Jackie, Ethel, Joan: Women of Camelot (74 page)

Joan’s White House Fantasies

A
t first, Joan Kennedy decided to go along with Ted’s pres- idential campaign—and with the charade that the two of them had a sturdy, albeit troubled union—as incentive for her to stop drinking. However, after Ted made his official announcement, it would seem that the confidence Joan felt at having pulled herself together so well up until this point gave her reason to believe that she could fulfill even greater aspirations. Her self-esteem had been raised to the point where the idea of being First Lady had actually become ap- pealing to her. Not only was she in the process of learning how to handle life’s pressures without the need to fortify herself with liquor, she also had years of experience as a po- litical wife. She believed that she had much to offer. She may have reasoned, “Why not?”

Said Richard Burke, “Being First Lady began to take hold for her as a personal dream. She used to talk about it quite often. I remember being in her apartment many times

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as she was getting ready for interviews, and we would con- verse about what life would be like for her in the White House, some of the things she wanted to do, the plans she hoped to implement. ‘I really do want this,’ she told me. ‘I think I could contribute a lot, like Jackie did.’ I think she almost felt a sense of destiny at work that Ted be in the White House, and she there at his side. The effort she was putting forth became not only about Ted’s future, but also about her own.”

Of course, the happily married couple Ted and Joan had been portraying for the media was a complete charade; they had been separated for years. How, should Ted actually be elected into office, did they intend to perpetuate this farce in the White House?

The senator told Richard Burke and others on his staff that, if elected, he had reason to believe he would be able to continue with the “Big Lie” (as he called it) just based on the fact that, in his view, he and Joan had been successful with it up until this point in the campaign. He would have his girlfriends, and his wife, and somehow he would do it all as President. (It’s been done before, and has certainly been done since.)

For her part, Joan was now operating under the notion that, as unhappy as she was in her marriage, she was willing to put up with it if it meant she would be in the White House. Apparently, whether she realized it or not, she had been sucked into the unrealistic whirlwind of Ted’s campaign, just like everyone around her.

“I also believe that, deep in her heart, she hoped that she and Ted would reconcile once they were in the White House,” observed Marcia Chellis, “that he would so appre- ciate all she had done for him during the campaign and be so

happy with her at his side that he would want to do anything to reunite the family. As angry as she was at him, I always believed that if he had at least tried, Joan would have still wanted to save the marriage and transform it into the happy union they were trying so hard to convince the press existed between them.”

Adds Richard Burke, “But most of the press didn’t buy the happy marriage bit, anyway. With the heavy scrutiny they would have gotten as First Couple, this huge deception was bound to be revealed. Looking back, there was a certain amount of total unreality within the bubble in which we were running the campaign.”

“[ Joan’s doctor] Hawthorne didn’t think any of this was at all good for Joan,” continues Burke. “In time, as he more fully understood what was going on and what Joan was set- ting herself up for, he became very unsupportive of Ted’s campaign, of Joan’s White House fantasies, the whole bit. But no one—least of all Ted and Joan—was willing to listen to him. We all had our eyes set on the White House, no mat- ter what.”

EMK’s Candidacy: Not Meant to Be

T
hroughout the campaign, Ted Kennedy seemed troubled, distracted, and ill at ease. He was never able to pull himself together, which was clear from the erratic nature of his speeches and television appearances. Try as he might, he

also couldn’t avoid sweets and liquor, and continued to pack on the pounds. He always seemed out of breath and ap- peared to be unhealthy and unhappy.

At the time that the senator announced his intention, he was leading two-to-one in the polls. But during the months to come, Ted would fall behind President Carter and never regain the lead. Not only had Chappaquiddick not been for- gotten, but times had changed. The country was moving away from the Kennedys’ brand of liberalism. Also, Ted never seemed to be either prepared or in control, and the re- sulting gaffes eroded his image. “We should expedite the synfuels program through the process of expediting,” he said in one speech. “We must face the problems we are fac- ing as we have always faced the problems we have faced,” he said in another, as his speechwriters looked at one an- other with stricken expressions.

Also, to his detriment, the “Joan Problem” was never re- ally solved. Whenever reporters looked at his wife standing at his side beaming, they couldn’t help but think of Ted’s questionable character—a line of thinking that inevitably pointed them right back to Chappaquiddick.

Perhaps to his credit, it was difficult for Ted to completely lie about the state of his marriage, though he tried.

“We have had our problems, and we’re working them out,” Ted said, not too convincingly. For the most part, Ted barely looked at Joan when they were in public together, often embarrassing her by walking away while the cameras were rolling, or when she was in the middle of a sentence. He displayed no warmth toward her whatsoever. Joan, iron- ically, was better able to act the part of a happy wife if called upon to do so. However, the “act” bothered her. In truth, ac- cording to those who know her best, Joan couldn’t stand to

be in the same room with this man who had betrayed her so many times.

One close friend tells this story: “Joan and Ted were doing a photo session for a newspaper, and the photographer was saying things like, ‘Look at her with love, Ted. Now, hold her hand. Now, Joan, hug Ted.’ He was trying to get that great shot. Joan was fine with all of it, but Ted was less eager, acting wooden and distant the whole time. Joan apol- ogized for Ted, saying, ‘Oh, he has such a headache, what with this schedule.’ But afterward, when the photographer left, Joan lit into Ted. Raw emotion erupted from her. She called him a bastard and said, ‘I’m trying. The least you can do is the same. Do you think it helps my sobriety to lie like this? I’m supposed to be honest about every aspect of my life, and so this is real hard for me, Ted.’ She was very angry, and just went on and on. Before she stormed out, she said, ‘If we make it into the White House, all I can say is, God help us both. Some President and First Lady we’re going to make . . . we can’t even hold hands. . . . What a farce.’ ”

By the end of the summer of 1980, Ted was lagging badly in all the polls; a
New York Times
/CBS poll showed that 24 percent of the Democrats polled would not vote for him under any circumstances because of “the character issue.” The Kennedy camp tried everything, even trotting Jackie out for a fund-raiser at Regis College in Westin, Massachusetts, and having Ethel star in a campaign commercial during which she sang Ted’s praises as a surrogate father to her children. It didn’t matter. While Ted seemed to fail at his venture, Joan was a smashing success at hers.

At every stop along the way, Joan could feel the differ- ence in the way people looked at her. By attending regular meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, Women for Sobriety,

and other support groups, she had managed to remain sober throughout the entire campaign. It wasn’t easy. “I don’t know how many times she told me she needed a drink,” said one friend of hers. “Sometimes, she would shake. It was a physical addiction as well as an emotional one. But she did it, by God. She sure did stay sober.”

Now Joan Kennedy radiated nothing but good health; her attitude was enthusiastic and positive. The courage and strength she exhibited, and the fact that she seemed to be conquering her demons, all worked to redesign Joan’s image. Marcia Chellis remembered: “[Joan’s] successful struggle to overcome alcoholism and her decision to live her life for herself had made a difference in the lives of others. One evening in Helena, Montana, when she walked up the long center aisle of the Shrine Temple to meet Vice Presi- dent Mondale, the entire audience rose to its feet in applause and cheers.”

Joan was greeted with great enthusiasm everywhere she went. When she gave a speech about the Equal Rights Amendment at the Parker House, the response was over- whelmingly positive.

After all she had been through to forge her own identity within the Kennedy family (or as Jackie told her long ago, “Build a life for yourself within this Kennedy world”), Joan told her audience that she now understood and related to the women’s movement. She once thought of it as for “other women,” she said, “but no more.” During her speech, Joan discussed some of the issues facing working mothers, and called for an end to economic and social injustices facing women. She ended her speech by saying in a strong, author- itative voice, “I know that one of my husband’s top priorities is to see that the Equal Rights Amendment becomes at last

the twenty-seventh amendment to the Constitution. And I know that if Ted is elected President, I will commit myself to the ongoing struggle for women’s equality with every- thing I have and everything I am.”

Afterward, Joan shook hands with members of the audi- ence—mostly young and very appreciative, mostly female but some male—for an hour or so. For years, she had craved affection and intimacy—just the touch of another person other than her children so that she could perhaps feel cherished and safe—and so the acceptance shown by these kinds of crowds on the campaign circuit was fulfill- ing in many ways. Joan found a great comfort in their ac- ceptance of her, in the way they held on for a second longer than appropriate when shaking her hand, in the way they enveloped her with their arms in an embrace of ap- proval. It all meant more to Joan Kennedy than her fans would probably ever know.

By August, Joan was tired of running in and out of limou- sines and being shouted at by anxious Secret Service men to “step on it,” yet she rarely complained. She felt strong and in control, though she knew Ted’s campaign was in deep trouble, especially when, during a trip to Alabama, she saw someone holding a placard saying “How Can You Rescue the Country When You Couldn’t Even Rescue Mary Jo.” After Ted gave a speech at Columbia University, he and his contingent drove down 114th Street—Fraternity Row—and blaring from one of the windows as if to greet the motorcade were the strains of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Waters,” as an intentional and unkind ode to Chap- paquiddick.

“There was no fighting it,” observed Frank Mankiewicz, Bobby’s former press representative who also advised Ted

from time to time during the campaign. “The sentiment against him was too strong. We all knew it. We knew it going in, but we just hoped that maybe . . . maybe . . . But it wasn’t meant to be.”

The decision was made by Ted to bow out of the race. He didn’t really have much choice; his candidacy was roundly rejected by the delegates. Joan was never consulted, even though so many of her hopes and dreams for the future would be dashed by Ted’s choice.

In fact, by the time Ted finally withdrew his candidacy in August at the Democratic Convention at Madison Square Garden—on the same stage where Marilyn Monroe had sung “Happy Birthday” to his brother eighteen years ear- lier—he had left behind a Democratic political landscape of scorched earth that had created great divisiveness within his own party, and which some say aided in Ronald Reagan’s election. But in his hour of defeat, he spoke with an elo- quence that banished for a moment all the shadows on the Kennedy legend. It would be the speech of a lifetime for Ted Kennedy, evoking what his brothers had come to mean for many Americans of their generation.

“May it be said of our party in 1980 that we found our faith again,” he intoned, a look of total defiance and deter- mination on his face. “And may it be said of us both in dark passages and bright days, in the words of Tennyson that my brothers quoted and loved, and that have special meaning for me now: ‘I am a part of all that I have met, too much is taken, much abides, that which we are, we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts, strong in will, to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’ ”

A teary-eyed Joan came forward on cue and stood at Ted’s side, as did their three children, Kara, Ted Jr., and Patrick.

“For me, a few hours ago, this campaign came to an end,” concluded Ted, the last Kennedy of his generation. “For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die.”

As the family was enveloped by applause, Joan put her arm around Ted’s neck. Their heads close together, they faced the assembly smiling, Ted with his arm around her waist. “It was the closest I had ever seen them,” recalled Marcia Chellis, who watched with great emotion from a far- away balcony. As everyone clapped and stomped their ap- proval, Ted embraced his wife warmly. She melted into his arms. The family smiled and waved at their supporters and detractors, all of whom were by now standing and cheer- ing—thousands of people in blue-and-white hats waving hundreds of blue-and-white Kennedy placards as similarly colored balloons floated in the air—for one final farewell, a send-off to Ted Kennedy, a twenty-three-minute standing ovation. “For an instant,” recalled Richard Burke, “Camelot was revisited.”