after ten, he walked down the hall to the Cabinet Room, where the twelve members of the ExComm were gathered.
Except when he was particularly tired, Kennedy spent at least an hour a day swimming and doing stretching routines prescribed for him by Hans Kraus, the Austrian orthopedic surgeon whom he had barely recognized on Monday after his speech. A little gymnasium had been set up for him in the basement of the West Wing, next to the swimming pool. The Situation Room was just around the corner, permitting him to check on the movements of Soviet submarines in between working on his weak abdominal muscles. Kraus warned that it was 'especially important' to keep up the exercise program 'in times of stress and tension.'
JFK had been struggling with illness for as long as he could remember. Much of his adolescence was spent in and out of hospitals with a succession of mysterious ailments. Doctors were never able to pinpoint the cause of his problems, and were constantly arguing over how to treat him. By the time he became president, Kennedy had undergone half a dozen major operations. He was injected daily with more than a dozen different medicines, including procaine to relieve his back pain, testosterone to boost his weight, steroids to control the colitis, and antibiotics to prevent a flare-up of an old venereal infection.
Kraus was convinced that many of the president's health problems were the result of too much medication. Rival doctors had been shooting him up with novocaine and other painkillers to help him get through the day. Even though Kennedy had succeeded in cutting down on his daily intake of drugs over the last few months, he was still a walking pill cabinet. He was taking at least ten different types of medication, some of them twice a day. As concern grew that the president might have to be evacuated from the White House, his Navy doctor issued instructions for a case full of drugs to be kept permanently on station outside the Oval Office. The brown leather case was to be marked 'personal effects of the president' and should be 'available to move with the president's party at any time.'
The extent of Kennedy's medical problems was a closely kept secret, but they had a profound impact on who he was and how he lived his life. His poor health contributed to his introspective, skeptical nature. He joked about death from an early age. At the same time, he learned early on how 'to live every day like it's your last day on earth.' Like his nemesis, Fidel Castro, JFK was 'addicted to excitement,' in the words of one of his biographers. His life was a 'race against boredom.'
Where Kennedy differed from Castro, and also from Khrushchev, was in his sense of detached irony, which also had a lot to do with his long illness. He was forever questioning conventional wisdom. Castro was narcissistic and self-absorbed: all that mattered were his own actions and his own will. Khrushchev reduced world affairs to crude calculations of political power. Kennedy had a knack for looking at problems through the eyes of his adversaries. His 'capacity for projecting himself into other people's shoes' was at once his curse and his strength.
A lifetime of physical suffering was one of two formative influences that distinguished Kennedy from the typical scion of wealth and privilege. The other was World War II. As a lieutenant junior grade commanding a PT- boat in the Pacific, he got a front-line perspective on modern warfare that was quite different from the view from the White House or the Pentagon.
'This war here is a dirty business,' he wrote his Swedish girlfriend, Inga Arvad, in 1943. It was difficult to persuade his men that they were dying for a great cause when they were fighting on 'some islands belonging to the Lever Company, a British concern making soap…. I suppose if we were stockholders we would perhaps be doing better.' Unlike the Japanese, who were willing to sacrifice themselves for their emperor, the typical American soldier felt a divided loyalty ? 'He wants to kill but he is also trying to prevent himself from being killed.' The lesson that Jack drew was that politicians had better think very carefully before they sent their children off to war. He was scornful of abstract phrases like 'global war' and 'all-out effort.'
It's very easy to talk about the war and beating the Japs if it takes years and a million men, but anyone who talks like that should consider well his words. We get so used to talking about billions of dollars, and millions of soldiers, that thousands of casualties sound like drops in the bucket. But if those thousands want to live as much as the ten that I saw [in his PT-boat, which was sliced in half by a Japanese destroyer], the people deciding the whys and wherefores had better make mighty sure that all this effort is headed for some definite goal, and that when we reach that goal we may say it was worth it, for if it isn't, the whole thing will turn to ashes, and we will face great trouble in the years to come after the war.
Kennedy grew even more concerned with the unintended consequences of war after becoming commander in chief. In early 1962, the historian Barbara Tuchman published a book about the start of World War I called
One of Kennedy's favorite passages was a scene in which two German statesmen are analyzing the reasons for the most destructive military confrontation up until that time.
'How did it all happen?' the younger man wanted to know.
'Ah, if only one knew.'
As Kennedy tried to imagine a war with the Soviet Union over the missiles in Cuba, one thought kept returning to trouble him. He imagined a planet ravaged by 'fire, poison, chaos, and catastrophe.' Whatever else he did as president of the United States, he was determined to avoid an outcome in which one survivor of a nuclear war asked another, 'How did it all happen?' and received the incredible reply, 'Ah, if only one knew.'
The nuclear strike codes were kept inside a black vinyl briefcase known as 'the Football.' The Football enabled the president to order the obliteration of thousands of targets in the Soviet Union, China, and Eastern Europe. Within seconds of the authentication of a presidential order, missiles would lift off from silos on the plains of Montana and North Dakota; B-52 bombers heading toward Russia would fly past their fail-safe points to their targets; Polaris submarines in the Arctic Ocean would unleash their nuclear warheads.
At first, Kennedy viewed the Football as just one more piece of presidential paraphernalia. But after a year in the White House, he started asking more pointed questions about its use. Some of his questions were prompted by a novel published recently,
'The book says one of those men sits outside my bedroom door all night. Is that true?'
Clifton replied that the duty officer responsible for the Football remained downstairs in the office area, not upstairs in the residence. 'He'll be upstairs ? we've timed it many times; he can make it even if he has to run up the stairs and not use the elevator ? in a minute and a half. If he knocks at your door some night and comes in and opens the valise, pay attention.'
On another occasion, Kennedy wanted to clarify precisely how he would go about ordering 'an immediate nuclear strike against the Communist Bloc,' should that become necessary. He drew up a list of written questions for the Joint Chiefs of Staff, asking what would happen if he pushed 'the red button on my desk phone' and to be connected to the Joint War Room at the Pentagon:
• If I called the Joint War Room without giving them advance notice, to whom would I be speaking?
• What would I say to the Joint War Room to launch an immediate nuclear strike?
• How would the person who received my instructions verify them?
These were hardly abstract questions. The president and his aides had explored the pros and cons of a nuclear first strike against the Soviet Union, often in the context of a Soviet attack on Berlin. Some military leaders, such as LeMay and Power, were enthusiastic proponents of the first-strike option. The idea repelled and frightened Kennedy ? he agreed with McNamara that it was impossible to guarantee the destruction of all Soviet nuclear weapons ? but the plans were drawn up anyway. The nuclear debate was shifting from an abstract faith in deterrence through 'mutual assured destruction' to practical considerations on how to fight and win a limited nuclear war.
