Over the years, one reason proffered for why Caroline and John turned out so well was because Jackie purposely kept them away from Ethel’s more unruly bunch, fearing a bad influence. However, this is simply not true. Both women commiserated about the raising of their children and lent helping hands many times along the way, just as they were involved in the raising of all of the other young Kennedys. In this large family, no child was isolated from the others. Caroline and John spent plenty of time with Ethel and Bobby’s offspring, just as they did with Joan and Ted’s, and with all of their other cousins.
The real reason Caroline and John turned out so well has to be traced back to Jackie’s basic parenting skills and some of the choices she made along the way. She was strict. She was tough on them, and so in a sense she had that in common with Ethel. The difference was that her kids listened whereas many of Ethel’s didn’t. Jackie believed in communication. If the children had questions about their father’s murder, for instance, she tried to answer them. She didn’t avoid such questioning or try to change the subject. Both of her children were raised to come to her first if they had a problem, and to no one else. They were also raised to depend on one another because Jackie feared that one day she might be gone and they would have no one but each other. Moreover, they were raised by a courageous mother. Though she had her vulnerable moments, Jackie was a powerfully strong woman who had endured more than her share of heartache. Yet she somehow went on and continued to live a very good, very rich life. Her children would later say that they couldn’t help but be influenced by her strength.
“Caroline’s only scrape that I can recall was when Jackie found out that she was growing pot in the backyard of their home on the compound,” recalled Rose Kennedy’s secretary, Barbara Gibson. “Caroline said that she was doing it for her cousins, that she didn’t smoke it herself. Jackie was suspicious of that, of course. There was a lot of discussion with both John and Caroline, but Jackie handled it internally, making sure not to involve any other family member. It was just very expeditiously taken care of, not made a big federal case. In fact, I don’t even know how or even if Jackie punished Caroline, that’s how discreet she was about it.”
It should go without saying that the lives of Caroline and John were unusual in almost every way. For instance, on the night their father died, Lyndon Johnson wrote them both letters to express his sympathy. “He was a wise and devoted man,” he wrote to Caroline. “You can always be proud of what he did for his country.” And to John, “It will be many years before you understand fully what a great man your father was.” (That he sat down and took the time to write these letters considering all that was going on that night certainly speaks well of President Johnson. “What those letters will mean to them later—you can imagine,” Jackie later wrote to LBJ. “The touching thing is, they have always loved you so much, they were most moved to have a letter from you now.”) Moreover, LBJ always sent Caroline and John letters and telegrams on their birthdays, such as the one he sent Caroline on her ninth in 1966: “I remember when my own girls were nine. It is such a pleasant memory that I just wanted to add my happiness to yours on this special day.” Or the one to John when he turned six that same year: “When I was six, I wanted to be sixteen. At sixteen, I couldn’t wait to be twenty-one. But today, I wish I were six again, like you! You have my affection and deep interest—Lyndon Johnson.” (Jackie responded, writing to LBJ, telling him that he was quite a “psychologist” in that “you always know just what to say to a boy and just what to say to a girl.” She said that John was fascinated to know that the president of the United States wished that he was six again, “but he’s also not sure whether or not to believe it.”)*
Because she was older and had so many more memories of him, Caroline had a more difficult time than John in accepting the death of her father. The two had been very close. For the first couple of years after Jack’s death, Jackie was constantly on the telephone with child psychologist Erik Erikson trying to find ways to help her daughter best express in a constructive way the anger she felt at losing her dad so suddenly. Whereas Caroline had once been such an outgoing and polite little girl, after November 1963 she was withdrawn and combative, often seen walking around with her hands clenched. Sargent Shriver once recalled visiting Jackie in New York in 1970 and being taken by Jackie to Caroline’s bedroom to see what Jackie called “her little project.” Peeking in through the half-opened doorway, he saw the tot sitting in a room with bright pink walls. Strewn about were stuffed animals, lions, giraffes, and teddy bears. On the floor was Caroline, her legs crossed over each other, a magazine in one hand, a pair of scissors in the other. She proceeded to cut out a photo of her father, Jack. Then another of her uncle Bobby. As her mother and uncle watched, she stood up and walked to a small desk in a corner of the room and took a tape dispenser from one of its drawers. Then she taped the two pictures onto a wall where they joined dozens of others in the same space. It was heartbreaking.
Jackie would never forget another devastating scene that took place shortly after she and the children moved to their first home after leaving the White House, in Georgetown. Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara had come to visit and brought with him a lovely oil painting of Jack as a gift. After Jackie propped it against the fireplace to admire it, the two old friends parted company. Later that night, she telephoned McNamara in tears. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back and get the painting,” she told him. “I can’t keep it.” When he asked why, she explained that Caroline had come downstairs, saw the painting, and then rushed over to it and began kissing it repeatedly. Seeing this, John soon joined in. Before Jackie knew it, both were sobbing, as was she. “It’s more than I can take, Bob,” she concluded. “Please come and get it. Everything, right now, is more than I can take.”
For Caroline in particular, the emotional scars of losing her father in such a painful manner would never really disappear. Yet with the passing of years she would somehow adjust to life without a father who, while very much a historical and well-known icon to millions of Americans, was someone she simply wished she could have known much better. She would remember the fantastic stories he had told her at bedtime, the games of hide-and-seek he would play with her in the White House, the way he looked when the family went sailing in Hyannis Port, always dashing with his shock of wavy brown hair blowing in the sea breeze, his cobalt eyes gleaming. She would always remember his brilliant smile. Indeed, his presence would feel very real to her—long, long after he was gone.
As a child, Caroline attended the Brearley School and Convent of the Sacred Heart, both in New York City and within walking distance of Jackie’s apartment. She graduated from Concord Academy in Massachusetts in 1975. She received her bachelor of arts degree from Radcliffe College at Harvard University in 1979, and by 1985 she was attending Columbia University Law School. Caroline toyed with becoming a photojournalist, just as her mother had once been, and even interned at the New York Daily News in 1977 for $156 a week. “She was a loner but not necessarily by her own choosing,” said Laura Burke, who also interned at the same time. “People were afraid to approach her. She carries with her so much history, there’s an intimidation factor. I have to say that she was very nice once you got to know her. I had lunch with her almost every day. I made the mistake once of asking about her mother. It was a simple question like ‘How’s your mom?’ But she just closed down. I’m not sure she even answered.”
In 1980, after graduating from college, she got a job as a research assistant at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, also near her home. Soon she began to act as a liaison between the museum and production companies interested in filming there. “She was personable and smart,” said Lisa McClintock, who also worked at the museum. “People just wanted to do business with her because of who she was, though. It was always in the air, the celebrity factor. Anyway, I went to the lunchroom one day to have my meal and Caroline was in there and invited me to join her. While we were eating, her mom showed up and s
at down at our table. Well, what could Caroline do at that point, disinvite me? I could tell she wasn’t comfortable, but there we were, the three of us having lunch. At one point, Caroline went to the ladies’ room. I found myself alone with Jackie Kennedy Onassis.”
“So, tell me,” Jackie said after a few minutes of idle chatter, according to McClintock’s memory. “Does Caroline have a lot of friends here?”
“Well, she’s a bit of a loner,” came back the careful answer from Lisa.
“That’s always been a problem,” Jackie said with a frown. “She’s not like her brother. John, you can’t shut up. But Caroline… she’s very much like me, I guess. Would you do me a huge favor?” Jackie asked. “Would you encourage her to be more outgoing? I would love for her to be more social.”
At that point, Caroline rejoined them. “What are you two talking about?” she asked with just a bit of suspicion.
“Oh, I was just telling your friend that I simply adore her scarf,” Jackie said, flashing a conspiratorial smile to Lisa.
“From that time on, I would often dine with her and Jackie,” said McClintock. “I think Jackie liked me. However, I have to say that Jackie could be critical of Caroline from time to time. For instance, Caroline liked her desserts. Jackie never touched them. One afternoon, Caroline ordered a slice of pie. As she sat eating it, Jackie just stared at her. Then, when she finished, Jackie said, ‘Well, dear, I hope you’re satisfied. That was at least three pounds right there.’ Caroline rolled her eyes and said, ‘Mother, there’s more to life than being thin.’ Jackie shot back with, ‘Really? And how would you know that, dear?’ It was a catty little exchange.
“Later, Caroline told me, ‘Sometimes I order desserts just to get her goat. She so hates it when I eat sweets.’ ” Once, according to what Caroline told Lisa McClintock, Jackie asked her, “Have you ever seen a fat Kennedy? No, you have not. And I’ll be darned if you’re going to be the first one.” Apparently, Jackie felt Caroline would never find a husband if she were overweight. “I think it’s a generational thing,” Caroline told me. “I don’t know how else to explain it, it’s so ridiculous.”
Actually, it was while working at the museum that Caroline met the man who would soon become her husband—exhibit designer Edwin Schlossberg. By 1985, the two were dating seriously and contemplating marriage. “I had dinner with Caroline, Ed, Jackie, and John Jr. very early in the courtship,” recalled Lisa. “I remember Jackie being a little distant, not eager to let this new person into the circle, or at least that’s how it appeared to me. She spent a lot of time studying poor Ed as if he was on display. At one point, Ed went to the restroom and Caroline said, ‘So, Mother, what do you think of him?’ Jackie very carefully said, ‘Well, dear, he’s not exactly… interesting, now is he?’ To which John responded, ‘Heck, Mom. Let’s face it. That guy’s the biggest bore who ever lived!’ We all laughed. Then poor Ed came back to the table having no idea that such a harsh judgment had been passed on him. The next day, Caroline said to me, ‘Mother, John, and I are so close, it’s difficult for us to imagine anyone else in the picture.’ ”
John Kennedy Jr.
By 1985, John Kennedy Jr., despite almost flunking out, had graduated from Brown University with a bachelor’s degree in history. Jackie knew his difficulty in school was due in large part to his ADD, and it didn’t help that he had other obligations. During his second year, when she received a letter from Brown telling her that he was in danger of being expelled because of his poor grades, she responded by writing, “I have never asked for special consideration for my children because I feel it is harmful to them, but there was an extra burden John carried this year that other students did not… he was asked to campaign almost every weekend for his uncle. His other cousins took their freshman year off from college to do this, but he just was as anxious to go to Brown as I was to have him go.” She wrote that “the problem is getting himself organized,” and added, “this scare should teach him the vital lesson to allot every second of his time. I am sure it will as he frantically tries to make up his work.” She closed by saying, “I look forward to hearing that he is off probation and to never get another notice that he is on it.” He graduated but with just mediocre grades. Now he was working for the New York City Office of Business Development and was contemplating going to law school, which was a pursuit his mother encouraged rather than the one he seemed most interested in at this time—acting. Steven Styles, a good friend of John’s, recalled, “He was so funny, so charismatic, such a great character. I think of all the third-generation Kennedys, people in the family would have to agree that John was the golden child, partly due to his parentage and partly due to the fact that, in truth, you really couldn’t help but gravitate to him. He was good-looking as hell, not necessarily book smart but very intuitive. He also had great empathy. He felt terrible about what had happened to his cousin David, for instance. Many times, I heard him say, ‘That could have been me.’ He felt fortunate to have been raised as he’d been. He adored his mother and had a lot of respect for her.”
John’s memories of his dad were fewer than Caroline’s, and he would later admit that he wasn’t sure which were actual reminiscences and which were just the result of photographs he had seen over the years or stories he had been told by others. He spent quiet moments in his college room at Brown sitting in a special chair—the very same one his father used in the Oval Office. “He’d sit in his chair and he had this book of speeches his father had made in the first one hundred days,” says Chris Oberbeck, who was at Brown at the same time. “He goes, ‘Can you believe all these speeches that he made? In those first hundred days?’ He was just amazed. He had a great sense of himself as a representation of his dad and believed that as JFK’s son he had a certain standard to uphold. ‘I’m not just any guy,’ he once told me. ‘I’m the son of one of the greatest presidents of our time. And my mom is so revered, I can’t get into trouble. It’s not even a possibility.’ ”
As teenagers, Caroline and John were certainly not exempt from the kind of experimentation with drugs done by their more unruly cousins. Both smoked pot from time to time, and John tried cocaine a couple of times. “He and I did coke together,” Stephen Styles confirmed. “It wasn’t a big deal, just something to do, but John was always too afraid of getting busted to really enjoy himself. He was always looking over his shoulder, as if some invisible authority figure was lurking about ready to reprimand him. ‘If I am ever arrested on a drug charge,’ he once told me, ‘my mother would kill me.’ I laughed. And he looked at me very seriously and said, ‘No, you don’t understand. My mother would kill me.’ Once we had a few drinks and he was feeling a little drunk and he said, ‘You know what I think is unfair? My cousins get loaded all the time and it’s cool and everyone accepts it. But me, I have to feel guilty every time I have a drink.’ ”
Still, John apparently did have his fun. Jackie’s housekeeper Marian Ronan, who was responsible for taking care of Jackie’s Red Gate Farm on Martha’s Vineyard, recalled, “After partying over Memorial Day weekend [1993], John and his friends left the house a pigsty. When I walked in, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The house was strewn all over with wet towels and empty champagne bottles. The carpets were stained. There were half-eaten plates of food discarded in every room, and food had even been splashed onto the walls. I also found marijuana buds in one bathroom and bedroom and leftover marijuana joints lying on a bathroom sink counter. It took me two days to clean up that mess.” She said that when Jackie found out about it, “she banished John from the main house.”
Though Caroline didn’t have many boyfriends in her teen years and into adult life, John had more than his share of romantic escapades. He never had a shortage of amorous partners in his life. Some observers couldn’t help but draw comparisons between him and his father, President Kennedy. They would say that John took after his father in the sense that he had a very active sex life and was thought of as quite the ladies’ man. In 1985, he was dating Christin
a Haag, a Brown alumna and actress, in a relationship that would be on and off for about six years. “There was another girl named Sally Munro that John dated,” said Stephen Styles. “She went to Brown, too. Very nice girl. ‘My mom is lukewarm on her,’ John told me. ‘I get it. There’s probably no one she will ever approve of.’ I asked why and he was very matter-of-fact about it. ‘She’s extremely overprotective,’ he said. ‘But you have to take the bitter with the sweet in this life. She kept me out of trouble by raising me as she did. The flip side is that she can be overbearing. I just learn to live with it. Yin and yang, you know?’ He was pretty philosophical about it.”
John and Madonna
In 1988, when John was twenty-eight, he spent six months trying to navigate the erratic terrain of a relationship with Madonna. At the time, Madonna was a thirty-year-old, widely successful pop star who had carved a niche for herself in the entertainment world with a string of hit records and medium-defining music videos. Though both were public figures, John and Madonna certainly had very different perspectives about fame. He’d been famous since the day he was born, and there were days when he wished he could live his life anonymously. But she’d been famous for only about five years, and so far she seemed to savor every second of it. She would do anything she could to generate publicity for herself, in fact, and was already considered a master media manipulator. The old saw “opposites attract” comes to mind when one tries to understand why John even wanted to date her. He said he thought she was complex and, as he put it to friends, “endlessly fascinating.”
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