Jackie, Janet & Lee

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

“Jed Clampett”

  “Just wait until you see what I have,” Bingham Morris exclaimed to Jonathan Tapper one morning. “You’ll be so excited,” he promised. “Wait right here!” He then left for a few moments and returned to the kitchen carrying an enormous bushel of lima beans. “After you shell these babies, I guarantee you’ll never have lima beans quite like these,” he told the butler. He had a towel wrapped around his neck, as he often did to absorb perspiration. “I picked them myself exactly four weeks after the last frost when the soil temperature was about seventy degrees.” Jonathan rolled his eyes. He didn’t care about the details, all he cared about was the work he anticipated would be involved in shelling a mountain of lima beans. “Get to it right away,” Morris suggested, “because me and the missus will want them for dinner.” That was typical Bingham Morris, the new, strange, and somewhat maddening presence at Hammersmith Farm.

  “He had the house in Southampton,” recalled Adora Rule of Morris, “so, Mrs. A. would go there on some weekends, and then he’d be at the Castle during the weekdays. Or, he would be gone for two weeks and then suddenly reappear like a bad penny. But they talked every single day while they were apart; they could talk for hours on the phone. She was with him for the companionship. There was also a sense that maybe he was a manifestation of her growing confusion; the ‘old’ Janet would never have had someone like Mr. Morris in her life.

  “Jackie would come to visit and there would be Booch out on the porch in his shorts, T-shirt, and big floppy straw hat. You could see the hackles rise on her. He’d be drinking beer, listening to sports on his loud transistor radio. She was so chagrined by the sight of him. ‘I see that Jed Clampett has returned,’ she would say. She didn’t understand how Janet had gone from a sophisticated man like Hughdie, with his expensive tweed suits, to Booch, with his tattered shorts and straw hats. I told Jackie he was okay, just different. ‘Can I tell you something?’ she said, pulling me aside. ‘I don’t trust that man as far as I can throw him. Make sure everyone here keeps an eye on him.’ I thought, well, she’s just being Jackie, protective of her mother, as well she should be. Booch seemed harmless to me.”

  “He loved to tease Janet,” recalled Janet’s chef, Michael Dupree. “He would pull up in his car and he’d have at least ten hats stacked up in the rear window, straw hats and different kinds of summer hats. He’d try on all of these hats for her, and she really hated them all. But he made her laugh. There was something sweet about it.”

  Despite his eccentricities, Bingham Morris did have a certain charisma that sometimes even Lee couldn’t resist during those rare times when she came to visit. At first, Lee didn’t want to know anything about him. She had said, “I’m sorry but I will not talk to a man whose name is Booch. Now, if that makes me a bad person, so be it.” In time, though, Lee began to see Bingham Morris in her mother’s life in the same light as Peter Beard had been in hers—an unconventional man who had, against all rhyme or reason, somehow won a place in the life of an entitled woman. “There’s something extraordinarily appealing to me about people who aren’t quite in tune with the world,” she would say. “It’s a quality of being slightly lost, slightly out of step. I don’t know why I understand it so well.” She would recall Peter’s clothing as “an extraordinary costume that only he could get away with.” That would certainly also describe Bingham Morris’s daily wear.

  One day, Oatsie Charles happened by to check on Janet and found Lee and Bingham lying on two chaise lounges on the deck, his transistor radio blaring as the two of them spoke to each other. He was telling her that, prior to his marrying her mother, he’d sailed around the world more than once. She seemed fascinated. “Looks like we got us a coupla’ empty bottles over here,” Morris told Oatsie. “Be a sweetheart and go get us some cold ones, will you?” Oatsie went into the kitchen and retrieved two chilled beers from Jonathan Tapper. She then brought them out on a silver tray, handing one to Bingham and the other to Lee. Lee popped off the cap with a stainless-steel bottle opener and then handed it to Bingham to do the same. “Be a dear and bury these bottles out there in the sand, won’t you, dear Oatsie?” Lee then asked, giggling. She was obviously a little tipsy. As an annoyed Oatsie bent over to pick up the empty bottles, her ear was right next to Lee’s mouth. “If you ever so much as breathe a word of this to another soul,” Lee whispered, referencing the fact that she was getting along so well with Booch, “I will deny it to my grave!”

  Maurice Tempelsman

  “Are you happy, dear?” Janet asked Jackie in January of 1980. She and Jonathan Tapper were visiting Jackie at her home on Fifth Avenue. Janet was in the city to do some shopping, and since she did not like to travel alone these days, she’d asked her butler to accompany her. They had lunch at Tavern on the Green, and then went to Jackie’s for afternoon tea. When they arrived, Jackie was just saying good-bye to her friend and former personal assistant Provi Paredes, who had stopped in to say hello.

  “I am happy, Mummy,” Jackie said with a bright smile.

  “He’s a nice man,” Janet said. “Even though he’s still married,” she added, not able to resist the little dig.

  Jackie smiled and, ignoring the comment, said. “Let’s have a nice afternoon. I’m just so happy you’re here, Mummy!” Janet nodded; she seemed in no mood for an argument, anyway.

  After Provi left, Jackie sat down with her mother while Jonathan assisted her cook, Marta Sgubin, in the kitchen. The topic of discussion was still Maurice. As Janet had pointed out, he had not yet been able to obtain a divorce from his wife. The irony was not lost on mother and daughter. After all, for years they had campaigned against Lee ever having extramarital affairs and now here was Jackie, in her fifties, finding herself in the strange position as “the other woman.” However, Maurice and his wife had been separated for some time. She knew about his relationship with Jackie. It would be about four more years, though, before he moved into Jackie’s home.

  The times Jackie and Maurice spent with Lee were few and far between. By 1980, the sisters didn’t seem to even want to share their friends with each other. Lee was in Maurice’s company only a handful of times during the approximately seventeen years he would be Jackie’s companion. Maurice didn’t want to get in the middle of Jackie’s complicated relationship with her sister. There were a few times when Lee needed money for one thing or another and Jackie took care of it through Maurice. The money was never enough to really set things straight for Lee, though. Jackie would take care of certain bills, give Lee a little extra for this or that, “but in terms of giving her a few million to really straighten things out,” one relative observed, “no, this did not happen.”

  By this time, Jackie was working for the publishing company Doubleday after having departed from Viking on bad terms when its publisher, her friend Tom Guinzburg, decided to publish a novel by Jeffrey Archer called Shall We Tell the President? about an assassination attempt on Ted Kennedy. At Doubleday, she was encouraged to use her clout to bring in new authors and was after major celebrities to write their memoirs. Eventually, she would nab Michael Jackson for his, called Moonwalk. She was well liked in publishing circles, respected not only for her exquisite taste but for her lack of pretense when it came to the people with whom she dealt on a daily basis. She enjoyed being a “working girl,” and took her job seriously, as well as the colleagues with whom she worked.

  “When Maurice came and joined Mrs. A. and Mrs. O. for tea, I had a chance to see Janet’s reaction to Maurice,” recalled Jonathan Tapper. “I was nervous because of what I knew had been her feelings about Onassis. However, it was different with Tempelsman. First of all, he was a gentleman, and Madam always appreciated that. He also looked the part, if you know what I mean. He was attentive to her and there was warmth between them. Madam approved. She felt that Jackie had finally found someone worthy of her. Now, she only hoped that Lee could get herself sorted out, as well.”

  “I’m Lee and I’m an Alcoholic”

  It was Monday eveni
ng, June 8, 1981. A black town car slowly drove down James Lane in East Hampton past the historical sites of Mulford Barn, Mulford House, Pantigo Windmill, and Home Sweet Home to its destination, St. Luke’s Episcopal Church at 18 James Lane. It was a large, traditional-looking stone structure with stained-glass windows and a small peak at its arched front entrance upon which had been placed a stone cross. The car wound around the driveway to the back of the church and stopped at a small ancillary building in front of which a small crowd of people milled about, chatting. Once the car stopped, the small group ceased talking and turned its attention to it. The driver got out and opened one of its doors. A high-heeled foot emerged from the vehicle and touched onto the brick pavers. Suddenly, a sense of anticipation surged. “Who’s this?” Then, a woman rose from the car, someone who was instantly recognizable in a black skirt and white silk blouse. Maybe it was the hair and sunglasses that gave her away, though—a jet-black coif cascading to her shoulders, oversized dark glasses hiding almost half her face even though it was evening. “It’s Jackie O,” someone exclaimed loud enough for her to hear. She stiffened and turned her back to the small group as another woman exited the car, this one smaller, thinner, and seeming more delicate. She, too, was wearing large sunglasses, her brownish hair pulled into a sleek chignon. “Is that her sister?” someone was overheard asking. Now side by side, the two women locked arms and, heads held high, walked past the small, staring group, nodding and smiling as they passed, into the meeting room. “Welcome to Alcoholics Anonymous,” said a woman behind a table as she handed Jackie and Lee a pamphlet. Jackie said, “Thank you,” but Lee, a searching expression on her face, said nothing. They then took a seat in a corner in the back of the small room.

  No matter their problems, no matter their disagreements, no matter what had happened in the past, Lee Radziwill and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis were still sisters. They had a long storied history that was theirs, and theirs alone. Though they wouldn’t always admit as much, they did treasure their relationship even if they had so often been careless in nurturing it. It would be Jackie who would take Lee to her first AA meeting that warm summer night in June of ’81 at St. Luke’s.

  When one considers Lee’s life and times and the behavior of alcoholics as described by professionals, it seems to make sense that she might need help. Ruth Fowler, who has written in depth about alcoholic thinking—which she calls AT—seems to describe Lee in defining the term. “AT is the conviction that we need external validation to fill a hole deep inside and that in the event that our own impossible demands are not met, we must drink to fill the hole,” she notes. She has never discussed the matter with Lee and doesn’t know her, but her analysis of the condition certainly seems to apply to her. “‘If only I had a boyfriend, my life would be perfect,’ the thinking may go,” says the author. “Or, ‘If only I had more money, I wouldn’t be unhappy.’ And then there’s: ‘If only I had a drink, my life would be bearable.’ Which all leads to: ‘I don’t have these things and that’s evidence that the world is pitted against me. I called my sponsor to complain, but he didn’t call back. It’s because he—like the world, like God, like the universe—is against me.”

  Jackie helped Lee get settled in the back of the meeting room, and then waited there with her as several people spoke. Finally, Lee stood up and walked to the podium and announced, in the tradition of AA, “Hello. I’m Lee. And I’m an alcoholic.” At that moment, Jackie discreetly rose and left the building, likely for two reasons. First of all, she probably didn’t want to pull focus from Lee during her talk. And also, she likely didn’t want to embarrass her sister by hearing whatever it was she had to say. Instead, Jackie waited in the car until Lee exited about a half hour later, and then the two sisters were driven off into the night.

  Janet Comes to Terms

  It was September 1982. Janet was seated at her writing desk in the Castle with Mannie Faria standing before her. She had asked to speak to him about an urgent matter. By this time, Mannie and his family had lived at Hammersmith Farm for almost fifteen years. His daughters, Joyce and Linda, were now teenagers, thirteen and fifteen. Janet loved them as much as she would have if they’d been her own grandchildren. “I wanted to make an offer to you,” she told Mannie. “I would like to leave you a significant amount of money in my will.” He was stunned. A proud man, his first response was to protest. However, “Mrs. A.” wouldn’t hear of it. “I want to leave you a lump sum to pay for Linda’s and Joyce’s college educations,” she elaborated. “I’m thinking about sixty thousand dollars.”

  “No, I couldn’t let you do that, Mrs. A.”

  “Oh, but you have no choice,” Janet said with a smile, “because I have already made up my mind.”

  Mannie said he would have to talk to his wife, Louise, about it. As he left Janet’s side, though, he was completely choked up. The next day, when he returned he said that he and Louise would very much appreciate the assistance. Neither had been able to afford higher education, so for Janet to make it possible for their daughters to have it was more than the Farias could ever have hoped for. He said that they couldn’t be more grateful. Janet was thrilled. “Wonderful,” she exclaimed. “I will have my will amended then.”

  “I’ve been so upset in the past when I’ve read about Mrs. A. and the way she’s been depicted,” said Joyce Faria Brennan. “She’d been old-fashioned in her youth and came from a different time, raising daughters in the 1940s alone before she married Hugh. I’m sure it was difficult for her. I’ll bet she had good reason to be tough. To be strong, powerful, and assertive. But what I saw during her older years was a gracious, elegant, and generous woman.”

  “It was as if Janet was tying up loose ends,” Adora Rule recalled. “She had a similar conversation with me about my daughter, Janine.” Today, Rule says she doesn’t feel comfortable revealing particulars of the gift Janet provided her daughter, but others have said it was along the same lines as what she did for the Faria girls. Though Janine never lived at Hammersmith, she spent much of her childhood there when Adora worked for Janet. Janet was quite close to her, as well. By 1982, Janine was twenty and attending college.

  “Are you well, Mrs. A.?” Janine asked Janet at the end of the season at Hammersmith in ’82. She had come to the Castle to have tea with her, along with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, as she did at least once a week. Before their tea, Janet had enjoyed a massage from a masseuse who visited the Castle thrice weekly. While Jonathan Tapper dutifully served them on the patio, Janet answered Janine’s question with surprising bluntness. “I’m ready to die, dear,” she said. She made the statement not with anxiety or distress, but just as a simple matter of fact. When Janine told her she had many more years left, Janet shook her head. “I’m seventy-five,” she said. “It’s my time.” She said that she’d had “such a good life” and that she didn’t want to end up a burden to her children. “That would kill me,” she said.

  “As we sat with our tea, I asked her if she had any regrets,” Janine Rule recalled. “She said she’d lately begun to feel that she’d been too hard on Lee. ‘I must make it up to her,’ she said. She also said she was worried about how Jamie would feel about her once she was gone. She and Hughdie had sent him away to boarding school, she said, as early as the fourth grade. Now she feared he would think they’d just been trying to get rid of him when, actually, she said, ‘We only wanted the best education possible for him.’ She said she loved her son with all her heart and just hoped he knew it. Then, she firmly concluded, ‘I think I was a good mother to all of my children, though. I did all the right things. I tried my best, anyway.’”

  After another long moment of thought, Janet then surprised Janine by suddenly admitting that her biggest regret was that she hadn’t been able to protect her daughters from Aristotle Onassis. She said she considered the fact that she’d been unsuccessful at keeping him out of their lives to be one of her only failings as a mother. “Did you know that I actually slapped Jackie right after she married him?
” Janet asked. Startled, Janine said no, she hadn’t heard about it. Janet paused for a second. Judging from the pensive way she stared out at the sunset and the sense of repentance in the air, Janine thought Janet was about to add that particular mother-daughter moment to her list of regrets. Instead, with a wicked grin, Janet concluded, “I sure did. And she deserved it, too, let me tell you!”

  With that, “Mrs. A.” dissolved into gales of laughter.

  Maybe one of the reasons Aristotle Onassis was on Janet’s mind was because she recently had been reminded of a gift he’d given her. A few months earlier, she and Bingham had decided to put the O Street home on the market. They then purchased a three-bedroom condominium at the Watergate apartment building in Washington, putting the house in Janet’s name since it was bought with her money. She said she and Bingham would then split their time between that location, the Castle at Hammersmith, and his home in Southampton.

  “The move from O Street to Watergate was hard on Madam,” recalled Jonathan Tapper. “I would follow her from room to room and she would pick up something and try to recall its origins. Sometimes, she was sharp. ‘Jackie bought me this tea caddie in ’67,’ she would say, or, ‘I remember when Lee picked out this 1750 mahogany stool.’ Other times, she would stare at an item and have absolutely no idea where it had come from. Her mind was slipping more and more with each passing day. I made a list as she handed me the items and decided, ‘Watergate’ or ‘Newport’ or ‘Weschler’s’ because she was auctioning off a great deal of it [266 items were auctioned by Adam A. Weschler & Son]. It was as if her whole life was being picked over. It was sad.”

  At one point, Jonathan opened a drawer and found an obviously expensive set of canary diamonds—a necklace, bracelet, and drop earrings. Janet groaned. “I got those old trinkets from Onassis,” she said. “He gave them to me for one reason or another, I can’t remember. Maybe a birthday.”