“See your daddy, Caroline?” I pointed to the television as her father stood to take the oath of office.
She looked at the television and watched for a brief moment, her legs dangling from the sofa, as her father placed his left hand on the Bible and raised his right hand.
I John Fitzgerald Kennedy do solemnly swear . . .
“Where’s mommy?” she asked.
That I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States.
“Mommy’s there, too. I’m sure they’ll show her on the television in a minute.”
And will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.
“I want to finish my finger painting,” she said as she jumped down from the chair.
So help me God.
“Your daddy has just become the thirty-fifth president of the United States, Caroline,” I said gently. I patted the chair and said, “Now he’s going to make a very important speech. Come sit back down and let’s watch.”
Begrudgingly, she climbed back up on the sofa.
Eight inches of snow had fallen in Washington, D.C., the night before, blanketing the city with a mix of ice and snow. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and a thousand District of Columbia employees had worked overnight to clear the streets and remove hundreds of abandoned cars so the inaugural parade could proceed as planned. By noon on Inauguration Day, the snow had stopped and the sun emerged against a brilliant blue sky. The temperature did not climb above 22 degrees, however, and the hundreds of thousands who had come to witness this historic event were bundled up with heavy coats, gloves, hats, and mufflers in an effort to stay warm. As President Kennedy stood before the American people to give his Inaugural Address, you could see his breath hanging in the frigid air.
“I want to finger-paint some more,” Caroline said, once again jumping off of the sofa.
I realized that, at three years old, Caroline could not possibly understand the importance of this moment, nor was it likely she would remember her father’s historic speech.
“Okay, Caroline, go on outside with Miss Shaw and paint a nice picture for your mommy and daddy.”
I turned back to the television and watched the rest of President Kennedy’s speech. I could see U. E. Baughman, the chief of the Secret Service, seated just behind the president on one side, and SAIC Jim Rowley on the other side. Mrs. Kennedy was seated to the left of the podium, dressed in an ivory coat and matching hat, beaming proudly as her husband addressed the nation and requested citizens to ask not what the country could do for them but what they could do for the country.
As the president stepped away from the podium, the audience rose to its feet and burst into thunderous applause. The torch had been passed.
It was a powerful speech and you couldn’t help but be moved by it. For me it had an even greater impact because I had also had the privilege of seeing him as an ordinary man. I’d seen his elation at the birth of his son, heard his laughter while playing with Caroline in the pool at Palm Beach, and witnessed the light in his eyes when he greeted his wife after they’d been apart. It hit me then that perhaps I had been looking at my assignment all wrong. I was serving the president, and the country, with an important task. I was responsible for protecting the things that were most important to him, personally—his wife and his children.
I had assumed that we would be taking Caroline and John back to Washington as soon as the Inauguration festivities were over, but Mrs. Kennedy wanted the children’s rooms in the White House to be ready prior to their arrival, and that would be at least two more weeks. I got daily updates from Agent Jeffries about what was happening, about all the changes Mrs. Kennedy was making and how he was having a tough time getting used to her impulsive nature and lack of a schedule.
The funny thing was I realized that her spur-of-the-moment ideas and impromptu activities were what I missed most about not having her around.
I anticipated there would be new challenges with the first lady, and I looked forward to settling into a process of never knowing what was going to happen next, because that was the way Mrs. Kennedy preferred to operate. Spontaneity was what she thrived on. Everyone had to be on their toes. As time went on, I could anticipate what she might do or request, but she never failed to surprise me.
It has taken me many years to be able to remember the good times of that first winter in Palm Beach. It used to be—and it still happens occasionally—that the mere mention of Palm Beach would send my mind back to the day when the pain was too much for me to bear, when I couldn’t face her anymore, when the laughter and hope had been washed away, like waves over a child’s sand castle. But in December 1960, none of us could have imagined the way our lives would change.
PART TWO
1961
4
Glen Ora
Saturday, February 4, 1961
President Kennedy and family enter White House for first time together
In a repeat of the snowstorm that immobilized Washington, D.C., for the Inauguration, a massive weather system had engulfed the East Coast from New York to Virginia the day before we were scheduled to return to Washington with Caroline and John. Eight inches of snow had fallen, but by the afternoon of Saturday, February 4, the runways in Washington had been cleared and pilot Howard Baird assured me we could depart Palm Beach as scheduled. Two-month-old John slept soundly, while Caroline was understandably excited to be reunited with her parents and to see her new home.
As the Caroline descended into the nation’s capital, the crisp blue sky
