Berman and Kennedy, along with publicist Nancy Haberman, went to scope out the space and meet with the hall manager charged with deciding who could and could not use the facility. John, who lived on North Moore Street, within walking distance, decided to use the occasion to walk his dog, Friday. Upon trotting inside, the Canaan promptly lifted his leg and relieved himself. The official called for the custodian to clean up the mess. John shook his head. “My dog,” he said firmly. “I will clean it up; please just get me some paper towels.” The manager was in a “huff” over the incident, but later that afternoon he called Haberman, saying, “It’s fine. I have gotten approval.” He added: “Please leave the dog at home.”
John spent weeks preparing for the conference. Michael Sheehan reprised his role as media trainer, offering suggestions for ways to handle the press. The night before the event, Ginsberg and former Clinton advisor Paul Begala went to John’s apartment to conduct a “murder board,” asking John the toughest, most challenging questions imaginable. Ginsberg did not waste any time.
“John,” he began, “you failed the bar twice. Was it because you were too lazy to study or just too dumb to pass it?” John roared with laughter.
But Gary did not relent. “Are you going to use your magazine to do investigative pieces?”
John answered, “It’s not my focus, but I would not rule it out. It’s more of a lifestyle magazine.”
Well, then, Ginsberg retorted, “will you use it to look into who shot your father?”
Begala recalled that the question seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room.
“No,” John responded calmly. “As you can imagine, I thought about this a lot. I have come to realize that I could spend the rest of my life on that question, and it would not change the central operative fact that I don’t have a father.”
On the morning of September 8, 1995, John’s limousine pulled up to the curb, and six private security guards whisked him through a side door. Waiting for him inside were 160 reporters, photographers, and television camera crews from around the world—an extraordinary assembly. “I did presidential events,” reflected Ginsberg, who had organized campaign events for Clinton in 1992. “I know what campaign events look like, and it was no different than a general election event by a major party nominee within a month of an election.”
The moment had finally come for John to introduce himself and his magazine to the world. Older Americans knew him mostly as the poor little boy saluting his father’s casket. A younger generation had marveled at his stunning good looks and his reputation as the world’s sexiest man. Now the world would see John in an entirely different light: a grown man of substance. “The launch was an opportunity to define who we were,” Ginsberg reflected, “to introduce George in a way that was befitting of the magazine, with John—front and center, charismatic, magnetic, and embodying the excitement and electricity of the magazine itself.”
John, Michael, and Pecker gathered in a small room on the second floor. “For the first time, I saw John Kennedy a little anxious,” Haberman recalled. Shortly after ten in the morning, surrounded by Doric columns in the rotunda of Federal Hall, John ascended the stage, accompanied by Berman and Pecker. “I never knew you were such a big draw,” John quipped to Michael as they stared out at the world’s media. After they took their seats, Berman noticed John looking toward him and then pointing at the crowd. “What the hell are you pointing at?” Berman thought, before John started laughing. “I’m giving the photographers a shot, you idiot! You are such an amateur!”
John may have had more experience, but even he was overwhelmed. Pecker spoke first, then Berman, who delivered one of the best lines of the event. Being John Kennedy’s partner, he said, “is a little like being Dolly Parton’s feet. I’m sure they’re perfectly nice, but they tend to get overshadowed.”
The people in the crowd laughed, but they clearly were not there to see either Pecker or Berman. John, wearing a fitted, double-breasted navy suit, white foulard, solid navy tie with a shadow stripe, and black shoes, rose from his chair and walked to the podium amid a flurry of flashbulbs and a round of enthusiastic applause.
“Ladies and gentlemen, meet George!” John announced. The crowd clapped as John revealed a giant blowup of the first cover, featuring Cindy Crawford dressed as George Washington, sporting a powdered wig and a bare midriff. The idea of putting the magazine cover on a mounted display that could swing around was the brainchild of Robert Isabell, a renowned event planner who organized many Kennedy family events. “It was the single most important piece of advice we got,” said Haberman.
Following the unveiling, John held his first press conference as founder of George. “I haven’t seen so many of you in one place since they announced the results of my first bar exam,” he quipped in a well-rehearsed opening. The self-deprecating humor seemed to disarm the reporters. “Politics isn’t dull,” he said, turning serious. “Why should a magazine covering it be? Politics is a drive. It’s about trial and loss, the pursuit of power, and the price of ambition for its own sake.” Richard Blow noticed from his seat in the balcony that “flashbulbs illuminated the room in such a constant stream that it appeared someone had turned on a strobe light.”
After he completed his prepared remarks, John opened the floor to questions. But first, once again he charmed the reporters with his humor:
“Yes. No. We’re only good friends.”
“None of your business.”
“I’ve worn both.”
“Maybe someday, but not in New Jersey.”
The “answers” were in response to the obvious questions he expected about his private life, including his new relationship with Carolyn Bessette, his rumored affair with Madonna, whether he wore boxers or briefs, and if he planned to run for the Senate in New Jersey. John’s tactic, which Blow described as “transparently manipulative,” worked. He made it harder for the reporters to be rude and easier for them to write about his modesty.
Fortunately, most of the questions remained respectful and focused on the magazine. Asked if he could really be nonpartisan given his family’s close ties to the Democratic Party, he quipped, “My uncle Ted said, ‘If I’m still talking to you by Thanksgiving, then you’re not doing your job.’” The crowd loved it. When asked whether the magazine would cover the sex lives of politicians, John said, “It would be disingenuous to say that I don’t have some sensitivity to the seamy side of issues.” He made clear that the magazine would address the private lives of politicians only if it related directly to political affairs. Another reporter asked him whether his mother would approve of his new project. “My mother would be mildly amused, glad she is not standing here.” After a pause, he said, “She would be very proud.”
That evening, John and Berman attended the US Open. John had not received feedback from the press conference, but he received rave reviews among those at the tennis tournament. Berman recalled that people were coming up to him unsolicited and offering congratulations. The two men had a running joke that if they obtained something because of John’s celebrity, it counted for one point. If it was despite who he was, it was worth two. “What do you think about today? One or two?” John asked Michael on the ride back into the city.
“Today was a three,” Berman answered, “and, my friend, you’ll probably never hear me ever say that again!”
Berman was right, because the next day, John’s performance received uniformly positive reviews. “He displayed an engaging candor and easygoing nature with the media—not unlike the style of his father,” observed Newsday. “He now has a forum that is both a business venture and a touchstone to the political world that may be his next career.” The New York Daily News described John as “articulate and funny.” The New York Times praised him as “confident and relaxed, fielding questions and making a persuasive case for his magazine.”
After the magazine launched, John went into Michael’s
office. “You know, I got this really nice note from your father wishing us well.” John thought it was a thoughtful gesture. “Unfortunately,” he cracked, “you’re not going to get one of those back.”
* * *
—
The media response to the magazine varied wildly. The Philadelphia Inquirer hailed it as “revolutionary fun. Not to mention zippy.” The New York Times praised the first issue as “a blend of substance and fluff with dashes of irreverence and wit.” U.S. News & World Report magazine described the inaugural issue as “a playful romp that merges the seamy and the serious,” and The Detroit News deemed it “a political gem.” But not everyone was impressed. The Wall Street Journal dismissed the editorial content of the magazine as “an afterthought.” The Boston Globe blasted its “disappointingly vapid” material, while Harper’s editor Lewis Lapham referred to George as “the political magazine from which the politics had been tactfully removed.” Maureen Dowd, a columnist for The New York Times, questioned the magazine’s celebration of celebrity, which, she argued, distorted “democracy by giving the rich, beautiful, and famous more authority than they deserve. And the last thing politicians need is another instrument of public relations.”
Whatever the media’s assessment, George proved to be a huge hit with the general public. The original print run of five hundred thousand sold out within days of hitting newsstands. An additional order of one hundred thousand copies disappeared quickly as well. Soon after publication, John went on a media blitz and managed to secure a coveted ninety-second slot on the popular TV sitcom Murphy Brown, starring Candice Bergen as a hard-nosed TV news anchor and investigative journalist. Berman and John pitched the idea and scripted the scene. “They barely changed a word,” Michael recalled. In the scene, John stops by to personally deliver Brown a one-year subscription to his new magazine as a wedding present. Brown is not impressed. “Gee, I hope you didn’t have to sell the compound,” she mutters as she searches the gift box for something more.
“Okay, fine, if that’s your attitude. But don’t come crying to me when you have to pay full newsstand price,” John says as he turns and walks toward the elevator.
While critics sneered at his appearance and made the predictable comparison with his father, John dismissed the criticism. He thought he had made an important step in freeing himself from the burden of his past. Besides, the free scripted advertisement reached thirty million viewers, whereas paying for a commercial would have cost $2.5 million.
Two days after the Murphy Brown show aired, John traveled to Washington to talk with CNN host Larry King. Media coach Michael Sheehan spent hours preparing him for the interview. King sat at a desk, with his guest seated directly across from him, which meant John needed to ignore the cameras and maintain eye contact with his host. Once King asked a question, John could look up toward the ceiling or even down at the table for a few seconds to collect his thoughts, but he always had to finish his answers looking at King. By this point, John anticipated that he would get the usual questions about his father and his childhood. King tried different ways of posing the familiar questions, but John stuck to his standard and well-rehearsed responses. When the host asked if it was complicated being the son of a legend, John responded that “it makes for a rich and complicated life” that was “part of the puzzle to figure out in my life.” And when King asked him the obligatory question about whether he remembered saluting his father’s coffin, John explained his own confusion: “What happens is you see an image so many times that you begin to believe, remember the image . . . but I’m not sure I really do.”
What the audience did not know was that the King interview almost never happened. John was scheduled to fly from New York to Washington to tape the show live in the CNN studios, but he failed to anticipate the traffic on the way to LaGuardia Airport and missed two flights. Fortunately, CNN was covering the O. J. Simpson murder trial, which pushed back John’s interview to later in the evening.
A few weeks later, Larry King called Pecker and asked if John would consider sitting in for him while he went on vacation. The network had narrowed it down to two favorites: General Colin Powell and John. CNN president Tom Johnson also contacted Pecker, pleading with him to convince John to take on the role. Much to Pecker’s disappointment, John refused. Pecker believed that John lacked confidence and was “unsure” of himself. “He wouldn’t take that extra step like an editor should,” Pecker stated. “I think that he didn’t feel comfortable in his own skin.” In fact, just the opposite was true: John knew exactly who he was and had no desire to become a television host. He saw no need for extra exposure, agreeing to appear on Larry King in the first place only to promote his magazine, not himself.
John also sat down with CBS News anchor Dan Rather, who seemed to be trying to discover John’s passion in life. When asked how much his mother influenced the decision to start a magazine, John replied that he “grew up in a household where words and books and magazines were always around, and we weren’t allowed to watch television too often, but we were allowed to read magazines. So it’s an area where I’m comfortable.” Rather had done his research and likely surprised John with a question about his acting career. The newsman told John that nearly everyone he spoke to said that John’s “real passion was to be an actor.” John pointed out that the myth had somehow become perceived as reality. If something “is repeated enough” and went unchallenged, John responded, “it becomes the truth.” He went on to say that he enjoyed acting at Brown, “but it was never even remotely a career option for me.” It was not, John said, something that he “was passionate about pursuing for the rest of my life.”
Apparently, the media attention produced a new threat against John’s life. On September 21 a woman called the JFK Library in Boston and, after initially pretending to be a member of the family, became agitated, claimed that John “had publicly insulted her,” and demanded an apology. According to a declassified FBI report, she proceeded to say that “she was going to shoot John F. Kennedy Jr.” Later that day, she left two additional messages. While the messages are partially redacted in the FBI memo, she demanded, “Who gives you the right to fire me, John?” followed by “John . . . you owe me.” The FBI informed John of the threat. He told them he was not familiar with the name of the caller. It’s unclear from the available documents what, if any, steps were taken in response to the threat.
* * *
—
There was little time to relish the success of the first issue because they needed to get out the second by December 1995. Director Oliver Stone had just released a new movie about the late Richard Nixon, who died a month before Jackie in April 1994, and it was generating a lot of buzz. It seemed like an ideal fit for George to produce a cover depicting a blockbuster Hollywood movie about a controversial American president. But it turned out to be a poor decision. In 1991 Stone had directed another blockbuster, JFK, which managed to incorporate in two hours nearly every harebrained conspiracy theory about the assassination of President Kennedy.
A clueless Eric Etheridge suggested that John meet with Stone to discuss the content of JFK. John was shocked. Anyone who knew him understood that his father’s death was off-limits. When a friend who had seen the movie told him how entertaining it was, John replied bluntly, “It’s not entertainment for me.” I spent many hours talking with John about his father and his presidency, but we rarely broached how he died. He made only two cryptic comments. On the thirtieth anniversary, in November 1993, considerable news coverage rehashed the assassination. “Why are people so fascinated by my father’s death?” John asked, clearly not wanting an answer. I always assumed that he did not believe in the countless conspiracy theories, but as previously mentioned, he once said enigmatically, “Bobby knew everything,” and he said it in a way that made me think perhaps Bobby knew things that the public, and maybe even the Warren Commission, did not.
Nixon seemed so ideal for George, however, t
hat John could not pass up the opportunity. He asked Berman to make it clear to the director not to raise anything about the assassination. “Look,” Berman told Stone, “we are happy to meet with you, happy to do it, John’s happy to promote your movie, but you can’t bring up anything about his father’s assassination.” Stone agreed. Berman and Kennedy then flew to Los Angeles, meeting Stone and his agent for dinner at the Buffalo Club in Santa Monica. Beforehand, though, Michael and John worked out a signal in case Stone reneged and started talking about the events of November 22, 1963: John would politely excuse himself from the table to use the restroom, and, while he was gone, Berman would end the dinner.
According to Berman, the four of them enjoyed a pleasant dinner, discussed the Nixon film, and the new information Stone had discovered about the disgraced former president. With time running out, the director made his move just as dessert arrived. “You know, John,” he said, “I just have to ask you. I am knee-deep in all of these conspiracy stories about your father, and you know the reality is it could not have been one bullet.” On cue, John excused himself.
As John walked away, Berman turned to Stone. “You crossed a line, and we can’t go back. John’s going to return to the table. We will ask for the check and then casually walk out. It was very pleasant, but the dinner is over.”
John fumed on the way out. “I’m not promoting his movie. He went back on his word, and I’m not doing it.” When John returned to the office the next day, he told the staff, “I just couldn’t sit across the table from that man for two hours. I just couldn’t.”
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