The Ambassador: Joseph P. Kennedy at the Court of St. James's 1938-1940

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For Doug Always

JOSEPH PATRICK KENNEDY FAMILY TREE

NOTE ON NAMES AND SPELLING

During the 1930s and 1940s many Europeans and Americans, including Joe Kennedy, incorrectly referred to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland as England. I refer to the country as Great Britain herein, as it is more in accordance with modern sensitivities. During Joe Kennedy’s tenure as American ambassador to the Court of St. James’s in London from February 18, 1938, until January 11, 1941, the British Empire and Dominions still encompassed two-fifths of the world’s land surface, making it the largest empire ever known. Following World War II, mapmakers enjoyed a heyday renaming and recoloring maps and globes as the British, Italian, French, and Dutch empires were all dissolved, and countries often changed their names. Cities and smaller places, too, like airports, also had different names. I refer to all these entities in the names of the period herein. The term MP stands for Member of Parliament and is shortened after the first mention. Any quotations in English are spelled either in American English or British English depending on the original source. I have not corrected the grammar or typographical errors in the Kennedy or other letters, but have where necessary clarified the text [in square brackets].

The first task of an ambassador is to faithfully interpret the views of his own Government to the Government to which he is accredited … the second is to explain, no less accurately, the views and standpoint of the Government of the country in which he is stationed to the Government of his own country …

—SIR NEVILE HENDERSON,

BRITISH AMBASSADOR TO BERLIN 1937–1939,

FAILURE OF A MISSION

PROLOGUE

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 1940

On the same day Adolf Hitler traveled south to the French border with Spain for talks with Generalissimo Francisco Franco, U.S. Ambassador Joseph Patrick Kennedy bid his farewells to senior members of his team at the American embassy in London. As staffers shuffled out of the ambassador’s office, some were dabbing tears from their eyes while others sported half-hidden sly smiles. Despite their differences of opinion about the ambassador, each one recognized that it was the end of a turbulent era of American diplomacy in Europe. In his two years and seven months in England, Joe Kennedy had been taken to the people’s hearts, then widely loathed. From the outset, he was feared and deemed insufferable by both the White House and the State Department.

When Kennedy stepped out onto Grosvenor Square for the last time, the ever-present international newshounds barked: What will you do now, Mr. Ambassador? Kennedy—standing ramrod tall in his homburg and overcoat, perhaps some pounds thinner than his normal svelte self—merely smiled. The press generally remarked that old Joe wore a somber, even sullen face. Some mistook it as regret at being recalled for consultation by President Franklin D. Roosevelt. But this was no recall. And there were scores of people who knew it. Joe Kennedy was going home to put FDR out of a job.

Predictably, photographers begged the ambassador to turn this way and that. Jim Seymour, one of Kennedy’s stalwart Hollywood friends, was asked to shake his boss’s hand one last time for the cameras. Flanked on his right by his most private Mister Fix-It, London Jack Kennedy, the ambassador obeyed, seething. Minutes earlier, Kennedy’s press handler, Harvey Klemmer, had given him a final warning: For Heaven’s sake, do not say anything before you see Roosevelt at the White House, for if you do, it will mean, politically, gravely damaging things.¹ So Joe hung onto his quick Irish temper and thought of his sons’ futures.

Then the throng unexpectedly parted, making way for the giant figure of Prince Monolulu—the feted horse-racing tipster wearing his ostrich-feathered crown, black and gold waistcoat, multicolored silk trousers, and matching frock coat. Monolulu bellowed in a deep, honey-coated voice his famous strapline, I have a horse. The photographers snapped away while Monolulu whispered to Kennedy the name of his favorite Thoroughbred running that day. Of course the ambassador had made use of Monolulu’s tips during his leisure time at the races with England’s ruling elite. So, Joe gave Monolulu a smile, not quite hiding his irritability.² When, at last, Kennedy turned away from the embassy, he also left behind the pinnacle of his public service career.

Joe Kennedy was both bitter and aggrieved. Everything had changed since his arrival in Great Britain on March 1, 1938. Former Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, Kennedy’s great friend, was dying. Winston Churchill, whom Kennedy never trusted, had become prime minister on May 10, 1940. Joe had made acres of friends in high places. Then he lost the esteem of all but a select few. The ambassador had a long memory, particularly when it came to grudges, and would never forgive Churchill, who in Joe’s opinion had laid his military blunder in Norway that April at Chamberlain’s feet. Just the same, as Kennedy was driven south to Bournemouth in thickening fog to catch his clipper flight home, he never thought that the brickbats hurled at him by the British predated Churchill’s rise by over a year. Undoubtedly, the shots that stung the most came from the big guns of the White House and the U.S. State Department.³

BY OCTOBER 1940, Kennedy’s outrage was aimed at the two-term Democratic President Franklin D. Roosevelt, for how shabbily the president had treated his ambassador to the Court of St. James’s. Joe was determined to wreak his revenge on the president’s bid for a third term in just ten days’ time by urging everyone to vote for the Republican candidate, Wendell Willkie. Months earlier, Joe had told Clare Boothe Luce—his lover and the wife of publisher Henry R. Luce of Time, Fortune, and Life—what he planned to do. While Clare smoothed his ruffled brow, Joe might have forgotten that she was a die-hard Republican and could have had an ulterior motive in fueling his flames of indignation against the president.

And yet, Kennedy’s wife, Rose, had written to her husband a few weeks earlier that she wanted to tell Roosevelt she would guarantee to chloroform you [Joe] until after the election.⁴ This is the true story of Joe Kennedy’s rise to the pinnacle of his public service career as U.S. Ambassador to the Court of St. James’s in London and his fall from grace.

PART I

THE WINTERS OF OUR DISCONTENT

Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun …

—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, THE TRAGEDY OF RICHARD III,

ACT I, SCENE I

1

THE PRESIDENT’S MAN

Hatred is the only word that properly defines the attitude toward Roosevelt of thousands of men and women among the more fortunate.

—JOSEPH P. KENNEDY,

I’M FOR ROOSEVELT, 1936

Joseph Patrick Kennedy was sworn in as U.S. Ambassador to the Court of St. James’s in London on February 18, 1938. His appointment was the belated reward for backing President Franklin D. Roosevelt in his successful reelection campaign of 1936. As thanks for his efforts in the 1932 election, Kennedy became the first ever Chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) from June 30, 1934, to September 23, 1935, and the first Chairman of the Federal Maritime Commission from April 14, 1937, to February 19, 1938.

Then, as now, America’s ambassadors were an uneven mix of high net worth individuals—like Kennedy—and career diplomats. Often they were at loggerheads with one another, but the State Department pay scale for ambassadors was meager. Having ambassadors who could entertain lavishly in places like London, Paris, and Rome was deemed to be worth the potential friction. Since Kennedy did not have the skill set of a career diplomat, his legacy would depend entirely on what he made of his time in office during one of the most difficult periods in world history.

So, who was Joe Kennedy?

A second-generation American of Irish descent, Joe was born on September 6, 1888, in the predominantly immigrant quarter of East Boston, or Noddle’s Island, as it was then known. Kennedy grew up cocky, confident, and devoutly Catholic. He would always claim that his father, Patrick Joseph P.J. Kennedy, had been excluded from politics because he was an Irish Catholic. Yet Kennedy’s Irish Catholic father-in-law, the Democrat John F. Honey Fitz Fitzgerald, had served in the Massachusetts state senate and in the U.S. House of Representatives, and was twice the city’s beloved mayor.

In truth, P. J. Kennedy was a saloonkeeper of considerable influence, who preferred the I scratch your back, you scratch mine machinations of behind-the-scenes ward politics, like Frank Skeffington, the Edwin O’Connor character in the 1956 bestseller The Last Hurrah.* Local politics promoted respect in the community—even if the methods employed by the neighborhood bosses were often illegal. Daily, P.J. and men like him doled out heaps of food for the starving, treats for orphans, whisky for a dying man, and much more. Ward bosses were the trusted shadow government, and often the only men who helped the immigrant poor, all in exchange for their votes. Poverty-stricken young men of intellectual promise were saved by politics, and men like P.J. and Honey Fitz were prime examples. Back then, local politics preferred street wisdom to a college degree.¹

P.J. was expert at getting rich off his own largesse. As the boss of East Boston’s Ward Two, he passed his philosophy of life on to Joe: nothing is given to you on a plate; you have to give a little to get a lot.² P.J.’s Ward Two political endeavors raised him to the middle class; which, in turn, enabled him to pay for Joe to receive his education at the expensive and prestigious—albeit Protestant—Boston Latin School and Harvard University. Joe’s grades in these institutions were, at best, mediocre.

At Harvard, social acceptance outweighed the significance of good grades. Joe won his varsity letter in the last baseball game of the season against Yale as a bench substitute. Although he struck out at bat, he did end the game by tagging the Yale runner. Pocketing the winning ball, which by rights belonged to the Harvard team captain, Kennedy ran off the field with his captain in hot pursuit.³ Joe had his father’s lust for wealth and advancement—but lacked P.J.’s soul.

Most remembered for his larger-than-life personality, and always eager to press his case for social advancement, Kennedy was rough—perhaps a rough diamond. His peers often recalled his profanity, toothy smile, quick wit, quicker temper, ready charm with the girls, brawling, and dedicated organizational skills in his not-to-be-denied pursuit of wealth.⁴ Odd jobs abounded in Joe’s youth, as P.J.’s obsession with status and money were ingrained in his son; just as Joe’s own obsessions would be visited upon his children. They would not be outsiders like he was.

Shortsighted since a young man, wearing his horn-rimmed round glasses long before they were fashionable, Kennedy was farsighted when it came to making money. Back then, banking was still a time-honored profession, and an attractive one to a young man lusting after riches. So, with help from P.J. and his friends, Joe became a bank examiner. Not only was he paid handsomely, but his raw intelligence taught him how the whole monetary system worked.

When the tiny Columbia Trust Company in East Boston (in which P.J. held a majority interest) looked as if it might be gobbled up by a larger competitor, P.J. sent out the call to his henchmen for cash. Joe got his old Harvard classmates to back him to become the youngest bank president in the nation at Columbia Trust, too.⁵ Some may not have liked the cocky young Kennedy, but all recognized a born money-spinner when they saw one and hopped on board.

FROM HIS YOUNGEST days, Joe longed to be an insider at the top man’s table. That meant marrying up the social ladder. And so Honey Fitz’s eldest daughter and college girl, Rose Fitzgerald, became the object of his affections. Rose was two years younger than Joe, and he had been courting her since his junior year at Harvard. It was only when Joe became America’s youngest bank president at age twenty-five that the mutual dislike between Honey Fitz and P.J. melted. The wedding took place on October 7, 1914. Joe would always address his father-in-law when writing as Mr. Mayor.

Within the year, Joseph Patrick Kennedy Jr. was born. Both grandfathers cooed and smiled over the baby’s crib, and Honey Fitz announced that he would be the first Catholic president of the United States. From that moment, Joe set his heart on making the name Kennedy as important to Americans as that other Boston name: Adams. Attaining that dream would be at the heart of Kennedy’s relationship—not only with Roosevelt, but also with his sons.

YEARS AFTER ROOSEVELT’S death, in Kennedy’s unpublished Diplomatic Memoir, he laid claim to a nodding acquaintance with young FDR as assistant secretary of the navy in 1917. Back then, Kennedy was the new assistant manager at Bethlehem Steel’s Fore River Shipyard. In essence, Joe said he lost a skirmish to FDR when he was forced to release two battleships to the Argentinean government despite their failure to pay for them. The truth was far more damaging. Kennedy, married and father of two sons,* had avoided the draft of 1917 by taking the reserved occupation job at Fore River—a job which came his way with the help of his father-in-law, Honey Fitz. Fore River’s general manager had met Joe at Fitzgerald’s behest at a downtown Boston hotel, and agreed to hire Kennedy because he was impressed with the young man’s personal style.

What made Joe’s appointment so unusual is that no one prior—or afterward—had reached a management position at Fore River without a strong background in shipbuilding.⁶ Due to promotions and rapid changes in management caused by the Great War, however, Kennedy was left briefly in charge of the shipyard in October 1918, after a mere month on the job. Fore River was, according to Assistant Secretary Roosevelt, one of the most important shipyards due to its expertise in building destroyers, submarines, the largest battleships, merchant ships, and any class of cruiser.⁷

Within days of Kennedy taking over as acting general manager, five hundred machinists went out on strike. They had been promised equal pay to the Boston Naval Shipyard by management, but after a month’s delay, their pay packets remained unchanged. An employees’ strike during wartime could prove fatal to American troops and the war effort. But Kennedy’s stance was that if such a promise had been made, no one had informed him—and he was not prepared to ask the bosses at Bethlehem, either. His arrogance in ordering the skilled workmen to resume their jobs so angered the others that all the yard’s machinists walked out. They were joined by about 3,500 of the 9,000 workers, idling over half the shipyard. Kennedy had made a blunder that eventually took the chairman of Bethlehem Steel, Charles M. Schwab, and Roosevelt to iron out personally. Thereafter, Joe was demoted to less onerous tasks and left the shipyard shortly after the November 1918 armistice.⁸ Years later, Roosevelt may not have recalled that it was Kennedy who had created the furor at Fore River. Then again, he may have chosen to ignore the incident in light of Kennedy’s influence and wealth.

AFTER THE WAR and a short stint with Hayden, Stone stockbrokers in Boston, Kennedy judged his horizons had become too big for the city’s closed Protestant Brahmin community. Possessed of an active mind, Kennedy bored easily and needed a larger stage for his talents. So, by the mid-1920s, he headed for New York and Wall Street with his young family. There he made his first multimillion-dollar fortune and bought a mansion in Bronxville, just under seventeen miles north of New York City. Kennedy then proudly set up million-dollar trust funds for each of his children. Never accepted by veteran Wall Streeters, Joe had gained a reputation as a shrewd market speculator. He became used to the fact that he drew strong opinions, and always defended his actions as legal.

IN 1927, KENNEDY eyed up Hollywood, where he would make millions more as a producer and wheeler-dealer. Cobbling together a syndicate of his powerful Boston friends including Guy W. Currier and Louis E. Kirstein,* Kennedy raised the money to buy a loss-making British-owned company, Film Booking Offices of America, known as FBO, for a million dollars. Essentially a film distribution company, FBO was failing primarily because its British owners could not obtain affordable finance.⁹ The Kennedy consortium was poised to take advantage of the introduction of talkies that year and watched the money roll in.

Hollywood undoubtedly raised Joe’s public profile to celebrity businessman status. The films he financed opened with the screen credit JOSEPH P. KENNEDY PRESENTS.¹⁰ Even so, his films were not memorable—like his Galloping Thunder and The Little Buckaroo (released in 1927 and 1928). What mattered were profits, and Kennedy cashed in, just as motion pictures became America’s greatest world export.

At the first of many lunches with Hollywood’s then most famous female star, Gloria Swanson, she recalled Joe’s breaking into peals of laughter and how he began whacking his thigh so unabashedly, so unaffectedly, that I [Gloria] started laughing too. She said that his expressive hands—unused to hard work—and the way he talked with them were his most remarkable feature. Most others thought it was his strong Boston accent.¹¹ Within weeks, Kennedy would become Swanson’s business manager and lover. Uncharacteristically, Joe saw the tremendous scope for Hollywood as a sure thing, telling Swanson, The Cabots and the Lodges, referring to his Boston Yankee nemeses, wouldn’t be caught dead at the pictures, or let their children go. And that’s why their servants know more about what’s going on in the world than they do. The working class gets smarter every day, thanks to radio and the pictures.¹²

WHILE KENNEDY WAS making a bigger name for himself in Hollywood, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, then serving on the Democratic National Committee’s Executive Committee for the 1928 presidential campaign, wrote to him.¹³ Roosevelt was deeply concerned by the anti-Catholic bombast and the rhetoric of those working against the repeal of the Eighteenth Amendment and asked Kennedy for a contribution.* The Republican candidate, Herbert Hoover, repeatedly damned the Democratic (and Catholic) four-term governor Al Smith of New York as a Yankee wet. In fact, it was one of the nastiest presidential campaigns ever fought. Back then, being a Roman Catholic was as disabling to a candidate as being Black, Irish, Italian, or Jewish. Hoover’s tactics upset Catholics and other Americans like Roosevelt, who were dumbfounded by the nation’s bigotry.* The able Democrat Smith was widely smeared with claims that any Catholic was unable to act as a loyal American, since Catholics had a prior allegiance to the Vatican. That campaign, for all its ills, became a significant watershed and the beginning of a certain political understanding between Kennedy and Roosevelt.

BY 1931, KENNEDY’S FBO had acquired a controlling interest in Radio-Keith-Orpheum Corporation (RKO), one of the big five studios of Hollywood’s Golden Age. Joe was in the process of taking over Pathé while also running Gloria Swanson’s production company. Among the loyal employees who helped manage Gloria Productions for him was Edward E. Eddie Moore, Honey Fitz’s former secretary. Moore would become Joe’s closest business confidant and friend throughout his career.

Although Hollywood offered unprecedented and exciting opportunities, it was a dangerous place for a family man. Publicly, Kennedy espoused Catholic values but could never turn away from a pretty face or shapely leg. Then, too, Miss Swanson’s on-screen steamy image was precisely what Joe loved. His affair with her was not the first or last time Joe strayed. Rose, heavily pregnant with their second daughter, Kathleen, ran back to her parents in 1920 when she suspected Joe was unfaithful. A woman’s first duty was to her family, Honey Fitz told her after she spent two weeks sulking in her bedroom, and ordered Rose to go home.† And so Rose returned to her unfaithful husband, two infant sons, Joe Jr. and John Fitzgerald, called Jack, and daughter Rose Marie, known as Rosemary, who had special needs.

In 1929, at the height of Joe’s affair with Gloria, their first talking picture, The Trespasser, premiered in London. Rose, now a mother of eight children, never let her suspicions get the better of her again. The same could not be said of Gloria’s third husband, Henri de La Falaise, Marquis de La Coudraye. When he joined the Kennedys in London, he could not escape the reality that his wife captivated Joe.¹⁴ Then, two months later, Hollywood gossip columnist Hedda Hopper reported that Rose’s doting father, John F. ‘Honey Fitz’ Fitzgerald, the former powerful mayor of Boston and a leading political boss, had taken certain steps to restore his philandering son-in-law to the family fold.¹⁵

Those steps became clear when one of Joe’s employees, Ted O’Leary, drove Gloria to a hotel to see an important person and friend of the Kennedys. A bespectacled man in his seventies greeted her, dressed in his cardinal red silk steeped in the pungent smell of incense. After a short but polite chat, Boston’s Cardinal William Henry O’Connell—the same man who had married Rose and Joe—told Gloria flatly that her relationship with Kennedy was an occasion of sin each time she saw him. Swanson replied curtly that the cardinal was talking to the wrong person and left. Afterward, she asked O’Leary who had put the cardinal up to his saintly mission and he replied that it was Cardinal O’Connell who contacted me.¹⁶

Just the same, Kennedy remained Swanson’s lover and business manager. Even the artistic and financial disaster of Queen Kelly—that unwatchable, never-released film directed by Erich von Stroheim—did not separate them. Gloria later said the movie was only fit to be viewed in a museum and would certainly be killed by the censors at Will Hays’s office.* During this fiasco, Kennedy’s beloved father, P.J., became seriously ill. Urged repeatedly by Swanson to come to Hollywood to sort things out, Kennedy was on the West Coast when P.J. finally died. On hearing the news, Joe shut down the set of Queen Kelly and headed back east.¹⁷ He never forgave himself for abandoning his father’s deathbed. Gloria Productions was left with Queen Kelly’s $800,000 debt. Their last film together, What a Widow!, was also a flop. Kennedy gave the playwright a bonus of a new Cadillac for devising the witty title and inexplicably charged it to Gloria’s personal account. So, Swanson asked him about the bookkeeping error. In a silent, livid rage, Joe simply left the room. Gloria never saw or heard from him again.

With a similar silent alacrity, Kennedy extricated himself unscathed from the financial debacle of Swanson’s production company. Then he made several million more on the merger of Pathé with RKO. After that, Joe announced that he would return to Wall Street in association with Elisha Walker, the millionaire chairman of the Transamerica Corporation.¹⁸

THE GREAT CRASH of 1929 molded Kennedy’s political ideals into the single and urgent purpose of saving capitalism. He had become a millionaire in the era when the symbol for the U.S. dollar was still written with two vertical bars through the S. Those who worked with Kennedy knew that he saw the world only within that narrow perspective. Nonetheless, Joe was just the kind of man Roosevelt needed for his planned recovery of the American economy, dubbed the New Deal.

Kennedy began his public service career in 1932 as an avid supporter of New York governor Franklin D. Roosevelt for president. His backing did not come from any love for Roosevelt or even the New Deal as much as a deep-rooted fear that America’s freewheeling capitalist system would be obliterated by a communist revolution. The huge social and economic displacement caused by the Great Depression and the subsequent rise of communist and socialist ideologies in the United States terrified him. To his mind, Big Business and the rugged individualists of the twenties had not embraced the stark reality that they had to change their wicked ways or capitalism would perish. Roosevelt’s plans to introduce workmen’s compensation, Social Security, aid to farmers, electricity for the masses, and a raft of other new government benefits to put America back to work through his New Deal were a small price to pay to avert the coming cataclysm in Joe’s eyes.

Roosevelt’s historic win in 1932 against the incumbent Herbert Hoover was down to the promise of the New Deal. The president-elect had many active supporters to thank, including Joe Kennedy. Few had his flair and the skin-deep affability of a fast-moving entrepreneur with the eye and bite of a predator. Joe charmed the most unlikely benefactors and grabbed ahold of their unwilling dollars for Roosevelt’s campaign. Like any self-promoting celebrity businessman, he was good at handling the press and had become friends with the biggest publisher of them all, William Randolph Hearst. Given the reforms that Roosevelt believed were necessary to save the American capitalist system, having a successful Wall Streeter and Hollywood financier expressing the need for economic reform was essential. Joe worked tirelessly, raising money for FDR—often getting wealthy Republicans demanding anonymity to contribute. Most crucially, Kennedy mobilized his friendship with Hearst and his Pathé News connections, too.¹⁹*

That said, Roosevelt closed his eyes to Kennedy’s playing the lone hand of an entrepreneur. Joe was not then—nor would he ever be—a team player. Shortly after Roosevelt secured the Democratic nomination for president, Roy Howard, publisher of the Scripps-Howard newspapers, met with Joe to hear more about the candidate. Kennedy is quite frank in his very low estimate of Roosevelt’s ability.… Kennedy expects to fly to whatever port Roosevelt is in for the night, to be present at the evening conferences because he knew that if he were not present, the other men … would ‘unmake’ Roosevelt’s mind on some of the points which Kennedy had made it up for Roosevelt, Howard said. He was astounded at Kennedy’s frankness and his understanding of Roosevelt’s immaturity, vacillation, and general weak-kneed character. Howard added, Kennedy is, I believe, enjoying his Warwick role of kingmaker.²⁰

But a kingmaker always has his price. Kennedy calculated the contributions, goodwill, and contacts he had mobilized to back the president-elect, making it known he lusted after the post of secretary of the treasury. But when Roosevelt’s preliminary lists for his cabinet began to circulate, Kennedy’s name was not there.

Kennedy’s wrath was palpable. His sums made Joe believe he was owed Roosevelt’s lasting friendship. It never occurred to him that the president-elect might have gotten wind of his disloyalty from Howard and others, and that Roosevelt’s friendship was not for sale. Kennedy is hurt because I have not seen him, the president lamented to Harold Ickes, the secretary of the interior. Roosevelt grumbled that Joe had to be sent for every few days to know he was loved. The trouble with Kennedy, Roosevelt confided to his friend and secretary of the treasury Henry Morgenthau Jr., is you always have to hold his hand.²¹ As New York’s governor, Roosevelt became highly adept at depriving overeager allies of the honors they believed were their appropriate recompense.

But Kennedy would not be placated, as New Dealer Raymond Moley* found when he visited Joe at his Palm Beach home afterward. His excoriation of Roosevelt and criticisms of the President-elect, who according to Kennedy, had no program—and what ideas he had were unworthy of note stunned Moley. Shocked, too, by the hundreds of dollars in telephone calls to provide an exchange of abuse of Roosevelt with Hearst, Moley was certain that the publisher must have wondered why he had supported Roosevelt to the nomination.²²

Despite Kennedy’s persistence, Roosevelt ignored him throughout 1933.† Down but not defeated, Joe returned to Wall Street, masterminding a pool trading in shares of Libbey-Owens-Ford and spreading the word that the glass manufacturer was tooling up to produce liquor bottles. He knew that prohibition would be repealed. With his insider’s knowledge, Kennedy sold short and made yet another fortune.

ALWAYS A FIERCE competitor, Joe did not give up. That summer, he invited the president’s eldest son, James, called Jimmy, to spend time at the Kennedy home at Hyannis Port. Jimmy, also a Harvard graduate, had run his father’s Massachusetts headquarters during the election and hoped to settle in Boston earning a living from his new insurance business. After listening to Jimmy’s hopes for the future, Kennedy told him that the steadfast Republican, Henry Ford, still had twenty-six of his thirty-two Ford Motor Company assembly plants mothballed since 1929. But the outspoken elderly car manufacturer now wanted to make his peace with the president. All it would take—Joe reliably told Jimmy—was for FDR to inquire after old man Ford’s health.

So, Jimmy told his father. The president was aware that Ford’s son, Edsel, had donated money to Roosevelt’s health retreat at Warm Springs, Georgia.* Roosevelt mulled over Kennedy’s proposition with his secretary, Marguerite Missy LeHand. The big thing here is a hundred thousand men going back to work and not Jimmy’s picking up the car company’s workmen’s compensation insurance business, Roosevelt concluded. FDR sent the warm telegram as suggested to Ford, and the assembly plants began to roll once again. Years later, Jimmy said he never got a look-in for the insurance business, but he was grateful to Joe for trying.

Next, Kennedy invited Jimmy and his wife, Betsey, to join him on a trip to Great Britain in the fall of 1933. It was widely believed prohibition would end before the year was out, and Kennedy promised Jimmy they could make a killing in the renewed liquor trade. Though others vied for the exclusive rights to import liquor from the British Distillers Company, with its near monopoly on aged Scotch, no other competitor had Kennedy’s braggadocio to negotiate while standing next to the president’s eldest son. Britain’s leading distillery men were thrilled to meet Jimmy, and it was readily agreed to give the young Roosevelt the insurance contract for fire risk on the eventual imports to the United States. Kennedy probably never realized he had put the president in an awkward position. Directly involving Jimmy in a deal that depended on the repeal of prohibition before it had become a fact was perhaps good business. It was certainly bad politics.*

Early in December, just after the Eighteenth Amendment was rescinded, Kennedy’s company, Somerset Importers, was officially awarded the contracts to import Haig & Haig and Dewar’s Scotch whisky. Somerset was also named the distributor of Gordon’s gin and secondary liquor brands imported in bulk. In its first year, the company imported some 130,000 cases of Scotch and cleared $536,000 net of costs. Paul Murphy, who headed up Kennedy’s New York City office at 30 Rockefeller Plaza, estimated Somerset’s profits would rise to approximately $560,000 to $600,000.²³ In 1934, Kennedy set up nine additional trusts for his unborn grandchildren to shelter his profits from tax. These trusts came in handy during the lean ambassadorial years in London.²⁴

ROOSEVELT HAD SEEN that Kennedy tired of any new challenge after a few years. Aware that it was safer to have Joe inside the presidential tent as he approached the midterms, he offered Kennedy the position of Chairman of the new Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC)—so it was said by citing the it takes a thief to catch a thief thesis. Roy Howard’s Washington News published an editorial pleading with the president not to with impunity administer such a slap in the face to his most loyal and effective supporters as that reported to be contemplated in the appointment of Joseph P. Kennedy. Although James M. Landis and Benjamin V. Cohen had drafted the initial Securities Act of 1933, Kennedy proved a wise choice for the enactment of the more important Securities Exchange Act of 1934, intended to combat fraud in the trading of securities.²⁵

When Moley summoned Kennedy to the White House, he asked Joe if there was anything in your career in business that could injure the President. If so, this was the time to spill it. This was no Gloria Swanson asking about a bookkeeping error. So, with a liberal dash of profanity, Kennedy defied anyone to question his dedication to the public interest or to point to a single shady act in his life.²⁶ Moley recalled that after an unrepeatable string of swearwords, Kennedy said he would deliver an administration of the SEC that would be a credit to the country, the President, himself, and his family—clear down to the ninth child.²⁷

Kennedy remained at the helm of the SEC from June 30, 1934, until September 23, 1935—delivering his letter of resignation on September 6 to the president citing personal reasons for leaving the post. Twelve-hour days and six-day weeks often challenged his health, meaning his delicate gastrointestinal system, he said.* Administration of the Securities Act of 1933 and the Securities Exchange Act of 1934 became Kennedy’s legacy and had been broadly successful. According to the Associated Press, Kennedy was the now-smiling, now-explosive administrator, who had weighed in on Washington politics as its Wolf of Wall Street.²⁸ Everyone wondered what he would do next.

2

AN IMPERFECT FAMILY PORTRAIT

Family is the first essential cell of human society.

—POPE JOHN XXIII

Kennedy still deemed himself part of Roosevelt’s administration, writing as you know, Mrs. Kennedy and I plan to go abroad with the children the latter part of the month and it seems wiser for me to terminate my official relations prior to leaving.¹ In reply, the president asked if Joe would be willing to act as his unofficial observer while in Europe: I wish you would do a trouble shooting job and find out for me just what the threat to peace amounts to, Kennedy wrote in his Diplomatic Memoir.² Just the same, given Joe’s lack of international political expertise, it is more likely that Roosevelt wanted Kennedy to turn his financial wizardry to resolving the outstanding European war debt from 1918, worth billions of dollars.

FDR saw this as a great opportunity to test out how well Joe would perform internationally. It suited the president, too, for his talks to be unofficial in nature. Secretary of the Treasury Henry Morgenthau had been singularly unsuccessful in obtaining any repayment of the war debt, and Roosevelt did not want Morgenthau to think he had lost confidence in him. From the president’s perspective, it was good that Joe planned to travel with the Kennedy clan, who would act as legitimate cover for such a delicate mission, too.

Roosevelt gave Kennedy personal letters of introduction to the American ambassadors in Paris, London, the Hague, Berlin, and Rome. Alexander Noyes, financial editor of The New York Times, and Arthur Krock, who represented the paper as its Washington bureau chief, wrote to their correspondents in the same cities, too. They arranged for Kennedy to meet Geoffrey Dawson, editor of The Times of London, and Robert Brand of the investment bank Lazard Brothers.³* Kennedy obtained access to Winston Churchill through Bernard Baruch, another Roosevelt adviser and Churchill’s investment expert in the United States for over ten years.⁴ Churchill had been out of the government since 1929 due to his perceived adventurism; and from 1933 for his anti-Nazi rhetoric. Even so, Churchill had personal knowledge of why the war debt had not been paid.

New York’s bishop Francis Spellman jumped at the chance to help, too. Spellman had been sent by Boston’s Cardinal O’Connell to study at the Pontifical North American College in Rome for seven years as a young man. He knew the ins and outs of the Vatican and was a valued adviser on the state of Catholicism in America. Caring and wise, Spellman moved in important circles and was a canny businessman for the Church. As Rose Kennedy’s confessor and a close family friend, he had been guiding Joe, too, in national and religious matters. Spellman’s letter to Count Enrico Galeazzi, at the time the Vatican archaeologist and close personal friend of Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli, then secretary of state of the Holy See, speaks well of the Kennedy family.† Spellman unrestrainedly praised Joe as a good Catholic who has done much to help our nation and our religion. Calling Kennedy a dear friend, Spellman told Galeazzi that Joe was the President’s personal and confidential envoy, and asked that he be given every benefit of Galeazzi’s expert advice. Spellman emphasized his hope that the Count would be of assistance in any manner possible.⁵

LATER, ROOSEVELT DISCOVERED that Kathleen and Jack were the only Kennedy children to accompany their parents to Europe. Kathleen, aged fifteen and always known as Kick in the family, was deemed old enough to get something out of a year of schooling abroad—in a suitable French convent. Since Jack had graduated in reasonably good standing from Choate, Joe and Rose agreed, he, too, should be exposed to European culture and history. Neither parent saw that they had passed over Rosemary, and that their eldest daughter would see her rightful place had been usurped by Kick. Today it is believed that Rosemary, who was born at the height of the Spanish flu epidemic on September 13, 1918, suffered from a lack of oxygen during childbirth, making her slow. By the time of the 1935 voyage, Joe and Rose understood that Rosemary suffered from mild to moderate intellectual mental retardation—until the 1950s superstitiously believed to be a punishment against the parents for some unknown sin.

Joe decreed that Jack, aged eighteen, should follow in Joe Jr.’s footsteps for a year’s study at the London School of Economics with the socialist ideologue of the Labour Party, Professor Harold Laski.⁶ Given that Joe feared any outbreak of left-wing violence against the established social order, the motive for sending his sons to study under Professor Laski seems to have been to groom them for public service, in order to combat a socialist world of the future. It was a big step, since Jack had been a relentlessly sickly but uncomplaining child with a propensity to mysterious illnesses and fevers, involving prolonged periods of convalescence.* Jack was fascinated by history, and history books were frequently stacked by his sickbed.

Joe had fretted over Jack’s health since the boy had contracted scarlet fever as a three-year-old and had been given the last rites. Joe often recalled the priest’s praying over the deathly ill child. He had rarely left his son’s side, praying as well. Deeply distressed—it was the first time Joe had experienced very serious sickness in my family—Joe offered half of his entire wealth to the Catholic Church if Jack’s life could be saved.*

And saved Jack was. Once he was out of danger and safely returned home from his three-month convalescence in Maine, Joe moved the family to an imposing colonial-style home with curving bay windows and a broad veranda that hugged the entire ground floor. There were fourteen rooms with nearly an acre of land. Then, too, there was a new Rolls-Royce parked in the garage. The house was registered solely in Rose’s name. With the bulk of his cash fortune spent improving their social standing, Joe stood by his word and gave half of his remaining wealth, some $3,500, to the Church.⁷ Kennedy wore his heart in his wallet and lived for his children.

Rose adored the house and ignored that Joe always had some pretty young girl on his arm. Mistresses and one-night stands would come and go by the busload, but she had learned her lesson and asked her husband no questions. Instead, she turned her mothering into an enterprise. She concentrated on clothing the children, so every button was properly sewn on, every outfit well-tailored and laundry fresh. An army of governesses, housekeepers, cooks, and a secretary made the house run smoothly. Rose did little in the way of diaper changing but recalled how in the winter diapers froze stiff and then had to be thawed. She remembered all those radiators, sizzling away, draped in white.⁸ Missing from Rose’s reminiscences are examples of motherly love for any of her children or mentions of her incessant travels without her family.

Paradoxically for a devout woman, Rose adored shopping for luxury possessions. She kept up with her Catholic social circle and her presidency at the charitable organization Ace of Clubs, which she co-founded in 1911. The club was dedicated to its membership of socially elite college-educated Catholic ladies, with frequent talks and events geared to self-improvement. At home, Rose insisted on good manners at all times but was often sorely let down by her rowdy fledglings.⁹

IT WAS JOE who created the family dynamic. He had ingrained in all the children that Kennedys were not tattletales. Kennedys were winners. Kennedys stuck together—always—to the point of being aggressive about it. Not one of the younger eight children ever dared to take the place of—or infringe on—the rights of an older one, except in the case of Rosemary. Joe Jr. often took his father’s place as disciplinarian when Joe traveled or was at work. Frequently Rose was away, too, much to the annoyance of Jack as a youngster. In truth, the children thought it was normal that their parents should spend as much as three hundred days a year apart from each other. As an adult Jack described his mother as terribly religious. She was a little removed and still is, which I think is the only way to survive when you have nine children.¹⁰

In her own way, Rose accepted that Joe was a serial philanderer. To think anything else would insinuate that she was a stupid woman—which she was not. Her 1920 epiphany about Joe’s infidelities taught her that she would have to create her own world within the family unit. Outwardly she was always supportive. While we will never know what she really felt, evidently she needed a corner of her life to call her own. Joe—whether at home or traveling—remained the boss. When Kennedy went to Hollywood, she enrolled Joe Jr. and Jack at boarding school and placed Rosemary in a Catholic institution. Coping with the boys at home in Bronxville and Rosemary’s learning difficulties was beyond her endurance. Extensive travel alone or with friends became Rose’s primary coping mechanism. She never visited her children at boarding school or Rosemary when institutionalized. Her religion remained her most important buttress against any recurring doubts and personal vanity.

Then, too, Rose may have found the easy relationship Joe had with his children hurtful. It was Joe who ran the family circus. It was Joe who made them close-knit and mutually supporting. It was Joe who laid down the law, and Joe who picked up the pieces. Joe was called Daddy by the girls and Dad by the boys. Rose was always Mother. He dictated family togetherness, and many said he ran his family like a tribal chieftain.¹¹ Rose shriveled into the background, a distant figure.

IN 1935, WITH Jack and Kick aboard the Normandie, Joe confessed he was concerned that as the elder children grew into adulthood and encountered influences over which he had no control, they would grow apart. This anxiety manifested itself in an impromptu encounter with Lawrence Fisher, who happened to be stretched out on an adjacent deck chair. Fisher was one of the famous body by Fisher brothers of General Motors fame, so Joe quickly sent for Jack. With his hair tossed, and necktie askew from playing in a game of deck tennis, Joe greeted Jack with the words ‘I want you to meet Mr. Lawrence Fisher, one of the famous Fisher Body family. I wanted you to see what success brothers have who stick together.’¹²

Had Joe heard that Jack referred to young Joe as a bit of a bully? Or had some family friend told Kennedy the truth: all the younger siblings loved but feared Joe Jr. and his propensity to cruelty?¹³ Jack, always a mischievous and lively child, would never have told his father outright. Besides,