanwhile, all the far-flung: BA, May 15, 1948, p. 8. 740 When Joe Kennedy called home: BH, loc. cit., pp. 1-2. 740 According to the New York Daily News: Lynne McTaggart, p. 243. 740 “only near him that she . . .”: BP, May 14, 1948, pp. 1, 8. 740 Kathleen’s burial: LT, May 21, 1948, p. 7. 740 “I can still see . . Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 170. 742 “He was in terrible pain . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 743 “The thing about Kathleen and Joe . . Quoted in James M. Burns, John Ken¬ nedy . . . , p. 54.

NOTE S • 885

743 “a sort of slow-motion leukemia”: Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., A Thousand Days, p. 96. 743 “runs through your mind . . Interview, Lem Billings. 743 “Tell me, Teddy boy . . Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 171. 744 “After Kathleen’s death . . Interview, Lem Billings. 744 “There was something . . Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 172. 744 “Slowly he began to fight . . Interview, Lem Billings. 745 the Kennedys quickly stored away: Joan and Clay Blair, Jr., p. 567. 745 “a markedly increased sense . . .”: Quoted ibid., pp. 567-68. 745 “When he was first told . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 745 Mary Curley: BG, Feb. 11, 1950, pp. 1, 3; Interview, Francis Curley. 745 “Stunned by the news . . .”: BG, Sun., Feb. 12, 1950, p. 34. 746 “an incredibly moving . . Interview, Dave Powers. 746 “The man must be made . . .”: Ibid. 746 The visit to his grandfather: Interview, Lem Billings. 747 Eight months later: BG, Oct. 3, 1950, pp. 1, 15. 747 “one of Boston’s most . . .”: BP, Oct. 3, 1950, p. 1. 747 He had outlasted: Edward died March 3, 1940; James T., Jan. 22, 1950; Henry, Feb. 22, 1955. 747 “Grief-stricken” by the news: BP, Oct. 5, 1950, p. 1. 748 “In spite of his age . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 748 “Bankers knelt side by side . . .”: BP, Oct. 6, 1950, p. 19. 748 “All his life . . .”: Interview, Clem Norton. 748 he decided to stick with politics: Interview, Lem Billings. 751 “the idea of the family . . .”: Ibid. 751 “an inner eye”: Ibid. 751 “In the process . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 752 “He is such a wonderful . . .”: Sara Miller to JPK, undated (c. March 1, 1920), JPK. 752 “Even in a crowded room . . .”: Interview, Richard Goodwin. 752 “When we were reading . . Interview, Eunice Kennedy Shriver. 753 “Some people have their liberalism . . James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 155. 754 “The world breaks . . Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, p. 249. 754 “Whenever Mother traveled . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 755 “Jack told me . . Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, p. 79. Joe Dinneen reported that by August 1952 Kennedy had spoken in 311 of the 351 cities in Massa¬ chusetts, The Kennedy Family, p. 143. 756 “sleeping in a crummy . . .”: Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, p. 78. 756 Bickford . . . journeyed: L. Bickford to JPK, Sept. 1, 1951, JPK. 756 “As far as I’m concerned . . .”: JPK to J. Calder, Nov. 24, 1951, RFK. 756 “When you’ve beaten Lodge . . Time, July 11, 1960, p. 19. 756 “You wonder why . . .”: Richard J. Whalen, p. 417. 756 “He asked me what I thought . . .”: William O. Douglas, OH-JFKL. 756 Paul Dever: Herbert S. Parmet, p. 232; see also Current Biography (1949), p. 148; Chicago Tribune, July 22, 1952, p. 6. 757 “It really was the Governor’s . . .”: Interview, Judge J. John Fox. 757 “We will all be anxiously . . .”: L. Bickford to JPK, April 3, 1952, JPK. 757 “I’ve just talked to Dever . . .”: Lawrence O’Brien, No Final Victories (1974), p. 26. 757 John Kennedy was known to only: Clifford Leach, “The Selling of the President, undergraduate thesis, HU, 1978. 757 On Lodge’s background see William J. Miller, Henry Cabot Lodge (1967). See also obituaries, Feb. 28, 1985, BG, p. 1, and BH, pp. 1, 7. 757 “Rarely in American politics . . James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 102. 757 “From the beginning . . Interview, Henry Cabot Lodge II. 758 “From the start . . .”: Ibid. 758 “You must permit the use . . .”: Dwight D. Eisenhower, Mandate for Change (1963), p. 18. 758 “It is a dangerous gamble . . .”: BP, Sun., Nov. 18, 1951, p. 25.

886 • N O T E S

759 “to be right in the swing . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 759 “We had a beautiful brochure . . Interview, Dave Powers. 759 “This is one way to get . . J. Landis to JPK, May 13, 1952, JPK. 759 “because after all, they are . . JPK to B. Brickley, March 23, 1952, JPK. 759 “no limit on the number . . B. Brickley to JPK, June 12, 1952, JPK. 760 the father was the distinct: Ralph G. Martin and Ed Plaut, p. 161. 760 “I told Jack’s father . . Ibid. 760 the callous treatment of Mark Dalton: Richard J. Whalen, p. 420. 760 “a grave disappointment”: Mark Dalton, OH-JFKL. 760 “Dalton was at his desk . . .”: Quoted in Richard J. Whalen, p. 420. 761 “The whole affair really hurt . . .”: Interview, John Galvin. 761 “absolute disaster”: Herbert S. Parmet, p. 238. 761 “Don’t drag me into it.”: Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, p. 83; Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., Robert Kennedy . . . , p. 59. 761 his academic record: Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., Robert Kennedy . . . , pp. 65-67. 761 he had “willed himself”: Interview, Lem Billings. 761 “He is a remarkable boy. . . M. Beaverbrook to JPK, March 12, 1948, JPK. 761 “He is just starting off . . .”: JPK to M. Beaverbrook, March 23, 1948, JPK. 761 “I am very grateful . . JPK to John Noonan, Jan. 20, 1949, JPK. 762 “Bobby could handle the father . . .”: Kenneth O’Donnell, recorded interview, Oct. 8, 1968, Stein Papers (made available to the author by Jean Stein). 762 “prepared a magnificent . . Interview, Judge J. John Fox. 762 “Every afternoon Dever’s people . . Interview, Phil Fine. 762 the Ambassador, argued that an open fight: Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, p. 88. 763 The more Kennedy’s advisers studied Lodge: James M. Burns, John Kennedy pp. 104-5. 763 “We were in a real bind . . .”: Interview, Phil Fine. 763 “What more do you want?”: Quoted in Richard J. Whalen, p. 426. 763 “I can still remember . . Interview, Henry Cabot Lodge II. 764 “There was so little . . .”: Ibid. 764 “a growing feeling . . .”: Ibid. 765 the powerful paper printed: BP, Oct. 31, 1952, pp. 1, 20. 765 Fox admitted: Joe McCarthy, pp. 139-40. 765 “Oh yes, I’ve heard that story . . Interview, Henry Cabot Lodge II. 766 thirty-three teas: Interviews, Polly Fitzgerald and Helen Keyes. 766 “For approximately two hours . . .”: Cabell Phillips, “Case History of a Senate Race,”NYTMagazine, Sun., Oct. 26, 1952, p. 10. 766 “Mrs. Kennedy was a key . . .”: Interview, Polly Fitzgerald. 766 “because she had always felt . . JPK to J. Calder, Dec. 31, 1952, JPK. 766 dramatic letter from Japan: Joseph Dinneen, The Kennedy Family, pp. 148-50. 767 “one of the very first . . .”: BG, Nov. 4, 1952, p. 7. 767 election day, the early returns: BP, Nov. 5, 1952, pp. 1,13. 767 “At five a.m. ... we could feel . . Interview, Dave Powers. 767 “I extend my congratulations . . .”: BT, Nov. 5, 1952, p. 20; BG (eve.), Nov. 5, 1952, p. 1. 767 “Until then I don’t think Jack . . Interview, Lem Billings. 767 “This is probably one . . .”: JPK to J. Calder, Dec. 31, 1952, JPK. 768 “I kept thinking . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 769 On the night of January 20, 1953: NYT, Jan. 21, 1953, p. 1. 769 “From the beginning . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 769 On Jackie see Gordon L. Hall and Ann Pinchot, Jacqueline Kennedy (1964); Kitty Kelley, Jackie Oh! (1978). 770 “I knew right away . . Interview, Lem Billings. 770 “the little boy, sick so much . . .”: Theodore H. White, “For President Kennedy: Epilogue,” Life, Dec. 6, 1963, p. 159. 770 “They were kindred . . Interview, Lem Billings. 771 “It was a very spasmodic . . .”: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 127.

NOTES- 887

771 “his chariness of marriage . . Kitty Kelley, p. 30. 771 “For the Kennedy family . . Interview, Lem Billings. 771 “It was enough for me . . . Conversation, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. 772 “I used to tell him . . Ibid. 772 “They are very nice . . JPK to B. Gimbel, July 13, 1953, JPK. 772 Rose let it be known: Gail Cameron, pp. 248-49. 772 For her part: Conversation, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. 772 “nearly crushing the bride”: NYT, Sept 13, 1953, p. 1. 772 “I was alone almost every weekend . . .”: Kitty Kelley, p. 51. 773 his parents had experienced: Interview, Lem Billings. 773 “Jack kept assuring us . . .”: Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 197. 773 that a man is paying: Elinor Glyn, “Marriage,” Good Housekeeping, September 1913, pp. 347-52. 773 “A woman cannot live . . .”: The Pilot, March 9, 1907, p. 8. 773 “While on one level . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 774 “This time the pain . . .”: Ibid. 774 forced to use crutches: Evelyn Lincoln, My Twelve Years with John F. Kennedy (1965), pp. 53-54. 774 According to his doctors: Joe McCarthy, p. 150. 774 That same year: James A. Nicholas et al., “Management of Adrenocortical Insuffi¬ ciency During Surgery,” Archives of Surgery, November 1955, pp. 737-38. 774 “Jack was determined . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 775 “to clear up a wartime injury”: NYT, Oct. 11, 1943, p. 39. 775 the operation was postponed: NYT, Oct. 21, 1954, p. 17, James A. Nicholas et ah, loc. cit., p. 739. 775 he was placed on the critical list: Evelyn Lincoln, p. 56. 775 Footnote: Interview, Lem Billings. 775 he dropped into a chair: Arthur Krock, OH-JFKL. 775 “it seemed inconceivable . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 775 “The doctors don’t understand . . .”: Evelyn Lincoln, p. 56. 776 “It was a terrible time . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 776 “By February, Joe came . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 776 “The whole time I was there . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 776 “Aside from experiencing . . .”: BP, May 24, 1955, p. 6. 776 including a huge basket: BG (eve.), May 24, 1955, p. 11. 776 “there wasn’t so much talk . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 776 “a history . . BG, loc. cit. 777 “the sort to restore respect , . .”: NYT Book Review, Jan. 1, 1956, p. 1. 777 the ancient ideal of individual: John W. Ward, Red, White and Blue: Men, Books and Ideas in American Culture (1969), p. 148. 777 Of all the virtues: Look, Feb. 25, 1964, p. 37. Ill “This kind of political production . . .”: Garry Wills, p. 135. Ill In the first round of the selection: Ibid., pp. 136-37. 778 the prize was awarded: BG (eve.), May 6, 1957, p. 1. 778 “a distinguished American . . .”: Herbert S. Parmet, p. 395. 778 “The gold ring . . Interview, Richard Goodwin. 779 Pointing out: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 125. 779 “a hopeless internecine . . .”: Herbert S. Parmet, p. 285. 779 censure of McCarthy: David Crosby, God, Church, and Flag (1969), p. 21; Berkshire Eagle, Dec. 3, 1954, JFK. 780 “It was the goddamnedest thing . . .”: Conversation, Lyndon B. Johnson. 780 “the most telegenic . . BG, July 22, 1956, JFK. 781 “He has youth . . .”: BG, July 1956, JFK clipping in JFK scrapbook. 781 Joe Kennedy tried to hold: Joe McCarthy, p. 156. 781 “defeat would be a devastating blow . . .”: JPK to JFK, May 23, 1956, JPK. 781 “although if it looks . . .”: JFK to JPK, June 29, 1956, Sorensen Papers, Box 9, JFK. 781 “With Eisenhower running . . .”: JPK to M. Downey, July 1956, JPK. 782 sentiment in Stevenson’s headquarters: NYT, Aug. 16, 1956, p. 1.

888 • N O T E S

782 “It was as if Jack’s marriage . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 782 “the personality of the Senator . . Quoted in Herbert S. Parmet, p. 367. 782 “Senator Kennedy came before . . Ibid., citing NYT, Aug. 14, 1956. 783 Eleanor Roosevelt refused: Eleanor Roosevelt, “Stevenson, Truman and Kennedy, Saturday Evening Post, March 8, 1958, pp. 32-33. 783 wanted Kennedy to deliver: Unidentified clipping, Aug. 17, 1956, Herald Morgue Files. 783 “the goddamned stupidest . . .”: Conversation, Lyndon Johnson. 783 “tell him I’m going for it”: Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, p. 122. 783 “a momentary paralysis”: Interview, Lem Billings. 783 “The next twelve hours . . .”: Evelyn Lincoln, p. 80. 783 “they kept Carmine de Sapio . . .”: Joe McCarthy, p. 162. 783 Jack mistakenly approached Humphrey: Theodore C. Sorensen, pp. 99-100. 784 “Texas proudly casts its vote . . .”: Joseph Dinneen, The Kennedy Family, p. 202. 784 “I’ve been thinking . . .”: L. B. Johnson to JPK, Aug. 25, 1956, JPK. 784 “That’s it, let’s go”: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 190. 784 “This was his great moment . . .”: Ibid. 785 Jack flew: Unidentified clipping, Aug. 18, 1956, JFK. 785 “Jack arrived here . . .”: JPK to M. Downey, Aug. 24, 1956, JPK. 785 Rushed to the hospital: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 164. 785 For three days, the Kennedy family: Kitty Kelley, p. 56; unidentified clipping, Aug. 28, 1956, JFK. 785 “Senator Kennedy . . Quoted in Kitty Kelley, p. 57. 785 For months, Jackie had been planning: Joseph Dinneen, The Kennedy Family, p. 207. 785 “Jackie losing the baby . . .”: JPK to Michael Morrissey, Aug. 30, 1956, JPK. 786 “This was true for Bobby . . Interview, Lem Billings. 786 “People wrote of how . . .”: Evelyn Lincoln, p. 87. 787 “After dinner . . . Jack . . .”: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 789 “He brought the old ward boss . . .”: Interview, Richard Goodwin. 790 “All of a sudden . . .”: Conversation, Lyndon Johnson. 790 “one of the highest honors . . .”: NYT, Jan. 9, 1956, p. 1. 790 “colonies are like fruit . . .”: NYT, July 3, 1957, p. 1. 790 “perhaps the most . . .”: Ibid. 790 “You don’t know it . . .”: James M. Burns, John Kennedy . . . , p. 196. 791 both Jack and his father were opposed: Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., Robert Ken¬ nedy . . . , p. 142; Ralph G. Martin and Ed Plaut, p. 202. 791 “a little more rumpled . . .”: Harold Martin, “The Amazing Kennedys,” Saturday Evening Post, Sept. 7, 1957, p. 49. 791 “This is the first time . . .”: Aileen Marshall to Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, July 31, 1957, RFK. 791 “I find Bobby a most . . .”: M. Beaverbrook to JPK, Dec. 11, 1957, JPK. 791 “The Rise of the Brothers Kennedy,” Look, Aug. 6, 1957, p. 18. 791 “the biggest and the best . . .”: Saturday Evening Post, loc. cit., p. 44. 791 “Fervent admirers of the Kennedys . . .”: Ibid., p. 49. 792 “You never really accept . . .”: JPK to J. Knight, March 11, 1958, JPK. 792 “Jack is the greatest . . Ralph G. Martin and Ed Plaut, p. 461. 792 “Seldom in the annals . . .”: Time (a Greenwich, Conn, paper), May 15, 1957, JFK. 792 Jackie gave birth: BG (eve.), Nov. 27, 1957, p. 1; BG, Nov. 28, 1957, pp. 1, 4. 792 “That child made all . . .”: Kitty Kelley, p. 82. 793 “Jack was more emotional . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 793 “Shall await the big . . RFK to children, Aug. 5, 1958, RFK. 793 a record turnout gave Kennedy: Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, p. 145. 793 “The vote was beyond our fondest . . JPK to Joe Conway, Nov. 18, 1958, RFK. 793 “How’s Kennedy doing?” Joseph Dinneen, The Kennedy Family, p. 235. 794 “just another campaign”: BG, Nov. 4, 1958, p. 1. 794 just sixteen days short: BG, Nov. 13, 1958, pp. 1, 3; BH, Sun., Nov. 16, 1958, pp. 1, 50.

N O T E S • 889

794 “I am announcing today . . NYT, Jan. 3, 1960, p. 1. 795 “This is the most exclusive . . Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 218. 795 “Jack knows the sorrow . . Miscellaneous Clippings, undated, RFK. 795 “Rose is sensational . . J. Fayne to JPK, Feb. 17, 1960, RFK. 796 “Whenever Uncle Joe would hear . . Interview, Ann Gargan King. 796 “What to do with books Father Cavanagh to RFK, March 23, 1959, RFK. 796 “1 loved all the villages . . Interview, Rose Kennedy. 797 “The Wisconsin farmer . . Carroll Kilpatrick, OH-JFKL. 797 worked out an arrangement: Dave Powers, letter to the author, summer 1985. 797 the Sunday before the Tuesday election: Ira Kapenstein, OH-JFKL. 797 On primary night, his fears: Theodore H. White, The Making of the President, 1960 (1967), p. 94. 797 “It means that we have to . . .”: Ibid.; Kenneth O’Donnell and David Powers, p. 160. 797 “Here is where fate . . Pierre Salinger, With Kennedy (1966), p. 34. 797 “We have a few troubles . . .”: JPK to M. Beaverbrook, April 20, 1960, RFK. 798 cartoon from a Baptist: Western Voice, Aug. 18, 1960, JPK. 798 “I am a Catholic . . .”: Robert McDonough, OH-JFKL. 798 The reaction he got: Ibid. 798 first encounter with hunger: Theodore H. White, loc. cit., p. 106. 799 “There were more monuments . . .”: Peter Lisagor, OH-JFKL. 799 “Any discussion of the war . . .”: NYT, May 7, 1960, p. 11. 799 “The religious issue . . .”: BG (eve.), May 11, 1960, p. 32. 799 “the unmistakable sound . . NYT, May 12, 1960, p. 1. 799 “Well the seven primaries . . .”: JPK to M. Beaverbrook, May 27, 1960, RFK. 800 “I haven’t had anything . . Stated before the West Virginia and Kentucky delega¬ tions, quoted in New York Herald Tribune, July 14, 1960, p. 12, JFK. 800 All spring long, the Ambassador: Eugene Kennedy, Himself! (1978), pp. 155-56. 800 Daley waited: Ibid., pp. 157-58; see also Len O’ Connor, Clout: Mayor Daley and His City (1975), p. 153. 800 “With that the hope . . .”: Theodore H. White, loc. cit., pp. 167-68. 800 Kennedy had successfully: Ibid., pp. 168-69. 800 Never leaving: Interview, Ann Gargan King. 801 “there was no question . . .”: Ibid. 801 Rose later recalled trying: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 801 “Handsome as thoroughbreds . . .”: Time, July 11, 1960, p. 19. 801 “It’s just like the circus . . .”: BG, July 14, 1960, p. 1. 801 The candidate himself was watching: Theodore H. White, loc. cit., pp. 169-70. 802 “They walked off into the corner . . .”: Hugh Sidey, OH-JFKL. 802 the Ambassador had been arguing: Interview, Rose Kennedy. 802 “Lyndon Johnson and Joseph Kennedy . . .”: Interview, Ann Gargan King. 802 Early Thursday morning, Kennedy telephoned: Thomas O Neill, OH-JFKL. 802 “incredibly happy . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 803 “We cannot turn our . . Lawrence Fuchs, John F. Kennedy and American Ca¬ tholicism (1967), pp. 176-77. 803 “I believe in an America . . .”: Washington Post, Sept. 13, 1960, p. A16. 803 “Neither man fell flat . . .”: BG, Sept. 28, 1960, p. 19. 804 “maybe the audience . . .”: Ibid. 804 “To be transferred from the Nixon . . .”: Theodore H. White, loc. cit., p. 337. 804 The papers reported: BG, Nov. 9, 1960, p. 17. 804 “It was a festive meal. . . .”: Interview, Ann Gargan King. 805 the key state was Illinois: Eugene Kennedy, pp. 179-87. 806 “I’ve brought a message . . .”: Interview, Ann Gargan King. 806 his father was by his side: BG, Nov. 9, 1960, p. 31. 806 “I’m never there ...”: Kitty Kelley, p. 98. 807 “Jack doesn’t belong . . .”: Hugh Sidey, “Joe Kennedy s Feelings About His Son, Life, Dec. 19, 1960, p. 32.

890 • N O T E S

807 “I don’t know what’s wrong . . Hugh Sidey in Lester Tanzer (ed.), The Kennedy Circle (1961), p. 186. 807 “Ted, you’ve got a base here . . Quoted in Peter Collier and David Horowitz, p. 285. 807 “The person who was primarily . . Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., Robert Ken¬ nedy . . . , p. 371. 810 35 million immigrants: Oscar Handlin, The Uprooted, p. 31. 811 “We are the heirs of all time . . Herman Melville, as quoted in John Higham, p. 21. 811 “It is the old story . . Garry Wills, p. 61. 812 a raging snowstorm: BG, Jan. 21, 1961, p. 1; Washington Post, Jan. 20, 1961, p. 1A. 812 There came the sons and daughters: Unidentified clipping, Jan. 18, 1961, Herald Morgue Files; New York Herald Tribune, Jan. 19, 1961, p. 3, and Jan. 20, p. 3. 812 At a few minutes before twelve: Washington Post, Jan. 21, 1961, p. 6A. 813 When General Eisenhower was inaugurated: Washington Post, Jan. 20, 1961, p. 1A. 813 “romantic sentiment mingled . . .”: Interview, Lem Billings. 813 At the first inauguration: Joseph Nathan Kane, Facts About the Presidents: A Com¬ pilation of Biographical and Historical Data (1959), pp. 11-12, 30-31, 58-59. 813 The idea of inviting: BG, Sun., Jan. 22, 1961, p. 4A. 814 “If you can bear . . .”: Ralph G. Martin, p. 6. 814 As the old poet began reading: BG, Jan. 21, 1961, p. 4; Washington Post, Jan. 21, 1961, p. 6A. 814 “the town had experienced . . .”: Irish Times, Jan. 21, 1961, p. 9. 815 “It will remain one of the greatest . . . ”: Duke of Devonshire to JPK, Jan. 26, 1961, JPK. 815 “Oh, Jack, what a day”: Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr., A Thousand Days, p. 14. 815 “It was an extraordinary moment . . .”: Interview, Eunice Kennedy Shriver. 816 “We’re not going to live . . .”: New York Journal-American, Jan. 8, 1961, p. 25.

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INDEX

(Note: Subentries for persons are chronologically arranged. Abbreviations: FDR, Franklin Delano Roosevelt; JFF, John Francis Fitzgerald; JFK, John Fitzgerald Ken¬ nedy; JPK, Joseph Patrick Kennedy; P.J., Patrick Joseph Kennedy.) Abbey Players, 204-7 Abbot, Gordon, 275 Abbott, Edith, 132 Abruzzi, Duke of the, 129 Ace of Clubs, 203-4, 261 Acorn, Thomas, 20 Acton, Mass., 12, 77-78, 80-81 Adams, Charles Francis (d. 1886), 537 Adams, Charles Francis (d. 1915), 50 Adams, Charles Francis (d. 1954), 275, 748 Adams, Henry, 29 Adams, John, 48, 513, 537 Adams, John Quincy, 275, 513, 777 Adams, Samuel, 52 Adams family, 47, 477 Addams, Jane, 132 Addison, Thomas, 734 Adenauer, Konrad, 815 Affairs of Anatol, The (film), 383 Ahmed Husain, Prince, 542 Airlie, Lady, 575 Aitken, Jane Kenyon-Slaney, 733, 737, 740 Aitken, Max, 737 Alba, Duke of, 672 Albee, Edward, 375-76 Albert, Raymond, 654 “Albert the Male” (Lippmann), 217 Alcott, Louisa May, 46, 87 Algerian war, 790 Allen, Frederick Lewis, 299, 323 Allen, Robert, 431, 567 Alsop, Joseph, 743, 803 Amagiri (Japanese destroyer), 653, 654, 658, 766-67, 812

Ambrose, Margaret, 722 American Association for the Study of the Feeble Minded, 358 American Federation of Labor, 316 American Mercury, The, 641 American Protective Association (APA), 99 American Red Cross, 664-65, 697 “America the Beautiful,” 132 Amery, Leo, 557 Ames family, 236 Amory, Charles, 485 Amory family, 236 Anastasia, Sister, 643 Ancient Order of the Hibernians, 73 Anschluss, 519-20, 548 Antin, Mary, 37 “Appeasement at Munich” (Kennedy), 604-5 Appleton, Francis III, 356 Arashi (Japanese destroyer), 653 Arbuckle, Fatty, 370 Arcadia lodging-house fire, 249-51 Arvad, Inga, 630-35, 659, 734 Asquith, Margot, Lady, 564 Astaire, Adele and Fred, 546 Astor, John Jacob II, 134 Astor, John Jacob IV, 210 Astor, Nancy Langhorne, Lady Astor, 540, 555, 567, 577, 579, 597 and Kathleen, 541-42, 584, 667, 668669, 679, 740 Astor, Vincent, 210, 435 Astor, Waldorf, Lord Astor, 541, 555, 577, 584

906 • I N D E X

As We Remember Joe (John F. Kennedy), 699 Atkins, Edward, 210 Atkinson, Joseph, 649 Atlantic Monthly, The, 6-7, 581 Atwood, Albert, 419 Auchincloss, Hugh, 770, 771, 772 Auchincloss, Janet Lee Bouvier, 769, 770, 772 Augusta Victoria, Kaiserin, 185 Austria, 268, 519-20, 548 Baillie, Lady, 540 Baillie, Pauline, 540 Baker, Newton D., 429 Balch, Emily Greene, 132 Baldwin, Stanley, Lord Baldwin, 559, 560, 604, 605 Bancroft, Edward Erastus, 66 Bancroft, George, 46 Bancroft, Hugh, 325 Bank for International Settlements, 572 Bank of America, 238, 340 Bank of England, 572, 592 Bank of Italy, 344 Barat, Sophie, 145 Barron, Helen, 361, 441 Bartlett, Charles, 769 Baruch, Bernard, 294, 296, 436, 447-48, 529 Bates, Katharine Lee, 132 Battis, George, 160 Baxter, Beverly, 596 Baxter, James Phinney III, 535 Beaverbrook, William Maxwell Aitken, Lord (Max), 598, 658, 697, 734, 737, 800 lauds Robert Kennedy, 761, 791 JPK’s friendship with, 796 Bedard, Peter A., 388 Beery, Wallace, 383 Belgium, 268, 597-98 Bell, Alexander Graham, 278 Bemis, Samuel, 778 Benchley, Nathaniel, 504, 535 Benchley, Robert, 535 Benes, Eduard, 557, 571 Ben-Gurion, David, 815 Bennett, Constance, 415-17 Benton, Thomas Hart, 777 Berchtesgaden Conference, 553, 556 Berkeley, Busby, 414 Berlin, Irving, 405 Berry, Seymour, 730, 740

Bethlehem Steel Corp., 277-81, 283— 284, 286-87, 291-93 Bickford, Leland, 756, 758 Bigelow, Professor, 67 Bigger than Barnums (film), 347 Bilainkin, George, 581 Billings, Josh, 465 Billings, Kirk Le Moyne (Lem), 460, 465— 466, 485 friendship with JFK, 353, 464-65, 486, 487, 490, 506, 717, 776, 802 and Kathleen, 482, 484, 606, 742 in North Africa, 663-64 Bilodeau, Thomas, 477 Bingham, Robert W., 490, 491, 509 Birth of the Movies, The (Wenden), 346 Black Tuesday, 421 Blitz, 608-9, 611 Bloomfield, Meyer, 281 Blumenthal, Holland, 155, 159, 174-89 Boettiger, John, 431, 568 Boleslavsky, Richard, 413 Bolton Abbey, 546 Boston Aldermen, Board of, 113, 121, 122, 243 ascendancy and decline of, 45-55,

112 Bath Department, 115 Brahmin neighborhoods of, 44-45, 53, 55-57 charter reform in, 191, 197 “Coal Graft Hearings” in, 138-40, 147-48, 149 “Codman Street land deal” case in, 154 Collecting Department, 120 Common Council (later, City Council), 70, 73-75, 92-93, 113, 122, 134, 157, 202, 243, 454 Curley mayorship of, 252, 726-28 education in, 28-31, 35-37, 55, 6163,66 epidemics in 33-35, 285-88 Finance Commission probe, 133-42, 147-50, 155-57, 191-95 passim, 251 Fitzgerald mayorship of, 110-29, 133— 153,197-205,242-46 flagstone contract scandal in, 148-49, 151-54, 161-73 Health, Board and Department of, 76, 115, 120 Irish immigrants in, 3-35, 51-53, 80

I N D E X • 907

Irish social set in, 202-4 Irish ward boss system in, 69-76, 9299, 106-9, 117,125, 228-30 Italians in, 94, 228 Jews in, 94, 99, 228 “July Fourth larceny” case in, 154, 160 Lamp Department, 115 Law Department, 141 Library Department, 115 newsboys in, 37-45 newspapers in, 38-41, 106 Parks Department, 115 police strike in, 316-17 population statistics, 32, 52, 112, 228 School Committee and Department, 37, 66, 122, 141, 192 Street Department, 120 Supply Department, 137-41, 147-49, 153, 161 ff. Water Department, 115 Weights and Measures, Department of, 118, 136 Boston American, 154, 173, 252, 502-3 Boston Braves, 270 Boston City Club, 192 Boston City Hospital, 287, 309-10 Boston College, 66 Boston Daily Advertiser, 38, 96, 98, 761— 762 Boston Daily Record, 503 Boston Evening Record, 129, 137, 140 Boston Evening Transcript, 111, 231, 287 Boston Globe, 39, 56, 114, 271, 594, 614617, 720 Boston Herald, 38, 122, 134, 252, 317 Boston Journal, 38, 119 Boston Latin School, 55, 61-63, 66, 81, 87, 124, 210, 214, 216, 228 Boston Post, 38, 114-15, 159, 261, 274, 747-48 endorses JFK for Senate, 764-65 and Fitzgeralds’s home life, 199-201 Boston Red Sox, 227, 270 Boston Red Stockings, 128 Bostons Immigrants (Handlin), 8 Boston Stock Exchange, 293-94, 453 Boston Transcript, 39 Boston Traveler, 38 Bourne, Randolph, 276 Bouvier, Caroline Lee, 792 Bouvier, Jacqueline, see Kennedy, Jacqueline Bouvier

Bouvier, John III, 769, 770, 774 Bowen, Patrick, 148-49, 151, 157 Bradfield, Red, 687 Bradford, Robert, 758 Brain Trust, 431 Brand, Lord, 703 Brandeis, Louis D., 120, 235 Brant, Irving, 778 Breen,Joseph, 514 Brennan, John, 601 Brewer, Basil, 763, 764 Brickley, Bart, 759 Bridge, Dinah Brand, 362, 540, 542, 627, 677, 703 Britain and Austria, 519-20, 548 and Czech crisis, 548ff. in First World War, 268, 270-73 and German Jews, 568-69, 570-71 Germany, ultimatum to, 587-88 and Ireland, 10-11, 64—65, 268 and Munich, 561-67, 571-72 1945 election in, 703—4 and Poland, 572, 587 and Rhineland occupation, 517 in Second World War, 588-600, 607610, 694-95 Britain, Battle of, 607-8, 685 British Foreign Office, 595-96, 617 Broderick, Thomas, 711 Brook Farm, 48 Brookline, Mass., 301ff. Brooks, John, 420 Brooks, Van Wyck, 53 Brooks, Walter, 422 Brown, Capability, 546 Brown, Hiram, 422 Bruce, Marie, 671, 675, 679, 681, 737 Bruff, Ireland, 9, 80, 159 Brush, Matthew, 337-38, 441 Bryan, William Jennings, 122, 184 Bryant, William Soher, 66 Buchan,John, 535 Buchanan, James, 513 Bulfinch, Charles, 4 Bulkeley, John D., 645, 646 Bulkeley, Robert, 653 Bullitt, William C., 492, 551, 583 Bullock, Alan, 470 Bundy, McGeorge, 356 Bundy, William, 356 Burke, Charles, 410, 477 Burke, Margaret Kennedy, 212-13, 228, 410, 412, 441, 643

908 • I N D E X

Burke, Nancy, 662 Burke, Ned, 662 Burke, Thomas, 65fn. Burke, William, 600, 603 Burns, James MacGregor, 702, 716, 753, 757, 778, 784-85 Burns, John J., 452, 454, 478, 522, 663 Business Week, 496 Butler, Alban, 5 Buttrick, Major, 86 Byrne, Garrett, 728 Byrne, John, 311 Byrnes, James F., 499, 514, 611, 612, 781 Byrnes, Mrs. James F., 611 Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 724 Byron, Walter, 402, 413 Cabot family, 46, 57, 191, 477 Cadogan, Sir Alexander, 553 Calder, Sir James, 468, 472, 540, 693, 705, 756, 766, 767 California Stock Exchange, 453 Calkins, Mary, 132 Cameron, Gail, 201 Campbell, Thomas, 211-16 passim, 256, 269-72, 275, 282, 323-24, 507, 508 Cannon, Frances Anne, 582, 650 Canterbury, Archbishop of, 575 Canterbury Preparatory School, 460 Carcano, Bebe and Chiquita, 670, 672 Carens, Thomas, 380 Carlyle, Thomas, 752, 753 Carnegie Steel Corp., 283 Carney, Francis, 164, 171-72 Carpentier, Georges, 323 Carr, Samuel, 135 Carroll, Charles, 92 Carter, Boake, 510-11 Casado, Sigismundo, 579, 581 Casey, Joseph, 625—27, 757, 799 Cass, Thomas, 16 Catholic Digest, The, 625 Catholicism Fitzgerald and, 24-27, 64, 88-89, 104, 142-43, 715 Freemasons and, 547 Harvard and, 216, 476 Hitler and, 474 and Irish immigrants, 3-7, 14, 24-27, 62 JFK’s unorthodoxy on, 353, 635, 651, 691, 716, 743, 753

JPK and, 310, 312, 580-81, 674, 676, 679-81, 693, 720 and the Kathleen-Hartington marriage, 546-47, 673-81, 697 loses ground in Boston, 318-19 parochial-school system of, 30, 62, 104; see also Sacred Heart Convents as political issue for JFK, 781, 792, 795, 797-98, 799, 803 prejudice against, 29-30, 99, 100 Roosevelt and, 611 Rose’s commitment to, 185-89, 307— 308, 677, 679, 690, 736, 773, 796 Catholic Literary Union, 114 Cavanagh, Father, 804 Cavendish, Adele Astaire, Lady Cavendish, 546 Cavendish, Lord Andrew, see Hartington, Andrew Cavendish, Marquess of Cavendish, Anne, 679 Cavendish, Lord Charles, 546 Cavendish, Elizabeth, 672, 679, 696, 703, 736 Cavendish, Lord Frederick, 64-66, 544 Cavendish, William, see Hartington, William Cavendish (Billy), Marquess of Cecil, Lord David, 672 Cecilian Club, 203 Celeste, Vincent, 793 Cermak, Anton, 433 Chamberlain, Joseph, 610 Chamberlain, Mrs. Neville, 526, 537 Chamberlain, Neville, 517-18, 605 appeasement policy of, 518, 520, 529, 549-50, 552-65, 571-72, 604, 605 JPK’s first contacts with, 526, 528-30 FDR and, 534, 557-58 and German Jews, 568-71 changes policy, 571-72 and Franco, 579 and invasion of Poland, 586-88 declares war, 588 as war leader, 590-91 resigns, 597 death of, 610, 611 Chamberlain, Norman, 528 Chambers, William, 778 Channing, William Ellery, 48 Chaplin, Charles, 385, 399 Charitable Irish Association, 73 Charles I, King, 527

I N D E X • 909

Colum, Padraic, 176 Chase Manhattan Bank, 292-93 Columbia Trust Co., 237-39, 253-58, Chatsworth, 546, 586, 696, 740 387, 412, 442 Checker Cab Co., 330 Coman, Katharine, 132 Cherrill, Virginia, 669, 670 Committee Against Military Chevalier, Maurice, 414 Intervention in Europe, 601 Chicago Herald, 502 Committee of 50 (Boston, 1880s), 17 Chicago Herald-American, 702, 704 Commons, House of, 520, 559—61, 563— Chichester, Earl of, 543 565, 572, 587-88, 597 Children of Mary, 182-83, 185, 187 Commonweal, 803 Childs, Marquis, 792 Compton Place, Eastbourne, 546, 680, Choate family, 236 696 Choate School, 456-65, 477, 481, 486Conant, James B., 532 489 Concord, Mass., 78, 86-87, 103-5 Churchdale Hall, 546 Churchill, Pamela, 729, 730, 731-32, 734 Concord Enterprise, 83, 89 Conlan, Michael, 20 Churchill, Randolph, 598, 740 Considine, Bob, 705, 816 Churchill, Winston, 530, 605, 610, 740 Constitution (frigate), 100 and Eden’s resignation, 518, 519 Consumers League, 132 and Czech crisis, 549, 555, 559 Conway, Joseph, 506, 793 attacks Munich policy, 564 Coolidge, Calvin, 316 and declaration of war, 588 Coolidge, Louis, 316 and FDR, 550, 591 Coolidge family, 236 leads Britain in war, 597-99 Cooper, Alfred Duff, 556, 563-64, 671 and Hartington, 673, 697 Cooper, Bryan, 658 is turned out of office, 703-4 Coral Sea, Battle of, 648 Cinema Credits Corp., 344 Corbett, Joseph, 98, 125, 150, 230 Citizen Kane (film), 402 Corcoran, Thomas G., 452 Civil Rights Act (1957), 790 Costello, Frank, 443 Civil War, 41,45, 49, 51,70 Cotter, John F., 710, 711 Clark, Marguerite, 641 Coulthurst, John A., 150 Clasby, Mary Jo, 78, 79, 90 Cox, Channing, 331 Cleveland, Grover, 102-3, 274 Cox, Mary, 13, 58 Cliveden, 537, 541, 567, 577-79, 584, Cox, Philip, 13 667 Coxe, Betty, 627 Cliveden set, 567 Crider, John, 614 Clover Club, 503 Crocker, George, 135 Coakley, Daniel, 153, 160, 161-62, 164, Crocker, G. Glover, 326 167-70, 172, 246-48, 601 Crosby, Alfred, 285 Coakley, Timothy, 125 Crowley, Timothy, 120 “Coal Graft Hearings,” 138-40, 147, Crowther, Geoffrey, 703 148, 149 Crum, Erskine, 342 Cochran, Thomas, 20 Cuddihy, Michael, 162 Cochrane, Robert, 371-72 Cuddihy Brothers, 148, 162 Coglan, Ralph, 614-17, 758 Cukor, George, 393, 395 Cogley, John, 803 Cummings, A. J., 616 Cohasset, Mass., 325-27 Cunard, Samuel, 51 Cohen, Jack, 431 Cunard Line, 51 Cohen, Milton, 388 Curley, James Michael, 121, 334, 712 Colbert, James, 758 elections of, 243-49, 251-52, 709 Coldstream Guards, 607, 668, 671, 695 imprisonment of, 726-28 Coleman, John (Zeke), 606 and family tragedies, 745-47 Colliers Weekly, 209-10 defeated for Senate, 757 Collins, Patrick A., 106-7, 114, 128 death of, 793-94 Colum, Mary Magiore, 176-77, 178

910 • I N D E X

Curley, Leo, 745 Curley, Mary, 726, 745 Curley, Thomas, 121 Currier, Guy, 277, 342, 344, 420 Curry, Margaret, 131 Cushing, Barbara, 479-80 Cushing, Harvey, 430 Cushing, Richard Cardinal, 230, 642, 720,7 813 \ Customs House, Boston, 92 Cutler, John Henry, 106, 153 Cutler, Robert, 748 Cutten, Arthur, 296 Cymric, S.S., 156, 157-58, 189 Czechoslovakia, 548-65, 571, 573, 574, 583, 584 Daily Mail, London, 666 Daladier, Edouard, 560 Daley, Richard J., 755, 794, 800, 805-6 Dali, Anna Roosevelt, 430, 433 Dali, Curtis, 430 Dalton, Cornelius, 781 Dalton, Mark, 710, 713, 717, 727, 760761 Daniels, Josephus, 279 Danzig, 583, 588 Davenport, Russell, 501-2 Davies, Marion, 393, 800-801, 812 Davis, Ben, 459 Davis, Sir Daniel, 734 Davis, Elmer, 367 Davis, Mary, 726 Dawson, Geoffrey, 577 Day, Henry Mason, 439, 440 D-Day, 684, 685 Dean, Dizzy, 506 Dean, Dudley, 325-26 de Bedts, Ralph, 454 Degnan, Ellen, 128 De Guglielmo, Lawrence, 719, 760 Dehan, Mr., 441 De Mille, Cecil B., 371, 374, 376-79, 383, 406-7 Democratic Business Men’s League of Massachusetts, 495 Democratic national conventions 1912: 198 1932: 428-29 1940: 600-604 1956: 782-85, 786 I960: 800-802 Dempsey, Jack, 323 Denison House, 132

Denmark, 596-97, 602, 605 Denver Stock Exchange, 453 Derby, Lord, 525 Derr, E. B., 345, 387, 388, 405, 406-7 de Valera, Eamon, 538 Dever, Paul, 756-57, 762-63 Devine, Marney, 361 Devonshire, Edward William Spencer Cavendish, 10th Duke of, 544, 546— 547, 579, 586, 672, 675 and son’s wedding, 678-79 and daughter-in-law Kathleen, 681, 690-91, 696, 729, 734,740 at JFK’s inauguration, 812, 815 Devonshire, 8th Duke of, see Hartington, Spencer Compton Cavendish, Marquess of Devonshire, llth.Duke of, see Hartington, Andrew Cavendish, Marquess of Devonshire, Evelyn Fitzmaurice, Dowager Duchess of, 546 Devonshire, Mary Alice GascoyneCecil, Duchess of, 546-47, 672, 690, 696, 703, 729, 734 and son’s marriage, 674, 678-79 and Kathleen’s burial, 740, 741 at JFK’s inauguration, 812, 815 Devonshire, Victor Cavendish, 9th Duke of, 546 Devotion, Edward, 355 Devotion School, 355, 356 Dewey, Henry, 108, 109 Dewey, Thomas E., 758 Dexter School, 355-56, 368 Dial, The, 48 Dickens, Charles, 48, 49 Dickerson, Nancy, 723 Dillingham, Charles, B., 303-4 Dineen, Joseph, 72, 78 Dirksen, Herbert von, 569 Disarmament Conference (Geneva), 470 Disney, Walt, 532, 535, 536 Dix, Dorothea, 48 Dodge, J. B., 414 Doherty, Cornelius, 16 Doherty, Neil, 92 Donahoe's, 80, 87, 104 Donham, Wallace, B., 369, 372 Donovan, James, 98, 107, 139, 150 Donovan, Joseph, 211, 216, 232-33, 275 Donovan, Ned, 96, 107-8 Douglas, William O., 454, 636, 726, 756

I N D E X • 911

Douglas-Home, William, 542, 667, 740 Dowling, Eddie, 435 Downey, Morton, 427, 573, 781, 785 Doyle, James, 120, 125 Draper, Eben, 160 Draper family, 236 Drawdy, Leon, 652 Dreiser, Theodore, 232 Drew, Daniel, 13 Droney, John, 711, 712-13, 717, 718 Duncliffe, Bill, 241 Dunglass, Lord, 560 Dunkirk, 598, 599, 607 Dunn, Edward J., 764 Dunphy, Christopher, 282-83, 298, 300, 314,411,496 Du Pont Company, 572 Durant, William Crapo, 298 Dwan, Allan, 404 Dyer, Micah, 18 Early, Stephen, 536, 636 East Boston Leader, 237 Eastern Steamship Line, 296, 297-98, 300, 337, 420 Eden, Anthony, 518, 519, 528, 561, 597 and the Kennedys, 703, 729-31, 740 Edmondson, Charles, 614 Eighteenth Amendment, 441 Eisenhower, Dwight D., 758, 763, 767, 769 as President, 779, 780, 789, 795, 813 runs for reelection, 781, 783 Eisenhower, Mamie, 813 El Alamein, Battle of, 663 Eleventh (earlier, Ninth) Congressional District, Mass., 97-99, 709, 710ff., 723, 725, 753 Eliot, Charles W., 45, 67 Eliot, Samuel, 28-29, 61 Eliot family, 47 Eliot Grammar School, 31, 35-37, 74 Elizabeth II, Queen (earlier, Princess Elizabeth), 527, 545, 558, 584, 733, 771 Elizabeth, Queen Consort (wife of George VI), 525-27, 543, 558, 584, 610, 615 Ellis, Rose, 90 Elphinstone, Lord and Lady, 526 Emergency Banking Act, 434 Emergency Fleet Corp., 279, 281 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 46, 48, 86, 87 Entwhistle, Lillian, 346

Erie Canal, 50 Ernst, George, 135 Ethiopia, conquest of, 529 Eton College, 270, 458, 525, 528, 545 Evans, Ruth, 132 Fairbanks, Douglas, 372 Fairlamb, G. R., 623 Falaise de la Coudraye, Henri de la, 389— 391, 393, 394-95, 408, 413, 415-18 Falvey, Catherine, 710 Famous Players Film Co., 372 Famous Players-Lasky, 382, 386 Farley, James A., 431, 495, 600, 601, 603-4 Farley, John Wells, 133, 148-49, 162-63 Farm Credit Act, 434 Fay, Paul “Red,” 647, 700, 717 Fayne, Joseph, 795 FBO (Film Booking Offices), 341-48, 350, 375, 376, 379-80, 403, 422 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 632-33, 634 Federal Trade Commission, 446, 449 Fegan, Edward, 68 Ferguson Passage, 653, 655-56 Ferry, Dr., 507 Field, Henry, 628 Field, Marshall, 704 Field, Patsy White, 628, 736-37 Fifth Avenue Coach Co., 330, 335, 336 Finch College, 606 Fine, Philip, 762, 763 Finians Rainbow, 739 Finnegan, Margaret, 186 Finnegan, Miriam, 221 First National Bank of Boston, 236, 293, 344, 443 First National Exhibitors’ Circuit, 378— 379, 381 First Ward National Bank, 253-55 First World War, see World War I Fisher, Robert, 211-16 passim, 269-72, 275, 322-24, 325 Fisk, Jim, 13 Fitzgerald, Agnes, see Gargan, Agnes Fitzgerald Fitzgerald, Bridget (JFF’s aunt), 9 Fitzgerald, Edmond (JFF’s greatuncle), 11, 88 Fitzgerald, Edward (JFF’s brother), 18, 125, 126, 141, 157, 442, 747 Fitzgerald, Elizabeth Theresa Degnan, 128

912 • I N D E X

Fitzgerald, Ellen (JFF’s aunt), 9 Fitzgerald, Ellen Rosanna (JFF’s sister), 31, 33-35, 288 Fitzgerald, Ellen Wilmouth (JFF’s grandmother), 9, 11, 88 Fitzgerald, Eunice (JFF’s daughter), 103, 111, 306-7, 314, 496 Fitzgerald, Fred, 103, 111, 185, 262, 496 Fitzgerald, F. Scott, 346 Fitzgerald, George, (JFF’s brother), 21, 125, 126, 127, 157 Fitzgerald, Hannah (JFF’s aunt), 9 Fitzgerald, Henry (JFF’s brother), 21, 68, 92, 104, 125-27, 157, 747 Fitzgerald, James (JFF’s great¬ grandfather), 88 Fitzgerald, James (JFF’s uncle), 5, 9, 1112, 14, 15-16, 33, 68 Fitzgerald, James T. (JFF’s brother), 5, 18, 27, 28, 68, 69, 125-26 and Mitchell case, 141, 153, 173 investigation of, 251 and Prohibition, 442 death of, 747 Fitzgerald, John Francis (JFF), 3-6, 89, 14 childhood of, 17, 18-37 masters athletics, 21-24, 35 early education of, 31, 35-37 as newsboy, 37-45, 55-57, 768 and friend Fred, 41—43, 76 and the “other Boston,” 44-45, 4849, 55-57, 503 and Lodge, 57, 102, 252, 768 and his mother’s death, 58-60 at Boston Latin School, 61-62, 66, 81, 87 conducts tours, 63-66 Cavendish incident, 64-66 at Harvard Medical School, 66-67, 69, 71 and his father’s death, 67-68 learns ward politics, 69-76 as customs clerk, 76, 85 meets and courts Josie Hannon, 7680, 83-89 and consanguinity problem, 88-89, 361 marriage of, 89-90 and Rose’s birth, 90-91 in Council, 92—93 and Keany’s death, 93-94 becomes ward boss, 94-95 runs for state Senate, 95-96 runs for Congress, 97-99

as congressman, 99-100, 102-3 residences of, 103, 105-6 and his daughters’schooling, 104,142— 144, 155, 158, 159, 174, 189 seeks and wins mayorship, 105-9, 162 buys The Republic, 106 first term as mayor, 110-29, 133-53 and Finance Commission probe, 133— 142, 148-50, 155-57 defeated for reelection, 150 and Mitchell/flagstone-contract case, 151-55, 161-75, 190 European tours of, 155-56, 157-59, 189 runs again for mayor, 190-96 second term as mayor, 197-205, 242246 opposes Rose’s romance, 217, 219— 224, 233, 242, 253 urges P.J. to seek office, 230-31 claims to have helped JPK, 239-40 runs for third term against Curley, 245-49 and Toodles scandal, 247-49, 253 collapses, withdraws from race, 249252 comeback attempts by, 252, 305, 331, 625-26, 746 consents to Rose’s marriage, 258 as Grandpa Kennedy, 261-63, 274, 351, 465, 606 and Rose’s separation, 305-7 is struck by truck, 305-6 as “film magnate,” 343-44 and the JPK-Swanson affair, 395-96 and FDR’s election, 435 and Jews, 473 and JPK’s honorary-degree chances, 532 uses London embassy, 536-37 and Joe Jr.’s political debut, 600, 601 FDR anecdote about, 612 and Jack’s sea duty, 648 and Curley’s pardon petition, 728 and Jack’s career, 706, 715, 719, 720, 746-47, 753, 754 death of, 747-48, 809 and St. Lawrence Seaway, 779 Fitzgerald, John Francis, Jr., 103, 111 Fitzgerald, Joseph (JFF’s brother), 21, 26, 125, 128 Fitzgerald, Josie, see Fitzgerald, Mary Josephine Hannon Fitzgerald, Julia Adeline Brophy, 16 Fitzgerald, Lizzy, 127

I N D E X • 913

Fitzgerald, Margaret Herlihy, 126 Fitzgerald, Mary (infant, d. 1879), 58 Fitzgerald, Mary Josephine Hannon (Josie) JFF’s courtship of, 76, 77-89 and consanguinity problem, 88-89, 361 at JFF’s induction, 111 as wife and mother, 89-91, 103-4, 106, 111, 158-59, 189, 198-201,

202,220 and Joe Kennedy, 220, 396, 435 and the Toodles scandal, 248-49, 253 and her grandchildren, 364, 465, 754 visits Rose in London, 537 in old age, 706, 747 Fitzgerald, Mary Linnehan, 88 Fitzgerald, Michael, (infant, d. 1860), 5, 35 Fitzgerald, Michael (JFF’s brother), 5, 18, 60, 85, 125, 127-28 Fitzgerald, Michael (JFF’s grandfather), 5, 10, 11, 88 Fitzgerald, Mother, 485 Fitzgerald, Ned (JFF’s nephew), 127 Fitzgerald, Polly, 766 Fitzgerald, Rosanna Cox, 5-6, 9, 13, 1619, 26, 31, 32-34, 91 death of, 58-61 Fitzgerald, Rose Elizabeth, see Kennedy, Rose Elizabeth Fitzgerald Fitzgerald, Thomas (JFF’s brother), 5, 18, 27, 28, 69 Fitzgerald, Thomas, (JFF’s father), 310, 12-20, 77, 80, 88, 159, 810 and wife’s death, 59, 60—61 death and will of, 67-68, 71 Fitzgerald, Thomas (JFF’s son), 103, 111, 127, 158, 306, 442, 809 Fitzgerald, William (JFF’s brother), 18 Fitzroy, Lady Mary Rose, 545, 547 Fitzwilliam, Olive Plunkett, Lady, 733 Fitzwilliam, Lord Peter, 732—34, 736— 738, 740 Flagler, Henry M., 390 Flanagan, Daniel, 140 Flanner, Janet, 592 Fleeson, Doris, 804 Fleming, Donald, 268 Flint, Motley, 378 Flynn, John, 445, 448, 455 Fogg Museum, 371 Foley, Francis, 508 Foncannon, Eugene. 649

Foolish Wives (film), 399 Forbes, Alistair, 740 Ford, Henry, 14, 327-28 Ford, John (Henry Ford’s grandfather), 14 Ford, John J. (JPK’s friend), 290, 345, 758 Ford Motor Co., 572 Fore River Insurance Co., 284 Fore River shipyard, 277, 279, 284, 287293, 334, 345, 387, 428 Forrestal, James V., 657, 703 Fortas, Abe, 454 Fortune magazine, 46, 54, 239-40, 501 — 502 Foss, Eugene, 239 Fox, J. John, 757, 762, 764-65 Fox, William, 371 France and Algeria, 790 and Austria, 519, 548 and Czech crisis, 549, 554, 556, 562 fall of, 597, 598, 607 First World War in, 270-73, 282-83 and Jewish refugees, 570 and Rhineland occupation, 517 and Vietnam, 779 Franco, Francisco, 576, 578, 579, 585 Franconia, S.S., 198, 220 Frankfurter, Felix, 466-67, 468, 478, 537, 567, 702 Fraser, Hugh, 585, 703, 729 Fred (newsboy), 41—43, 76 Frederick of Prussia, Prince, 543 Freeman, Walter, 642 Freemasons, 547 Frisch, Frankie, 506 Frohman, Charles, 268 Front Page, The (Hecht/MacArthur), 330 Frost, Robert, 813-14 Frothingham, Louis, 108-9 Frothingham, Theodore, Jr., 215 Fruitful Bough, The, 212 Fuchser, Larry, 560 Fuller, Margaret, 48 Fussell, Paul, 273 Gable, Clark, 669 Gaddis, Hugh, 322 Galbraith, John Kenneth, 476, 477, 479, 507, 599 Galeazzi, Enrico, 491 Gallagher, Eddie, 138, 157, 167, 173, 229, 231, 426

914 • I N D E X

Galluccio, Anthony, 711, 712 Galvin, John, 755-56, 760, 761 Gandhi, Mohandas, K., 541 Gardner, Isabella Stewart, 206 Gardner family, 236 Gargan, Agnes Fitzgerald, 103, 111, 158, 200, 305 schooling of, 143, 155, 159, 174-89 travels with Rose, 320, 353, 493 death of, 496-97 Gargan, Ann, 496, 640, 643, 796, 801-6 passim Gargan, Joseph, 496-97 Gargan, Mary Jo, 496, 497 Gaston family, 236 Gehrig, Lou, 432 General Motors Corp., 298, 572 George IV, King, 526 George VI, King, 562, 580 the Kennedys and, 514-15, 525-27, 543, 610, 615 Germany Britain in WWII against, 588ff. in First World War, 268, 270-73, 277, 285, 288 JFK in, 583 Joe Jr. in, 470-72 Rose Fitzgerald in, 184-85 U.S. in WWII against, 632 see also, Hitler, Adolf Giannini, Amadeus Peter, 238, 340, 411, 443 Giannini, Attilio H., 411 Gibbs, Dorothy, 593-94 Gibson, Harvey, 665 Gibson, Mrs. Harvey, 666 “Gift Outright, The” (Frost), 814 Gillette, King, 383 Gimbel, Bernard, 772 Ginger (film), 452 Gladstone, William E. 65, 544 Glazer, Ben, 402, 404, 406, 408, 409 Gloria Productions, 387, 401 Glyn, Elinor, 773 Godesberg Conference, 556, 559, 562 Goering, Hermann, 552, 555, 572, 608, 632, 685 Goetz, Joseph A., 421 Goldwyn, Samuel, 340, 373 Gone with the Wind (film), 387 Good Government Association, 119 Good Housekeeping magazine, 358— 59 Gore, Randolph, 99

Gorman, Peter, 543 Gould, Jack, 780 Goulding, Edmund, 407, 408, 409, 413 Grace, Eugene R., 292—93 Grace, Peter, 543, 606 Grace, W. R., 543 Granby, Charles Manners, Marquess of, 679 Grange, Red, 350 Gray, William, 340 Great Famine, 10-11, 51, 59 Great War, see World War I Greaves, Harry, 470 Greed (film), 399, 408 Green, Buddy, 693 Greene, Marie, 350, 392 Greene, Vincent, 392 Greenwood, Arthur, 587 Gregory, Lady, 204 Grey, Charles Grey, Earl, 528 Griffith, D. W., 399 Groton preparatory school, 62, 209, 215,476, 477 Guadalcanal, 648, 650, 664 Guadalcanal Diary (Tregaskis), 505 Guild of St. Apollonia, 312 Hagerty, James, 430 Hagikaze (Japanese destroyer), 653 Haig, Lady Irene, 545, 547 Hale, Edward Everett, 35 Halifax, Countess of, 526 Halifax, Edward Lindley Wood, Earl of, 515, 518, 526, 528-29, 605, 664 and Czech crisis, 549, 550, 553, 556, 560 and declaration of war, 591 and Chamberlain’s resignation, 597 Hall, C. Stanley, 80 Halle, Kay, 724 Halsey, William F., 651 Hanami, Kohei, 766-67, 812 Handlin, Oscar, 8, 16, 534 Hands Off Spain movement, 522, 576 Hanify, Edward, 625, 626 Hannon, Edmond, 81 Hannon, Elizabeth (Lizzie), 81-82, 91 Hannon, Emily, 81, 83, 253 Hannon, Geraldine, 79, 80, 82, 83, 85, 90, 396 Hannon, James (Jimmy), 79, 81, 82-83, 89 Hannon, John (d. 1854), 81 Hannon, John Edmond, 82, 103

I N D E X • 915

Hannon, Josie, see Fitzgerald, Mary Josephine Hannon Hannon, Mary Ann Fitzgerald, 11, 12, 77-78, 80, 81, 84, 88-89 Hannon, Michael, 12, 77-78, 81, 82, 84, 88-89, 159 Hannon, Michael, Jr., 79, 81, 82-83 Hardwick Hall, 546 Harlan Fiske Stone: Pillar of the Law (Mason), 778 Harlech, Lady, 740 Harlee, John, 645, 646, 647 Harlow, Dick, 508-9 Harper’s Weekly, 161 Harriman, John, 758 Harriman, Pamela Churchill, see Churchill, Pamela Harris, Charles A., 655 Harrison, William, 444 Harte, Bret, 54 Hartington, Andrew Cavendish, Marquess of, 547, 696, 729-30, 739 Hartington, Deborah Mitford Cavendish, Marchioness of, 540, 547, 739 Hartington, Kathleen Kennedy Cavendish (“Kick”), Marchioness of, 65-66, 782 birth of, 309 as child, 361, 362-63, 397, 425 at school, 456, 482-86, 489-90, 491492 closeness to Jack, 362, 482, 486, 607, 627, 630-31, 729-34 passim begins correspondence with Lem, 484 and Jack’s school club, 487, 488 travels in Europe, 492-93, 506, 551, 585-86 as Ambassador’s daughter, 514, 522, 523, 539-47, 582, 583-85, 587-88_ falls in love with Hartington, 544-47, 586 returns to U.S., 606-7 in Washington, 627-31, 633, 635, 663 in wartime London, 663ff. renews romance with Hartington, 668678 marriage to Hartington, 678-82, 717 and Pat Wilson, 684, 685 and V-l bombs, 685 and Joe Jr.’s death, 690-92, 694 and Hartington’s death, 696-97, 729— 730 at Lismore Castle, 729, 731-32

in love with Fitzwilliam, 732-34, 736— 738 death of, 738-41, 742-44 Hartington, Spencer Compton Cavendish, Marquess of, 65, 544 Hartington, William Cavendish (Billy), 9th Marquess of, 66, 702, 729 romance of with Kathleen, 544-47, 586, 666, 668-78 and the coming war, 584-85 in France, 607, 692, 694-95 stands for Parliament, 672-73 marriage of, 678-82 death of, 695-97, 729-30 Harvard, John, 218 Harvard Business School, 369-74 Harvard College and University, 55 class reunions at, 322-24, 441, 535 football games vs. Yale, 507-9, 761 in Great War, 275-76, 283 honorary degrees from, 531-32, 534— 535 in JPK’s day, 208-19, 224-25 in JPK Jr.’s day, 475-81, 504-9 see also Harvard Business School; Harvard Medical School Harvard Crimson, 504, 508 Harvard Medical School, 61, 66-67 Hasty Pudding Club, 213 Haussermann, Oscar, 322 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 46, 48, 63, 8687 Hawthorne, Sophia Peabody, 86 Hayden, Charles, 291, 329 Hayden, Stone and Co., 275, 291-300, 323, 329, 337, 341-42, 443 Hayes, Ellen, 133 Hays, Will, 341, 370 Hays office, 370, 389-90, 407, 513 Healy, Robert, 446, 449 Hearst, Lorelle, 671, 688 Hearst, Randolph, 485 Hearst, William (Bill, son of W.R.), 670, 671 Hearst, William Randolph (W.R.) 150, 154, 342, 393, 428-29, 438, 502-3, 626 Hearst Company, 256, 502-3, 703 Heffernan, Ellen Hannon, 81, 82, 83, 87 Heffernan, Mary Hannon, 11, 82, 83, 88, 252-53 Heffernan, Maurice, 83 Heinze, Frederick A., 129

916 • I N D E X

Hemingway, Ernest, 754 Henderson, Neville, 529 Hendricks Club, 95, 109 Heney, Francis, J., 196 Hennessey, Luella, 539, 576, 637 Henry VIII, King, 514 Hersey, John, 650, 658, 720 Hersh, Burton, 638 Hertz, John, 330-33, 335-36, 432, 435 Hibbard, George Albee, 149-50, 155 Hickey, Fred, 254 Hickey, James, 254, 316 Hickey, John, 254 Hickory Hill, 785 Higginson family, 46, 57, 191, 236 Higham, Charles, 572 Higham, John, 49 Hill, Arthur, 160-61, 163-68, 169-71 Hill, Julia Fitzgerald, 60, 197 Hinton, Harold, 514 Hiroshima, 705 Hitler, Adolf, 470-72, 474 and Jews, 471-72, 519, 567-70 moves into Rhineland, 517 and Austria, 517, 519-20 and Czechoslovakia, 548-65, 571 and Poland, 572, 587 requests gold loan, 572 and British ultimatum, 587-88 invades Scandinavia, 596-97, 602, 605 turns on Russia, 599 launches Battle of Britain, 607 Inga Arvad and, 632 Hoar, John, 222 Hoare, Sir Samuel, 553 Hodder, Edwin, 294 Hoffa, Jimmy, 791 Hofstadter, Richard, 135 Holker Hall, 546 Holland, occupation of, 597 Holmes, Burton, 158 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 44, 46, 218 Holmes family, 47 Holt, F. Emmett, 302 Holy Cross College, 66 Home for Destitute Catholic Children, 70 Hoover, Herbert, 419, 421, 427, 435, 440 Hopkins, Harry, 603, 702 Hopper, Bruce, 582 Hora, Josef, 562 Horton, Ralph “Rip”, 465, 484, 486, 723 4

Houghton, Arthur, 304, 514, 545, 580, 634, 659, 693 House of Representatives, U.S. Education and Fabor Committee, 725 Fitzgerald in, 99-100, 102-3 JFK in, 722-29, 735, 753, 764 Un-American Activities Committee, 753 Howard, Cy, 393-94, 396, 425 Howard, Roy, 447 Howe, Irving, 6, 13 Howe, Fouis, 437—39, 447, 448 Howe, Samuel Gridley, 48 Howey, Walter, 330-31, 503, 693-94 Hubert, Rene, 395 Hughes, Charles Evans, 270 Hughes, Howard, 422 Hugo, Victor, 796 Huidekoper, Page, 513-14, 627-28, 632 Hull, Cordell, 520, 521, 550-51, 556 Human Wreckage (film), 341 Humphrey, Hubert H., 782, 783, 797799 Hundred Days, 434, 439 Hunloke, Anne, 696 Hunnewell, Arnold Welles, 215 Hunnewell, Thomas B., 356 Huntington, Collis P., 13 Husson, Sister Gabriella, 483 Hutchinson, Thomas, 90 Ickes, Harold F., 499 S.S., 414, 489, 492 lies, John, 649, 651 I’m for Roosevelt (JPK/Krock), 495 Ince, Ralph, 347 Ince, Thomas, 377 Independent League, 150 Index of Forbidden Books, 183, 796 Institute of 1770, 213, 214 Intergovernmental Committee on Refugees, 570 Into the Valley (Hersey), 650 Intolerance (film), 402 Ireland Britain and, 10-11, 64-65, 268 Fitzgerald/Kennedy roots in, 9-11, 159, 731,814-15 JPK honored in, 537-38 potato famine in, 10-11, 51, 59 Irish Home Rule, 65, 114 Irish in the U.S. in Boston, see Boston Ue de France,

I N D E X • 917

prejudice against, 29-30, 32-33, 216, 325-27, 477 Irish Times, 814 Isabel, Mother, 593, 594 Ivano, Paul, 402 Jackson, Andrew, 813 Jackson, Henry M., 723 Jackson family, 46, 191 Jacques, Jules, 315 James, Henry, 461 James, Robert Rhodes, 598 James, William, 461 James Madison: The President

(Brant),

778 Japan, 623, 648-59 passim Jazz Singer, The (film), 374 Jefferson, Thomas, 813 Jefferson Club, 95, 108 Jerome, William Travers, 107 Jersey, Earl of, 670 Jewett, Sophie, 132 Jews, 102 in Boston, 94, 99, 228 and Harvard, 216-17, 476, 477 Hitler and, 471-72, 520, 567-70 the Kennedys and, 471-74, 567-71 John XXIII, Pope, 798 John Quincy Adams and the Union

(Bemis), 778 Johnson, Charles, 729 Johnson, Herschel, 514 Johnson, Howard, 636 Johnson, Lady Bird, 813 Johnson, Lyndon B., 735, 780, 783, 784, 790, 800, 802 Johnson, Owen, 209-10, 211 Johnson, Thomas “Golden Rule,” 196 Johnston, Lynn, 758 Johnston, William, 720 Jones, J. Edward, 478 Jordan, Sara, 480 Juliana, Crown Princess of the Netherlands, 185 Kane, Joseph, 626, 699, 700, 708-11 passim, 714, 718, 727 Kane, Robert, 381—82, 384, 385 KAO, 422 Kathleen ni Houlihan (Yeats/Gregory), 204 Keany, Matthew, 68, 69-76, 92, 93-94, 142, 244 Keegan, John, 270, 272

Kefauver, Estes, 782, 783-84, 790 Keith-Albee-Orpheum circuit (KAO), 375-76, 379-80 Kelly, Arthur, 281 Kelly, William, 711 Kennan, George F., 583 Kennedy, Bridget, 226 Kennedy, Caroline Bouvier, 792-93 Kennedy, Edward Moore (Teddy), 363, 426, 460, 527, 608, 785 in London, 522, 523, 539, 559 and the Pope, 581 at boarding schools, 638-39, 739 marriage of, 771, 782 and his children, 786 in politics, 795, 804, 807 Kennedy, Ethel Skakel, 762, 772, 785, 804 Kennedy, Eunice, see Shriver, Eunice Kennedy Kennedy, Francis (JPK’s brother), 227 Kennedy, Jacqueline Bouvier, 769-74, 776, 801, 804, 813 childbirths of, 782, 785-86, 792-93, 806 Kennedy, Jean, see Smith, Jean Kennedy Kennedy, Joan Bennett, 771, 782, 804 Kennedy, John F., Commissioner, 135, 156, 157 Kennedy, John Fitzgerald (JFK, Jack), 430, 457, 474, 485, 498, 535 birth of, 274, 275 childhood of, 309-12, 314, 315, 350, 351, 353-56, 362-65, 397 illnesses of, 309-12, 314, 353-54, 460, 481, 490-91; see also reference to Addisons disease, below

religious unorthodoxy of, 353, 635, 651,691,743, 753 rivalry with Joe Jr., 354-56, 458, 461, 465-66, 504-5, 698 and Bobby, 354, 364-65 closeness to Kathleen, 362, 482, 486, 607, 627, 630-31, 729-34 passim at Choate, 456-58, 460-65, 481, 486489 and women, 481-82, 607, 630-35,723— 725, 734, 773-74 and Laski, 489-90 at Princeton, 490-91 at Harvard, 504-6, 516, 522, 568, 581— 582

918 • I N D E X

Kennedy, John Fitzgerald (JFK, Jack) ('cont.) back problems of, 505, 646-67, 690, 697, 700-701, 735, 774-76, 779 on Spanish Civil War, 506 in London, 524, 537, 538, 539, 545, 577, 587-88 praises JPK’s coexistence speech, 568 writes thesis on Britain, 582, 604-6 tours eastern Europe, 583 in Washington with Navy, 627, 630— 633 at midshipmen’s school, 634, 635, 645— 646 at P-T boat school, 646-47 in the Pacific, 648-60, 664 commands PT 109, 649—58, 662, 669, 714, 720 and Joe Jr.’s death, 690-91, 698-99, 743-44 covers UN Conference, 702-3 covers British election, 703-4 enters politics, 705ff. seeks congressional nomination, 710— 720 wins seat, 721 as congressman, 722-29, 735, 753, 764 and the Curley petition, 727-29 visits Ireland, 729, 730-34 afflicted with Addison’s disease, 734— 735, 743, 745, 749, 774, 788 and Kathleen’s death, 739, 742-44 renews his commitment to politics, 745, 748-49 has last visit with JFF, 746-47, 749 at JFF’s funeral, 748 character development of, 750-55 pursues statewide constituency, 755— 756 runs against Lodge for Senate, 756— 767, 771 courts and marries Jacqueline Bouvier, 769-74 and Profiles in Courage, 776-78 in Senate, 753, 778-80, 789-92 and vice-presidential nomination, 781— 785 and death of first baby, 785-86 decides to run for President, 787ff. and Catholicism issue, 792, 795, 797798, 799, 803 and daughter’s birth, 793 reelected to Senate, 793

seeks presidential nomination, 794802 iebates with Nixon, 789-90, 803-4 election of as President, 804-6 as President-elect, 806-7 inauguration of, 810-16 assassination of, 817 Kennedy, John Fitzgerald, Jr., 806 Kennedy, Joseph Patrick (JPK) as a child, 98, 123, 227-28 romance with Rose, 124, 158, 208, 217-23, 225, 233, 242, 253 at Boston Latin School, 124, 210, 214, 216, 228 at Harvard, 208-19, 224-26, 228, 230, 234, 269 social rejection of, 213-15, 269, 325— 327, 365-67, 370, 535 rejects politics as career, 228-32 first business venture of, 232-33 enters banking world, 234-41 engagement and marriage of, 253, 258-61 prevents Columbia Trust takeover, 253-54 as “youngest bank president,” 253— 258, 276, 278 and birth of Joe Jr., 261, 263 is alienated by Great War, 268-72, 275-76, 281-83, 323 and birth of Jack, 274-75 and the draft, 276, 280-81, 565, 799 at Bethlehem shipyard, 277-81, 283— 284, 286-87, 289-93 becomes utility trustee, 274-75, 291— 292 in stock market, 290-91, 293-300, 323, 327-38 as “ladies’ man,’-^303-4, 426, 724, 773; see also and Gloria Swanson, below and Rose’s separation, 308, 313 and Jack’s near-death, 309-10 flirts with Republican Party, 315-18 and the police strike, 316-17 becomes involved with his children, 312-14, 320, 350-51, 539 and passim

marital partnership of, 320-21, 391— 392 at tenth class reunion, 322-24, 441 in movie industry, 339—48, 374-80, 398-402, 404-13, 419, 422-24 and Rosemary’s retardation, 359, 360, 497, 498, 593-95, 639-44, 652

I N D E X • 919

moves family to New York, 367-68 arranges Harvard movie lectures, 369374 and Gloria Swanson, 381-82, 384-97, 398-418 passim, 425-26 produces Queen Kelly, 398-402, 404413 and father’s illness and death, 409412,417 acquires Bronxville estate, 417, 421, 424 pulls out of stock market, 420-22 renews his commitment to marriage, 424-26 Palm Beach villa of, 426, 460, 473, 485 returns to politics, 427 supports FDR, 428-35 seeks post, 435-39, 635-36 returns to stock profiteering, 439-40 in liquor trade, 441-44 heads SEC, 447-55, 477, 485, 487, 507 plays host to FDR, 451 and his sons’ schooling, 457, 461-70 passim, 477, 478, 487-89, 506, 507, 638 reputed anti-Semitism of, 473, 569, 763 and Kathleen’s schooling, 485-86 as financial consultant to business, 494, 502-3 supports FDR in ’36, 494-96 heads Maritime Commission, 498499, 502, 507, 511 shapes his public image, 500-502 speaks on Irish and Puritans, 504 at ’37 Harvard-Yale game, 507-9 as ambassador to Britain, 509-30, 534, 536-39, 549-68, 572-79, 583, 585-88, 590-600, 603, 605, 607-17 advocates isolationist/appeasement policies, 520-22, 529-30, 550, 564— 568, 572-73, 585, 595, 596 at Windsor, 525-29 hopes for honorary degree, 531-32, 535-36 presidential boomlet for, 533-34, 536 honored in Ireland, 537-38 and German Jews, 567, 569-71 takes pride in Joe Jr.’s reports, 575, 577-79 at Pius XII’s coronation, 580-81 helps Jack with tour, 583

antiwar outburst of, 585 and end of peace, 587, 588 defeatest attitude of, 590-93, 597-99, 607,614-15 Foreign Office memos on, 595-96, 617 resented by British, 596, 598, 600, 616— 617, 665-66 begins to live through his children, 600 and Joe Jr.’s entry into politics, 601, 603-4, 621-22 and family trust, 602, 624, 636 promotes Jack’s book on England, 605 on the Blitz, 608-9 has last visit with Chamberlain, 610, 611 resignation of, 610-14, 617 makes radio speech for FDR, 613 controversial Lyons interview with, 614-17 at Joe Jr.’s naval-aviation graduation, 623 “spy” network of, 624-25 helps JFF against Casey, 625-27 and Jack’s affair with Inga Arvad, 630— 631,633-35 sells Bronxville home, 636-37 and Jack’s spinal problems, 646, 700701, 704, 744-46 and Jack’s PT 109 exploit, 655, 657— 659, 662 pulls strings for Kathleen, 665-67 backs Kathleen in her romance, 669, 672, 674, 676, 679-81 and Joe Jr.’s last mission, 687 and Joe Jr.’s death, 688-94, 697, 701, 792 and Hartington’s death, 696, 697 focuses his hopes on Jack, 699-701, 705-7, 755 and FDR’s death, 701-2, 704 buys Merchandise Mart, 704-5 runs Jack’s congressional campaign, 713-21 and McCarthy, 723 and the Curley petition, 727-28 on Kathleen’s decision to live in England, 730 and Kathleen’s affair and death, 736, 737, 739-41 builds state organization for Jack, 756

920 • I N D E X

runs Jack’s Senate drives, 758-61, 763— 767 passim, 793 and Jackie, 772 opposes Jack’s vice-presidential bid, 781, 783, 785 and Jack’s bid for the presidency, 787788, 790, 792, 795-97, 799-801 and the election, 804-8 at JFK’s inauguration, 812, 815-16 death of, 817 Kennedy, Joseph Patrick, Jr., 444, 485, 498, 506, 717 birth and infancy of, 261-63, 267, 272, 275 as favored child, 311, 315, 350-56, 362-63, 751 early schooling of, 355-56, 397 and Bobby, 364-65 at P.J.’s wake, 412 at Choate, 456-61, 465-66 studies with Laski, 467-69 visits Nazi Germany, 470-74 travels to Russia, 474, 492, 575, 606 at Harvard College, 475, 477-81, 504— 505, 507-8, 516, 522, 531, 535-36, 576 “Hands Off Spain” thesis of, 522, 576 in Ireland and London as Ambassador’s son, 537-40, 545, 587— 588 at Paris embassy, 551, 575 traverses Continent, 575-76 sustains skiing accident, 576 in Spain, 576-79, 580-81, 585 at law school, 600, 602, 621, 622 enters politics, 600-604, 621—22 in naval-aviation training, 622-25, 627, 661-62 and Jack’s PT-109 exploit, 662-63 in England under RAF, 663, 669ff., 683-84, 686-88 and Pat Wilson, 670-72, 678, 684685 and Kathleen’s romance, 675, 678679, 682 death of, 688-94, 698-99, 792 Kennedy, Katherine, 123, 254 Kennedy, Kathleen, see Hartington, Kathleen Kennedy Cavendish, Marchioness of Kennedy, Loretta, 213, 228, 229, 311, 410, 412, 441, 522, 731 Kennedy, Margaret, see Burke, Margaret Kennedy

Kennedy, Mary Augusta Hickey (JPK’s mother), 123, 212, 227, 229, 260, 308, 368, 410 Kennedy, Patricia, see Lawford, Patricia Kennedy Kennedy, Patrick (JPK’s grandfather), 263, 814 Kennedy, Patrick Joseph (P.J., father of JPK), 226-29, 260, 308, 318, 441, 754 as ward leader, 98, 100, 107, 125, 150, 157, 228-29, 338 defeated for public office, 230-32 and Columbia Trust, 237, 253-57, 278, 412 fatal illness and death, 409-12, 417 Kennedy, Robert Francis (Bobby), 492, 735, 739, 777, 785 birth of, 349 as child, 354, 363, 364-65, 397, 498 in London, 522, 523, 539 education of, 539, 637-38, 761 in wartime, 659, 700-701, 717 and father’s womanizing, 724 in JFK’s campaigns, 761-63, 767, 783, 795, 802, 804, 805 marriage of, 762 and his children, 786 and rackets hearings, 791 appointment of as attorney general, 807 assassination of, 817 Kennedy, Rose Elizabeth Fitzgerald birth of, 90-91 childhood of, 103-5, 123 idolizes her father, 105, 200-201, 253 at father’s induction as mayor, 111 high-school graduation of, 122 first meeting with JPK, 123 romance with JPK, 124, 158, 208, 217— 223, 225, 233, 242, 253 as father’s chosen companion, 125, 130-31, 197-201, 219, 221-22 girlhood radiance of, 130-31 sets her heart on Wellesley, 131-33, 142, 143, 144 is enrolled at Sacred Heart, 142-47 at convent school abroad, 155, 158, 159, 174-89, 217 travels with family, 157-59, 184-85, 189 religious commitment of, 185-89, 307— 308, 319, 677, 679, 692, 736, 773, 796

I N D

reacts to attacks on father, 193 at Manhattanville, 197, 217, 259 debut of, 201-2 as leader of young Catholic set, 203204, 302 shocked by Synge play, 204-7 disturbed by Toodles scandal, 249, 253 and father’s collapse, 251 engagement of, 253, 258-59 marriage of, 259-61 pregnancies and childbirths of, 261, 274, 287-88, 301, 309, 314, 331, 336, 349, 389, 396-97, 426 and First World War, 267, 272, 287— 288 and JPK’s absences, 301, 346, 349-50, 389 feels isolated, 301-5 returns to parents’ home, 305-7 goes on retreat, 307-8 builds close family structure, 313-15, 319-21, 366, 391-92, 396-97, 772 keeps her own space, 313-14, 786, 796 keeps JPK a Democrat, 317-18 and her children’s early years, 351 — 362, 412, 637-38, 751 extramarital travels of, 353, 426-27, 492-93, 549, 551, 553, 577, 580, 639,734,747-48 f on leaving Boston, 367-68 and the Swanson affair, 391-92, 395— 397, 414-16, 425 has “golden interval” with JPK, 424426 and JPK’s SEC appointment, 450— 451 and sons’ schooling, 457, 460-61, 465, 467 chooses daughters’ schooling, 457, 482-83, 489-90 and sister’s death, 496-97 as Ambassador’s wife, 522, 523-29, 536-39, 543-44, 558, 559, 563, 564, 574-75, 587 at Pope’s coronation, 580-81 and JPK’s resignation, 610-12 and sons’ love affairs, 625, 630, 631, 685, 689-90 and Rosemary’s lobotomy, 639-43

passim learns that Jack is safe, 657-58 and Joe Jr.’s last visit, 663

E

X

• 921

and Kathleen’s romance with Hartington, 669, 672, 674-81 and Joe Jr.’s death, 688-92 in Jack’s campaigns, 717-19, 766, 768, 793, 795-96, 801, 804 and Kathleen’s affair, 734, 736 and Kathleen’s death, 739 and father’s death, 747-48 and Jackie, 772, 801 at JFK’s inauguration, 812 Kennedy, Rosemary, 607 as a child, 309, 356-63, 397 and her siblings, 360, 362, 363, 485, 498, 544, 772 is shielded by her family, 361, 544, 594-95, 735 at school, 497-98, 513, 522, 539, 593595 debut of, 540 is presented at court, 543-44 lobotomy is performed on, 639-44, 652 Kennedy, Teddy, see Kennedy, Edward Moore Kennedy Library, 816 Kent, George Edward, Duke of, 541, 545, 560 Kent, Marina, Duchess of, 541, 545 Kenyon-Slaney, Jane, 607, 733, 737, 740 Khrushchev, Nikita, 815 Kidder, Peabody and Co., 236, 293 King, Eleanor, 259 King Kong (film), 378 Kingman, Howard, 633 King of Kings, The (film), 377, 378 Kirk, Alan Goodrich, 627 Kirksey, Andrew, 652, 654 Kirstein, Louis, 342, 344, 420 Klemmer, Harvey, 513, 581 Klous, Maurice, 139-41, 148, 149 Knight, Jack, 792 Knights of Labor, 97 Koch, George P., 138-39, 147-49, 151, 163 Koch, Robert, 33 Koren, John, 17 Kowal, Maurice, 652 Kristallnacht, 568, 569, 571 Krock, Arthur, 615, 616, 693, 699, 775 friendship with JFK, 432, 500, 636 on JPK party for FDR, 451-52 helps with Kennedy books, 495, 605, 777 JPK letters to, 500, 515, 518, 558

922 • I N D E X

and JPK’s ambassadorship, 509, 514, 515 on JFK in politics, 704, 705 Kuhn, Leob and Co., 440 Kuroki, Tamemoto Tamesada, 129 Lambert, John, 533 Lamont, Thomas W., 421 Land, Emory, 532 Landis, James, M., 446, 449-50, 515fn., 608, 735, 758, 759 Landon, Alfred, 496 Lannan, Pat, 701 Laski, Harold, 467-68, 471, 474, 489, 490, 492, 605 Laski, Mrs., 468, 474 Lasky, Jesse, 371, 374, 384, 385, 409 Last Hurrah, The (O’Connor), 252, 728 Last Tycoon, The (Fitzgerald), 346 Late George Apley, The (Marquand), 55, 324, 504 Lawford, Christopher, 782 Lawford, Patricia Kennedy, 739, 748, 804 birth of, 336 as a child, 363-64, 397 in London, 522, 523 schooling of, 539, 637 helps JFK’s compaigns, 716, 795 marriage of, 782, 795 Lawford, Peter, 782, 804 Lawler, Anne, 423 Lawrence, David L., 794-95 Lawrence, T. E., 541 Lawrence family, 236 League of Nations, 252, 429, 470, 529 Leahy, John, 120 Leahy, William, 205 Le Baron, William, 396, 402 Lee, Joseph, 136, 710 Lee family, 46, 191 Lee, Higginson and Co., 191, 236, 293 Legg, Vera, 132 LeHand, Missy, 431, 438, 452, 592, 613 Lehman brothers, 376 Lelong, Lucien, 416 Leslie, Sean, 729 Libby-Owens-Ford Glass Co., 440, 447 Liberal Party, Britain, 65, 544 Liberal Union Party, Britain, 65 Liberty magazine, 533 Life magazine, 523, 570, 613 Lincoln, Evelyn, 775, 783, 786 Lindbergh, Anne Morrow, 555, 577-79

Lindbergh, Charles A., 555, 569, 577, 615 Lindley, Ernest K., 431, 533 Lindsay, Peter, 737 Lippmann, Walter, 216-17, 530 Lisagor, Peter, 799 Lismore Castle, 65, 546, 729, 731-32, 734 Little American, The (film), 377 Livermore, Jesse, 296 Lives of the Saints (Butler), 5, 752 Lloyd, Harold, 377, 385 Lloyd George, David, 588, 597 Lodge, Henry Cabot I, 29, 100-102, 316 JFF and, 57, 102, 109, 243, 252, 768 Lodge, Henry Cabot II, 626, 756-58, 763-65, 767 Lodge family, 47, 57, 708 Loew, Marcus, 372, 373 Login, Ella, 739 Lomasney, Joseph, 120 Lomasney, Martin, 95-96, 98, 105, 107— 109, 150, 157, 244, 245, 804 London, University of, 489 London School of Economics, 490, 542 Lonely Crowd, The (Riesman), 777 Long, Breckinridge, 431 Long, Huey, 452 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 46, 64, 218 Longworth, Nicholas, 114 Look, 719, 791 Looker, Earle, 501 Lords, House of, 597 Lothian, Lord, 577 Love ofSunya, The (film), 384, 387 Lowell, A. Lawrence, 214, 370 Lowell, James Russell, 62, 218 Lowell, Ralph, 222, 322, 326 Lowell family, 46, 47, 477 Lowrey, John, 653 Luce, Clare Boothe, 781 Luce, Matthew, 325-26 Lusitania, S.S., 268 Lyman family, 236 Lyons, Louis, 614-17 Macdonald, Torbert, 484, 505-6, 583, 606, 647,717 Macmillan, Harold, 815 Madame Sans-Gene (film), 389 Madrid, 576-79, 580, 581, 585 Maguire, John, 654

I N D E X • 923

Maguire, P.J. “Pea Jacket,” 97-98, 106, 214 Maguire, William, 318 Maher, Thomas F., 149, 152-54, 160, 161-73 Maher Brothers, 148-49, 152, 161-66 passim Mahoney, Cornelius, 20 Maine-New Hampshire Theatres, 340341, 343 Male and Female (film), 383 Manchester Guardian, 555 Manhattan,S.S., 537 Manhattanville College, 188, 189, 197, 217,259,782 Mann, Horace, 48 Mansfield, Henry, 246-48 Margaret Rose, Princess, 527, 545, 558, 584 Maritime Commission, 499, 502, 507, 511, 513, 532 Marlborough, Duke of, 540, 670 Marne, Battles of the, 282, 285 Marney, Harold, 654 Marquand, John P., 324 Marshall, George C., 729 Marshall, Tully, 402, 408, 413 Marshall Plan, 725, 729, 737 Martin, Harold, 791-92 Martin, Samuel Klump III, 451 Marwood, 451-52, 499 Marx, Robert, 431 Mary, Queen Mother, 526, 537, 559 Masaryk, Jan, 561-62, 565 Masaryk, Tomas, 561, 571 Mason, Alpheus T., 778 Massachusetts Civic League, 136 Massachusetts Electric Co., 274-75, 291-92 Massingham, H. J., 512 Mather, Cotton, 32 Mathew, Bishop, 674, 675, 680 Matthews, George, 446, 449-50 Matthews, Nathan, 97, 133, 135, 156 Maud, Queen, 575 Mauer, Edman, 654 Maugham, Somerset, 399 Mayer, Louis B., 373, 399 Mayflower bus enterprise, 232-33, 235 McCarthy, Eugene, 800 McCarthy, Joe (writer), 274 McCarthy, Joseph R., 723, 753, 779-80, 783 McCarthy, Mary, 145

McCarthy, Mary Lou, 227-28, 425 McClellan, James, 125 McClellan, John L., 791 McClellan, Joseph, 150 McCormack, John W., 727 McCormick, Cyrus H., 13 McCulloch, Charles, 332 McDonald, Charlotte, 483 McDonough, Robert, 798 McGahey, George, 95, 96 McGill, Ralph, 804 McGovern, John, 588 Mclnerny, Timothy, 623, 665, 666, 667, 669 McIntyre, Marvin, 449, 498 McKinley, William, 102 McLaughlin, Charles, 224-25 McLaughlin, Owen and Bridget, 8 McMahon, Patrick Henry “Pappy,” 654— 657, 715 McMillan Cup races, 535 McTeague (film), 399 Mead, George, 664 Mein Kampf (Hitler), 529 Melville, Herman, 811 Memories of a Catholic Girlhood (McCarthy), 145 Merchandise Mart, 704, 782 Merchants National Bank, 254-55 Merrill, Joseph, 211, 216, 275 Merry Widow, The (film), 399 Mestayer, Emily Stead, 414 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM), 373, 379 Middlesex Club, 316, 318 Middlesex School, 62, 209, 476, 477 Midway, Battle of, 648 Milbank, Jeremiah, 376 Miller, Harlan, 533 Miller, Perry, 46 Miller, Sara, 311 Milwaukee Journal, 797 Miserables, Les (Hugo), 183, 796 Mitchell, Catherine, 154, 197 Mitchell, Charles E., 421 Mitchell, Michael, 137-42, 149, 151 — 155, 246, 248 trial and conviction of, 161-73, 174— 175, 190, 192 release and death of, 196-97 Mitford, Deborah, 540, 547, 739 Mix, Tom, 350, 351, 385 Mizner, Harry, 426 Moley, Raymond, 431, 434, 436, 447-48

924 • I N D E X

Monahan, Margaret Curry, 131 Moniz, Egas, 641 Monroe, James, 513 Montessori, Maria, 594 Mooney, James, 572-73 Moon for the Misbegotten (O’Neill), 411 Moore, Edward, 249, 250, 333-34, 345, 428, 580 and JPK’s children, 357, 397, 426, 513, 522, 576, 594, 607, 751 finds home for JPK, 368 and Swanson, 387, 390-91, 394 rides the FDR train, 430, 431, 434 fronts for JPK in stock deals, 439 at Marwood with JPK, 450-51, 499 and JPK’s ambassadorship, 513, 537, 538, 545, 552, 557, 592, 610 and JFK’s campaigns, 713, 759 Moore, Mary, 397, 557, 580, 751, 872 Moors, John, 135 Moran, John B., 107, 149, 151-54, 159, 161, 164-65 Morey, Robert, 755 Morgan John Pierpont, 235-36, 317, 420, 523 Morgan, John Pierpont II, 445 Morgan, J. P., and Co., 317, 421, 445 Morgenthau, Henry, 530, 550 Morison, Samuel Eliot, 47, 209 Morrissey, Frank, 755 Mossarch, General, 585

Mosses from an Old Manse (Hawthorne), 86 Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, see Hays office Motley, John, 46 Motor Torpedo Division, 647 Mott, Frank, 38 Mountbatten, Fady, 540 Muckers Club, 486-89 Mulkern, Patsy, 719 Mullen, Marian Fitzgerald, 85 Mullins, Bill, 622 Munich Conference and Agreement, 548, 560-65, 566-74, passim, 584 Municipal Feague, 119 Murdock, John J., 375, 376, 422 Murphy, Frank, 636 Murphy, Paul, 624 Murphy, Regis Fitzgerald, 27, 59, 60, 85 Murray, Cecile, 259 Murray, John Courtney, 803 Murray, Mae, 401

Murray, Vera, 303-4 Mussolini, Benito, 517, 518, 520, 560 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 755 Nathan, George Jean, 315 Nation, The, 278 National Industrial Recovery Act, 434 National Labor Relations Act, 725 National Petroleum Council, 478 National Shawmut Bank, 236, 269, 324, 344, 443 National University, Dublin, 538 Navy League, British, 565 Nawn, Harry, 219 Nawn, Hugh, 219, 220 Nazi-Soviet Pact, 586 Negri, Pola, 372 Negrin, Juan, 579 Nehru, Jawaharlal, 815 Neptunes Associates, 71, 73 Neutrality Act, 577fn., 591 Neville, Michael, 710 New Bedford Standard Times, 763 New Deal (FDR Administration), 436— 454 passim, 477, 478 New England Magazine, 115-16 New Hampshire primary (1960), 795— 796, 799 Newport, Viscount, 543 New Ross, Ireland, 731-32, 814-15 Newsweek, 503 Newton, Rose, 497 New York American, 502 New York Daily News, 604, 740 New Yorker, The, 658 New York Journal-American, 703 New York Mirror, 633 New York Post, 566 New York Stock Exchange, 421, 445, 453 New York Times, The, 271, 274

New York Times Book Review, The, 111 New York Times Magazine,The, 766 Niessen, Gertrude, 506 Ninth Congressional District, Mass., see Eleventh Congressional District, Mass. Niver Coal Co., 139-41, 148 Nixon, Pat, 813 Nixon, Richard M., 776, 790, 803-4, 805 Nobles and Greenough School, 355 Nolan, James, 120 Norfolk, Duke of, 580

I N D E X • 925

Norman, Montagu, 592-93, 605 Normandie invasion, planned, 678, 682, 683-84 see also, D-Day Norris, Frank, 113, 399 Norton, Clem, 228, 249, 454, 473, 603, 748 Norton, Sally, 540 Norway, invasion of, 596-97, 602, 605 Noyes, Alexander, 419 Nuremberg rally (1938), 552-53 Nutter, George, 120, 134, 196 O’Brien, Daniel, 728 O’Brien, James, 68 O’Brien, Lawrence, 757 O’Callaghan, Marguerite, 132 O’Connell, William Cardinal, 29, 122, 259, 417, 580 and Rose Fitzgerald’s education, 143, 189 gets honorary degree, 532 on women and marriage, 773 O’Connor, Edwin, 111, 252 O’Donnell, Hugh, 679 O’Donnell, Kenneth, 761, 762 O’Farrell, Dennis J., Ill O’Farrell, Father, 157 Office of Naval Intelligence, 627, 632, 633 Offie, Carmel, 583 O’Hara, Francis, 504 Old Bullion Benton (Chambers), 778 Old Colony Trust Co., 275, 344 Old North Church, Boston, 64 Old Orchard Beach, 123—29 passim, 136, 138 O’Leary, Francis, 689 O’Leary, Jerry, 652 O’Leary, Paul, 488 O’Leary, Ted, 444 Oilman, Wally, 704 Olney, Richard, 274 Olympic, S.S., 414 Olympic Games, 632 Omnibus Corp., 336 O’Neil, Joseph, 97-98 O’Neill, Eugene, 411 Operation Cork, 684 Organization Man, The (Whyte), 777 Ormsby-Gore, David, 542, 545, 584-85, 607, 740 Ormsby-Gore, Sissy Thomas, 542, 545, 740

Ostrogorskii, M., 72 Owen, Seena, 402, 406, 413 Owens-Illinois Glass Co., 440 Page, Henry, 543 Page, Walter Hines, 530 Pale Horse, Pale Rider (Porter), 286 Palfrey, John, 46 Panama Canal, 198 Panter-Downes, Mollie, 598-99 Panic of 1893, 97 Papas, Louis, 687, 691 Paramount Pictures, 343, 372, 494 Paris Peace Conference (1919), 546 Parker, Francis Stanley, 356 Parkman, Francis, 46 Parliament, British, see Commons, House of Parmet, Herbert S., 606 Parsons, Louella, 394 Pathe film company, 375, 376, 379-80, 393,405,409,413,422-24 Patterson, Eleanor M. (Cissy), 627, 633 Patterson, Joseph M., 604, 740 Patterson, Mother, 639 Peabody family, 47 Pearl Harbor attack, 623, 632, 636 Pearson, Drew, 500, 567 Pecora, Ferdinand, 445-50 Pelletier, Joseph, 247 Peters, Andrew, 286, 334 Pettijohn, Charles, 431 Phillips, Cabell, 766, 777 Phillips, David Graham, 113 Phillips family, 47 Pickford, Mary, 372, 385 Pilgrims Society, 520 Pilot, The, 14 Pittman, Key, 431 Pius XI, Pope, 491, 579 Pius XII (Eugenio Pacelli), Pope, 579-81 Place, Edwin, 310, 312 Plattsburgh, N.Y., training camp, 275, 281, 282 Playboy of the Western World (Synge), 204-7 Poland, 572, 583, 587 Pollock, Gordon, 402 Pond Creek Coal, 327-29 Poole, Arthur, 502 Poofs Manual, 295 Pope, Anna, 311 Porcellian Club, 214-17 passim, 269, 477, 535

926 • I N D E X

Porter, Drew, 598 Porter, Katherine Anne, 286 Potter, Dorothy Tweedy, 324 Potter, Robert Sturgis, 212-16 passim, 222, 224, 269-72, 275, 282, 323-25 Powell, Joseph, 277, 280-81, 292 Powers, David, 708, 710-13, 718, 746, 755-56,759,783,797 Powers, Patrick, 404 Practical Politics, 106, 114, 116, 125, 138, 155, 166, 193, 231 Prescott, William, 46 Prince, Frederick, 344 Princeton University, 490-91 Pritchett, Florence, 723 Proctor, James, 726 Profiles in Courage (Kennedy), 777-78, 779 Prohibition, 440-44, 534 Promised Land, The (Antin), 37 PT 59, 659 PT 109, 649, 651-55, 658, 659, 669, 720, 766, 812 PT 157, 653 PT 159, 653 PT 162, 653 Puhl, Emil, 572 Pujo Committee, 236 Pulitzer Prize, 777-78, 780 Pumphret, George, 230, 232, 239

Queen Elizabeth, S.S., 558, 737 Queen Kelly (film), 398-418 Queen Mary, S.S., 493, 532, 582 Quincy, John, 52 Quincy, Josiah, 117, 121 Quincy family, 47 Radio Corporation of America (RCA), 375, 379-80, 422, 494 Radio-Keith-Orpheum (RKO), 379-80, 422 Rainoni, Charles, 4-6 Rambova, Natasha, 341 Ramsaye, Terry, 347 Raymond, George, 106 Reader’s Digest, 658 Reardon, Ted, 477, 711, 723, 728, 739, 743 Redesdale, Lady, 540 Reed, James, 773 Reed, John, 211 Reedy, James, 662, 663, 671, 686 Reichsbank, 572, 593

Reid, Charles, 171 Reid, Wallace, 341, 370 Reilly, James, 480 Republic, The, 41, 94, 106, 157 Revere, Paul, 63, 64 Richman, Harry, 543 Riesman, David, 777 Riis, Jacob, 8 Roach, Hal, 377 Robertson-Cole Co., 341 Rochambeau, U.S.S., 648 Roche, Jeffrey, 485 Rockefeller, David, 542 Rockefeller, Percy, 296 Roebuck, Alvah, 13fn. Rogers, Will, 377 Rohde, Amanda, 497-98 Roman, Father, 157 Roosevelt, Alice, 114 Roosevelt, Betsy Cushing, 430, 443, 479 Roosevelt, Eleanor, 498, 534, 615, 616, 783, 812 Roosevelt, Elliott, 688 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 217, 799 JPK’s first meetings with, 428 nominated for President, 428-29 campaign of, and JPK, 429-35 physical handicap of, 432, 774 JPK seeks appointment by, 436-39, 635-36 and Prohibition repeal, 441 appoints JPK to head SEC, 446-50 visits JPK, 451-52 1936 campaign of, and JPK, 494-96 second inaugural of, 498 appoints JPK to head Maritime Commission, 498-99 appoints JPK ambassador, 509 gives “advice” to JPK, 516 reacts to JPK’s isolationist speeches, 521, 550, 566-67 on the JPK-Chamberlain intimacy, 330 and JPK’s “boomlet,” 533-34, 536 and Chamberlain’s policies, 534, 550, 557, 559, 563 leans toward Churchill, 550, 591 and isolationists, 563, 566 “quarantine” speech of, 566 appalled at Nazi pogrom, 568 predicts war over Poland, 572 forbids JPK deal on German loan, 573 sends JPK to Pope’s coronation, 580 bypasses JPK, 591

I N D E X • 927

third-term nomination of, 603-4 and JPK’s resignation, 610, 611-13 elected to third term, 613-14 JFK opposes supporter of, 625-27 fails to appoint JPK, 636 sends condolence to Kathleen, 697 death of, 701-2, 704 Roosevelt, Franklin D., Jr., 799 Roosevelt, James, 430, 431, 479, 480, 498, 584 friendship with JPK, 443-44, 513, 514, 532 Roosevelt, Kermit, 210, 215 Roosevelt, Theodore, 129, 193, 210 Roosevelt: The Lion and the Fox (Burns), 778 Rosenblum, Carroll, 796, 804 Rosenman, Samuel I., 702 Ross, Edmund, 777 Ross, George “Barney,” 653-57 Rosslyn, Anthony, Earl of, 542, 666, 667, 729, 740 Rotha, Paul, 609 Rothmere, Lord, 685 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 796 Royal Air Force (RAF), 607-8, 610, 662, 669, 690 Rublee, George, 570 Ruppel, Louis, 431, 435, 438-39, 702, 704 Russia, in First World War, 273 see also Soviet Union Ruth, Babe, 350, 432 Rutland, Duke of, 679 Ryan, Elizabeth “Toodles,” 246-48, 251,252 Rykov, S.S., 474 Sacred Heart Convents, 142-47, 155, 174-89, 456, 482-86, 637 see also Manhattanville College Sadie Thompson (film), 384, 387, 399 St. Albans School, 476, 477 St. Coletta’s, 642-44 St. John, Adela Rogers, 384 St. John, George, 458, 459, 461, 462, 486-88, 693 St. John, Seymour, 464 St. Lawrence Seaway, 778-79 St. Louis Post-Dispatch, 614-17 St. Mark’s School, 62, 209, 212 Saint-Moritz, 574, 575-76 St. Paul’s School, 62, 209, 476, 477 St. Stephen’s Catholic Lyceum, 129

St. Stephen’s Church, Boston, 3-6, 13, 15,73,94, 111,319 Salinger, Pierre, 797 Salisbury, Lady, 679 Saltonstall, Leverett, 510, 756 Saltonstall, Leverett, Jr., 356 Saltonstall, Philip, 275 Saltonstall family, 236, 708 Sanderson, George A., 163, 171-72 San Francisco Stock Exchange, 446 Santayana, George, 63 Santo Domingo, 570 Sarnoff, David, 375, 379 Saturday Evening Post, The, 791 Saturday Review of Literature, The, 495 Sawyer, Kate, 30 Schary, Dore, 782 Schenck, Joseph, 387, 422 Schlesinger, Arthur Meier, 96 Schlesinger, Arthur, M., Jr., 364, 426, 432, 530 Schnitzer, Joseph, 344 Schriber, Thomas, 575, 737 Schuschnigg, Kurt von, 519 Schwab, Charles M., 210, 283-84, 287, 345 Schwab, Herman Caspar, 210 Scollard, Patrick, 345 Scripps-Howard chain, 447 Scudder, Vida, 133 Seabury, Samuel, Bishop, 370, 550 Seabury, William Marston, 370-71 Sears, Henry Francis (Hank), 66, 468, 508 Sears, Richard W., 13fn. Sears family, 236 Second World War, see World War II Securities and Exchange Act, 445-46 453 Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC), 334, 446-55, 478, 507 Selznick, David O., 378 Senate, U.S. Banking and Currency Committee, 444-46, 447, 449 Foreign Relations Committee, 778, 779, 780 Government Operations Committee, 778 JFK in, 753, 778-80, 789-92 Labor and Public Welfare Committee, 778, 790-91 Naval Committee, 647 Sennett, Mack, 383

928 • I N D E X

Seymour, Charles, 535 Seymour, James, 513, 617 Seyss-Inquart, Artur von, 519 Shannon, William, 365 Shattuck family, 47 Shaughnessy, Frank, 446 Shaw, George Bernard, 541 Shaw family, 236 Sheehan, Joseph, 211, 216, 275, 281, 537 Sheehy, Maurice, 623, 624, 625, 647, 693 Sheen, Fulton ]., 651, 736, 737 Sherwood, Robert E., 402 Shigure (Japanese destroyer), 653 Shirer, William L., 520, 553, 556, 557, 568 Shriver, Eunice Kennedy, 397, 522, 609, 639, 696, 707, 748 birth of, 314 ill health of, 363, 368 and Rosemary, 363, 639, 644, 722 schooling of, 513, 539, 637 in London, 539, 584 on Kathleen’s beaux, 606 helps JFK’s campaigns, 716-18 and juvenile delinquency, 722-23 and Kathleen’s affair, 736 and Kathleen’s death, 739 marriage of, 782 at JFK’s inauguration, 815 Shriver, Maria, 782 Shriver, Robert Sargent, 723, 782, 804 Shriver, Robert (son), 782 Sidey, Hugh, 802, 807 Sills, Milton, 373 Simon, Sir John, 553, 560 Sinclair, Andrew, 442 Sinclair, Upton, 113 Slattery, Charles, 157 Smathers, George A., 723, 724, 781, 785 Smith, Ben, 422 Smith, Jean Kennedy, 363, 739, 748, 804 birth of, 396 schooling of, 539, 637 in London, 522, 523, 539 marriage of, 782 helps JFK’s campaign, 795 Smith, Stephen, 782, 795, 804 Smith, William J., 141 Socialist Party, 133 Society of American Newspaper Editors, 499

Soden, Mark, 671, 690, 691 Solomon Islands, 648-60 Solynossy, Ilona, 741 Somborn, Herbert, 383, 388, 389 Somerset Club, 55, 214, 254, 324, 444 Somerset Company, 448, 468 Somme, Battles of the, 269-73, 282, 694 Soviet Union, 561, 562, 583, 599, 789 Spalding, Betty, 771 Spalding, Charles “Chuck,” 606, 724, 744 Spanish-American War, 128 Spanish Civil War, 506, 522, 576-79, 585 Spellman, Francis Cardinal, 606, 674, 677, 680-81 Sporberg, Henry, 733 Squantum shipyard, 279, 284 Squaw Man, The (film), 377 Stammers, Kay, 723 Standard Oil, 572 Stark, Harold R., 665 Steel, Ronald, 217 Steffens, Laura, 196 Steffens, Lincoln, 113, 191, 196 Stevenson, Adlai E., 767, 781-83, 784, 794-95 Stimson, Henry L., 551 Stone, David, 291 Stone, Galen, 275, 291-92, 296-300, 327-28, 329, 337 Storrow, James Jackson, 191-96 Storrow, James Jackson III, 356 Storrow family, 236 Story of the Films, The (published lectures), 374 Stotesbury, Mrs. E. T., 394-95 Stroheim, Erich von, 398-411, 413, 418 Stuart, Janet Erskine, 178 Sudetenland crisis, 548—65 passim Sughrue, Michael, 133, 138-40, 147, 156 Sukarno, 755 Sullivan, Charles, 345, 401 Sullivan, John, Commissioner, 135, 156 Sullivan, John H., 254 Sullivan, Mark, 277 Sullivan, Michael and Nancy, 8 Sullivan, Richard, 231 Sunday Graphic, 596 Sunset Boulevard (film), 418 Sutherland, Duke of, 575 Sutton, William, 708, 710, 715, 717, 722, 739

I N D E X • 929

Swanson, Gloria, 372, 381-418, 425-26, 724 Swope, Herbert Bayard, 434, 436, 490, 721 Sykes, Virginia Gilliat, Lady Sykes, 670, 689 Synge, John Millington, 204-7 Taft, Robert A. 758, 763, 764 Taft, William Howard, 122, 184, 223 Taft-Hartley bill, 725 Tague, Peter, 305 Talbot, Ted, 674 Tammany Club, Boston, 245 Tammany Hall, 134 Tanglewood Tales (Hawthorne), 63, 87 Tanner, Thomas Hawkes, 34 Taylor, William Desmond, 370 Teapot Dome, 439 Ten Commandments, The (film), 377 Tennessee Valley Authority, 438 Tenney, Nancy, 627 Thayer, Eugene, 254-55, 292-93 Thayer family, 236 They Were Expendable (White), 645, 650 Thom, Lennie, 649, 652-55 Thomas, Hugh, 542 Thompson, Frank, 723 Thomson, Frances, 397 Thomson, Fred, 396, 397 Thoreau, Henry David, 46, 86, 87 Thorndike, Augustus, 240 Ticknor, George, 46 Tierney, Gene, 723 Timilty, Joseph, 477, 663, 713 Tinker, Harold, 481 Tobin, Maurice, 706, 709, 748 Toland, Gregg, 402 Tolstoy, Leo, 321 Toohig, William, 396-97 Toscanini, Arturo, 479 Townshend, Peter, 738 Tracy, Spencer, 584 Tracy family, 46 Trading with the Enemy (Higham), 572 Trafalgar Day dinner (1938), 565-66, 567, 568 Tregaskis, Richard, 505 Trespasser, The (film), 413-18 Trilogy of Desire (Dreiser), 232 Trohan, Walter, 536 Truman, Harry, 705, 725, 727, 728, 729, 753,779

Truth-in-Securities Act, 445 Tucker, Hilary, 32 Tulagi, 648, 650, 651 Tully, Grace, 452 Tumulty, Joseph, 510 Twain, Mark, 54 Tweed, William Marcy, 134 Twentieth Century Limited, 345-46 Twenty-first Amendment. 441, 444 U-boats (submarines), 268, 277, 279, 289, 662, 684 Underhill, Harriet, 374 Union Club, 214 United Artists, 382, 386, 387, 414, 422 United Nations Conference (1945), 702703 United States Steel Corp., 284 Universal Pictures, 37 Unruh, Jesse, 794 Untermyer, Samuel, 236 Valentino, Rudolf, 341, 372 Van Buren, Martin, 513 Vanderbilt, Alfred Gwynne, 268 Variety, 385-86, 407-8, 414, 416, 422 Vernon, Bobby, 383 Versailles, Treaty of, 517, 548 Victoria, Queen, 545 Vietnam, 779 Vogue, 524 Volstead Act, 441-44 V-l rocket bombs, 685-86 V-2 rocket bombs, 686 Wakeman, Sam, 280, 284, 292 Wakoff, I. R., 388 Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, 331-32, 435 Waldrop, Frank, 626, 628, 630, 632, 633, 666 Wales, Prince of (Edward VII), 542 Walker, Elisha, 376, 440, 557 Wall, Thomas, 30 Wall Street bombing (1920), 317 Walsh, David I., 647-48, 709, 757 Walsh, James, 251 Walsh, Raoul, 404 Walsh, Thomas J., 431 Walter, Eugene, 407 War and the Intellectuals (Bourne), 276 Warburg, Paul M., 419 Ward Eight (Dineen), 72 Warfield, Thomas E., 651, 652 Warner, Harry, 371

930 • I N D E X

Warner Brothers, 374, 375 “War of the Worlds, The” (radio play), 582fn. Warren, Earl, 814 Washington, George, 218, 813 Washington, S.S., 606 Washington News, 447 Washington Times-Herald, 502, 533, 627-33 passim, 663, 769 Waterhouse, Charles, 696 Watson, Thomas, 278 Watts, James, 642 Waugh, Evelyn, 672, 740 Weaver, John, 107 Webb, Beatrice, 92 Webster, Daniel, 101, 779 Weinberger, Caspar, 504 Welles, Benjamin, 476 Welles, Orson, 582fn. Welles, Sumner, 551, 557, 610 Wellesley College, 131-33, 142, 143, 144, 188 Wellington, Alfred, 237-39, 240, 254, 255, 324 Wenden, D. J., 346 Wentworth Woodhouse, 732 West End Club, 192 West Virginia primary (1960), 797-99, 803 Whalen, Grover A., 483 Whalen, Richard, 225, 292, 379 What a Widow (film), 417 Wheeler-Bennett, John, 559, 563, 571 When Love Grows Cold (film), 341 While England Slept (Churchill), 605 White, Byron “Whizzer,” 543 White, Charles, 673 White, John, 628-31, 633, 635, 663, 736 White, Theodore H., 800, 804 Whitelaw, Aubrey, 470 Whitney, Richard, 445 Whittier, John Greenleaf, 46 Why Change Your Wife? (film), 383 Why England Slept (John F. Kennedy), 605-6 Whyte, William, 111 Wiggin, Albert H., 293, 421

Wild, Payson, 582 Wilhelm II, Kaiser, 185 Wilhelm, Prince, 122 Wilhelmina, Queen of the Netherlands, 185 Wilkinson, Thomas, 444 Williams, John J., Archbishop, 62, 88 Williams, William Carlos, 286 Willkie, Wendell L., 611, 613 Wills, Garry 457, 724, 811 Willson, Russell, 703 Willy, Wilford, 687-88 Wilson, Edith Galt, 812 Wilson, Patricia, 670-72, 678, 684-85, 689-90, 740 Wilson, Robin, 670 Wilson, Woodrow, 198, 252, 270, 429, 431, 510 Winchell, Walter, 633 Windsor Castle, 525-29 Winsor, Justin, 40 Wisconsin primary (1960), 766-97, 799 Wohlthat, Helmuth, 572-73 Wonder Book, A (Hawthorne), 87 Wood, Frank, 254, 255 Wood, Sir Kingsley, 560 Wood, Peter, 529 Wood, Richard, 529, 664, 667, 730 World of Our Fathers (Howe), 6 World War I, 267-88, 274ff., 323, 387, 428, 574, 584-85, 586, 588 Chamberlain and, 518, 528 flu epidemic in, 285—88 World War II, 588-600, 602, 607-9, 622, 623, 632, 694-95 in Pacific, 645-46, 648-60 Wrigley, William, 432 Wuthering Heights (film), 402, 584 Wyzansky, Charles, 379 Yeats, William Butler, 204 Yellow Cab Co., 330-36 Young Men’s Catholic Association, 112, 129 Zola, Emile, 796 Zukor, Adolph, 372, 373, 494

PHOTO

CREDITS

PHOTOS IN TEXT Page 3: Boston Public Library Page 40: Boston Public Library Page 110: New York World Page 130: Kennedy Family Collection Page 190: Kennedy Family Collection Page 234: Tupper, Boston Page 339: Kennedy Family Collection Page 349: Kennedy Family Collection Page 381: United Artists Page 456: Kennedy Family Collection Page 475: Kennedy Family Collection Page 512: unknown, photo in John F. Kennedy Library Page 531: Kennedy Family Collection Page 621: Frank Turgeon, Palm Beach Page 661: Kennedy Family Collection Page 683: George Woodruff Page 742: Kennedy Family Collection Page 750: John F. Kennedy Library Page 809: Time/Life

SECTION ONE Page One: John F. Kennedy Library. Page Two: Top, Bostonian Society; middle, Holy Cross College Archives, Worcester, MA; bottom, Kennedy Family Collection.

Page Three: Top, Kennedy Family Collection; bottom, John F. Kennedy Li¬ brary.

Pages Four and Five: All photos, Kennedy Family Collection. Page Six: Top, Boston Globe; bottom, Kennedy Familv Collection. Page Seven: “Norman,” Boston Post. Page Eight: Boston Globe.

SECTION TWO Pages One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six: All photos, Kennedy Family Collec¬ tion.

Page Seven: Top, Bachrach, Watertown, MA; bottom, Kennedy Family Collec¬ tion.

932 - PHOTO

CREDITS

Page Eight: Both photos, Kennedy Family Collection. Page Nine: Top, Topical Press Agency, London; middle-right, Royal Atelier, New York; middle-left, Kennedy Family Collection; bottom, National Ar¬ chives, Washington, DC. Pages Ten, Eleven and Twelve: All photos, Kennedy Family Collection. Page Thirteen: Top, Gordon Morris, New York; bottom, Kennedy Family Col¬ lection. Page Fourteen: Top, Alfieri Picture Service, London; bottom-left, Kennedy Family Collection; bottom-right, Sport and General Press Agency, London. Page Fifteen: Top, Planet News, London; bottom, G. Felici, Rome. Page Sixteen: Kennedy Family Collection.

SECTION THREE: Page One: Top and bottom, Kennedy Family Collection; middle, unknown. Page Two: Top, Narvana Studio, London; middle, Kennedy Family Collection; bottom, Portman Press Bureau. Page Three: Both photos, Kennedy Family Collection. Page Four: Top and bottom, U.S. Navy photograph; middle, John F. Kennedy Library. Page Five: Top and bottom-left, John F. Kennedy Library; bottom-right, Ken¬ nedy Family Collection. Page Six: Top, Morgan Studio, Palm Beach; bottom, Kennedy Family Collec¬ tion. Page Seven: Both photos, Time-Life. Page Eight: U.S. Army Signal Corps photograph.

ABOUT

THE

AUTHOR

Doris Kearns Goodwin is the author of the brilliantly acclaimed Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream. She has been professor of Govern¬ ment at Harvard University. She lives in Concord, Massachusetts, with her husband, Richard Goodwin, and their three sons.

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DATE DUE

AP 11 '88

GAYLORD

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