Jackie, Ethel, Joan: Women of Camelot (44 page)

P A R T S E V E N

Moving Out of the White House

A
s it would happen, it would be for her children that Jackie Kennedy would force herself to go on after Jack. “There’s only one thing I can do now,” she told Pierre Salinger, “save my children. They’ve got to grow up without thinking back at their father’s murder. They’ve got to grow up intelli- gently, attuned to life in a very important way. And that’s the way I want to live my life, too.”

The first order of business, though, would be for her to move out of the White House, a prospect that was difficult in some respects, easy in others. She had spent so much time and energy redecorating the presidential quarters and had taken such pride in what she’d done that to abandon it now was not an easy thing for Jackie. On the other hand, every- where she looked she was reminded of her husband. For that reason alone, she couldn’t wait to leave.

The Johnsons graciously offered to allow her to stay for as long as she wished. Jackie felt it important to move on with her life quickly, yet it was also true that, as she said, “I really have no place to go.” So even after Johnson took pos- session of the Oval Office, Jackie and the children continued

to live in the family quarters. “What?
You’re
the President now,” the former President Harry Truman told Johnson when he heard that Jackie was still living in the White House. “Clear that bunch out of there and move your people in.”

One afternoon, Jackie met with Ethel, Joan, Eunice, Pat, and three other Kennedy intimates for tea at the White House. As they chatted, Ethel offered Hickory Hill as a tem- porary residence for the former First Lady and her children. Jackie didn’t want to offend her sister-in-law, but she had al- ready made the decision that she didn’t want her children to be raised there, and she was certain she didn’t want to live there herself.

“But why?” Ethel wanted to know. “We have plenty of room.”

“With ten children?” Jackie asked, her tone buoyant. Per- haps she hoped to keep the mood light.

“Oh, I’ll make you so comfortable,” Ethel promised, pushing forward in a determined manner. “And Bobby will love it, just wait and see.”

Suddenly, Ethel became excited by the prospect. She began rattling off all the “wonderful things” she and Jackie would do together, “just like sisters.” She said that Jackie could stay at Hickory Hill for as long as she wished, and that this would afford the two of them the opportunity to know and understand one another. “It’s been a terrible time,” Ethel told her. “Let me take care of you. You can sleep all day.”

The other ladies present didn’t say a word. They all real- ized from the frozen expression on Jackie’s face that she did not want to stay at Hickory Hill. “Well, maybe Jackie would prefer her privacy right now,” Joan said carefully, perhaps trying to rescue Jackie.

“Oh, Joan, only you would think a person who’d just been through what Jackie went through would want her solitude,” Ethel snapped at her. “That’s nuts.” Ethel continued, saying that in her view Jackie needed people to surround and com- fort her during this difficult time. “Lots and lots of ’em,” Ethel said.

Observers say that Joan was quickly defeated. She sank into her chair, a stillness over her face.

“I absolutely do
not,
” Jackie said, trying to put a finish to this discussion. “Not ever. No offense, Ethel. But I need my privacy,” she explained. She further elaborated that her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Averell Harriman (he had been Jack’s patrician Undersecretary of State), had offered Jackie their three-story, eleven-room colonial-style brick home at 3038 N Street in Georgetown until she could find more permanent quarters. Jackie intended to move in by the end of the first week in December, she said, and the Harrimans would move temporarily into the Georgetown Inn.

“You just don’t like me very much, do you, Jackie?” Ethel suddenly asked. It was a question that seemed to have come from nowhere.

“Jackie’s eyes opened wide,” said a Kennedy intimate who was present at the tea. “From the expression on her face, you could see that she was surprised. Ethel truly did want Jackie to stay at Hickory Hill in the hope that it would somehow help her, and she was hurt when Jackie wouldn’t even consider her proposal. One could also see that Jackie was getting angry by the way Ethel was pushing.”

“Why, Ethel, how can you say that?” Jackie asked, truly concerned.

“Because it’s true,” Ethel responded, sadly. Looking deeply wounded, she observed that if the two women hadn’t

married brothers, they wouldn’t be interested in even know- ing one another. They would have nothing in common, and probably wouldn’t even tolerate one another. “And you know that’s true, Jackie,” Ethel concluded. She then rose, turned and walked out of the room leaving Jackie, Joan, Eu- nice, and the others with their mouths agape.

“You know something?” Jackie said, suddenly seething. “I have so much on my mind right now with everything going on. How dare she?”

“Yes,” Joan said softly. “How dare she?”

Perhaps Joan was looking for a moment of agreement with Jackie. But Jackie was too angry to make Joan feel a part of things. “Ladies, please excuse me,” the former First Lady said as she got up to leave.

It was clear from the outset that the Presidency under Lyndon Johnson and Lady Bird would return American pol- itics to a style to which the country had once been accus- tomed—sober and staid, without the youth, vigor, and allure of the Kennedys. Even though she knew that the house on Pennsylvania Avenue would now probably take on an air of the “Old Americana” background of its present occupants rather than reflecting her own more cosmopolitan ways, Jackie still hoped that the Johnsons would at least finish the refurbishing work she had started. She was almost done with her “project” at the time of Jack’s death, but there were still a few tasks left incomplete. During a lengthy telephone con- versation with Lady Bird, Jackie was relieved to find that the new First Lady did want to continue with the restoration. In fact, Mrs. Johnson said she would not only establish a permanent Committee for the Preservation of the White House, of which Jackie would become a member, but would

also expand the notion to the beautification of all of Wash- ington as well. Jackie was thrilled. (Lady Bird would also, during her husband’s administration, pioneer concern for the environment.)

From her home in Hyannis Port, Jackie wrote Lady Bird an eight-page letter about her hopes for the White House. “Maybe I will be remembered as the person who restored the White House, but you will be remembered as the one who preserved it, and made sure for all time it would be cared for,” she wrote. She added that she had often feared that “the next President’s wife [would] scrap the whole thing as she was sick to death of hearing about Jacqueline Kennedy.”

Jackie further told Lady Bird not to worry about saving the group of donors and advisers known as the Fine Arts Committee, explaining that it was really just a group of her friends and acquaintances that she thought could be per- suaded into giving valuable donations to the White House if she organized them into a committee they would find presti- gious. She said that they had only had about two meetings anyway and that she had really done “all the work myself,” along with whichever member had a special interest in the particular project she was undertaking. “I can’t stand ladies’ committee meetings,” she explained. “They never accom- plish anything.”

Always one to encourage a sense of appropriateness, Jackie suggested that Lady Bird write a letter to all of the committee members showing her appreciation for their par- ticipation up until that point. Also (“MOST IMPORTANT”), she advised her to write to the head of the White House His- torical Association and praise the members for their work. She suggested that Lady Bird remind them that a curator

(such as Jim Ketchum—upon whom Jackie said Lady Bird could rely completely) should always be in residence in order to know which pictures need repairing, which pieces of furniture have been damaged, “and which ashtray has been stolen by a tourist!”

In her very detailed letter, she then provided a list of the members of the association and their duties. She also re- minded Lady Bird that the curator of the White House is hired and paid for by the Smithsonian Institute, which should never change, she suggested, lest some future First Lady appoint as curator her “Aunt Nellie who ran a curio shop,” which she feared could be “a disaster.”

In closing her letter, Jackie mentioned that she would be leaving the White House for the Harrimans’ at lunchtime on Friday, December 6, and she asked Lady Bird not to fear— she would be sure not to move out on Pearl Harbor Day. (Fretting how it would be viewed historically, Lady Bird did not want Jackie moving out of the White House on Pearl Harbor Day.)

“Well,” Jackie concluded in a letter that still tugs at the reader’s heart strings, “Jack and I did a lot in 2 years, 10 months and 2 days—so I can surely move out for you in 4
1
⁄
2
days.”

Lyndon Johnson “Using Jackie”

“
H
ell yeah, me and Miz Kennedy are close friends,” Lyn- don Johnson said as four female reporters took notes. “She

and I have a special relationship. She picks up the phone, calls me up, talks. You know? Poor thing. We’re like this,” Johnson said, crossing his middle finger over his index fin- ger. He was vibrant and excited, his whole being seemingly charged with adrenaline at the thought of Jackie.

It was the evening of December 23, 1963—a month after the assassination—and the new President had just enjoyed a li- bation or two at the White House Christmas party. Now he was sitting back in an upholstered chair in the Cabinet Room with four reporters and, at least from all evidence, showing off. He snapped his fingers; an idea had come into his head. “Let me just call Miz Kennedy right now,” he offered. After pushing a button to activate the speakerphone on a desk, he dialed Jackie’s number. As it rang, he put his index finger to his mouth, warning the women to “hush up.” Meanwhile, a dictabelt (an early means of recording telephone conversa- tions) would document the entire conversation.

Unbeknownst to Jackie Kennedy, the day after he took of- fice as President, LBJ had instructed his secretary, Marie Fehmer, to be sure that all his White House phone calls were recorded. Lyndon Johnson would become the only President in history to record his telephone conversations throughout his Presidency—without the permission of anyone on the other end of the line. (Those recordings were then stored after his death in the Johnson archives in his home state of Texas.)

“You’re so nice to call me, Mr. President,” Jackie said when she picked up. “You must be out of your mind with work piled up.”*

*After accidentally addressing him as Lyndon on the plane after he was sworn in, Jackie vowed that in the future she would only refer to him as Mr. President, even though he insisted that she do no such thing.

“I have a few things to do,” he told her, “but not anything that I enjoy more than what I’m doing now.” He took a look around at the wide-eyed expressions on the women’s faces; no one had heard a word from Jackie—probably the most popular woman in the country—since the funeral. He smiled to himself.

“You’re nice,” Jackie said.

“I just wish all of you a Merry Christmas, and I wish there was something I could do to make it happier for you.”

“You’ve done everything you could,” Jackie said, “and thank you so much.”

“Do you know how much we love you?”

“Oh, well,” Jackie said, unsure of how to answer him. “You’re awfully nice.”

“You don’t know?” Johnson said, pushing. The reporters took feverish notes.

“No, I don’t,” Jackie answered, sounding extremely un- comfortable. “Well, yes, I do,” she said, changing her mind. “All hundred and eighty million love you, dear,” he said.

“Oh, thanks, Mr. President.”

“I’ll see you after Christmas, I hope,” he continued. “If you ever come back here again and don’t come to see me, why there’s going to be trouble,” he added. “You don’t real- ize I have the FBI at my disposal, do you?”

“I promise. I will,” Jackie said, unconvincingly.

“I’m gonna send for you if you don’t come by,” LBJ told her, “and someday they’re [the FBI] gonna create a traffic jam up there in Georgetown. You have a good Christmas, dear.”

“Thank you, the same to you,” Jackie answered. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. . . .” he cut her off before she could fin-

ish. Johnson turned to the impressed reporters. “What’d I tell you,” he said of the former First Lady. “Like this,” he concluded, again crossing his fingers.

While he genuinely seemed to care about the former First Lady, Johnson recognized Jackie’s political influence, and her easy, almost homespun, sense of diplomacy. Her poll numbers, he kept reminding everyone, had been higher than her husband’s at the time of Jack’s death. With Jackie as his chief supporter, he believed that Americans would more readily accept his role of leadership, which had been foisted upon them in the most tragic of circumstances. Also, he needed a friendly conduit to the Kennedy infrastructure, someone he could have in his corner to help sway Bobby.