Jackie, Ethel, Joan: Women of Camelot

by J. Randy Taraborrelli

  Adds Richard Burke, “But most of the press didn’t buy the happy marriage bit, anyway. With the heavy scrutiny they would have gotten as First Couple, this huge deception was bound to be revealed. Looking back, there was a certain amount of total unreality within the bubble in which we were running the campaign.”

  “[Joan’s doctor] Hawthorne didn’t think any of this was at all good for Joan,” continues Burke. “In time, as he more fully understood what was going on and what Joan was setting herself up for, he became very unsupportive of Ted’s campaign, of Joan’s White House fantasies, the whole bit. But no one—least of all Ted and Joan—was willing to listen to him. We all had our eyes set on the White House, no matter what.”

  EMK’s Candidacy: Not Meant to Be

  Throughout the campaign, Ted Kennedy seemed troubled, distracted, and ill at ease. He was never able to pull himself together, which was clear from the erratic nature of his speeches and television appearances. Try as he might, he also couldn’t avoid sweets and liquor, and continued to pack on the pounds. He always seemed out of breath and appeared to be unhealthy and unhappy.

  At the time that the senator announced his intention, he was leading two-to-one in the polls. But during the months to come, Ted would fall behind President Carter and never regain the lead. Not only had Chappaquiddick not been forgotten, but times had changed. The country was moving away from the Kennedys’ brand of liberalism. Also, Ted never seemed to be either prepared or in control, and the resulting gaffes eroded his image. “We should expedite the synfuels program through the process of expediting,” he said in one speech. “We must face the problems we are facing as we have always faced the problems we have faced,” he said in another, as his speechwriters looked at one another with stricken expressions.

  Also, to his detriment, the “Joan Problem” was never really solved. Whenever reporters looked at his wife standing at his side beaming, they couldn’t help but think of Ted’s questionable character—a line of thinking that inevitably pointed them right back to Chappaquiddick.

  Perhaps to his credit, it was difficult for Ted to completely lie about the state of his marriage, though he tried.

  “We have had our problems, and we’re working them out,” Ted said, not too convincingly. For the most part, Ted barely looked at Joan when they were in public together, often embarrassing her by walking away while the cameras were rolling, or when she was in the middle of a sentence. He displayed no warmth toward her whatsoever. Joan, ironically, was better able to act the part of a happy wife if called upon to do so. However, the “act” bothered her. In truth, according to those who know her best, Joan couldn’t stand to be in the same room with this man who had betrayed her so many times.

  One close friend tells this story: “Joan and Ted were doing a photo session for a newspaper, and the photographer was saying things like, ‘Look at her with love, Ted. Now, hold her hand. Now, Joan, hug Ted.’ He was trying to get that great shot. Joan was fine with all of it, but Ted was less eager, acting wooden and distant the whole time. Joan apologized for Ted, saying, ‘Oh, he has such a headache, what with this schedule.’ But afterward, when the photographer left, Joan lit into Ted. Raw emotion erupted from her. She called him a bastard and said, ‘I’m trying. The least you can do is the same. Do you think it helps my sobriety to lie like this? I’m supposed to be honest about every aspect of my life, and so this is real hard for me, Ted.’ She was very angry, and just went on and on. Before she stormed out, she said, ‘If we make it into the White House, all I can say is, God help us both. Some President and First Lady we’re going to make… we can’t even hold hands…. What a farce.’ ”

  By the end of the summer of 1980, Ted was lagging badly in all the polls; a New York Times/CBS poll showed that 24 percent of the Democrats polled would not vote for him under any circumstances because of “the character issue.” The Kennedy camp tried everything, even trotting Jackie out for a fund-raiser at Regis College in Westin, Massachusetts, and having Ethel star in a campaign commercial during which she sang Ted’s praises as a surrogate father to her children. It didn’t matter. While Ted seemed to fail at his venture, Joan was a smashing success at hers.

  At every stop along the way, Joan could feel the difference in the way people looked at her. By attending regular meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous, Women for Sobriety, and other support groups, she had managed to remain sober throughout the entire campaign. It wasn’t easy. “I don’t know how many times she told me she needed a drink,” said one friend of hers. “Sometimes, she would shake. It was a physical addiction as well as an emotional one. But she did it, by God. She sure did stay sober.”

  Now Joan Kennedy radiated nothing but good health; her attitude was enthusiastic and positive. The courage and strength she exhibited, and the fact that she seemed to be conquering her demons, all worked to redesign Joan’s image. Marcia Chellis remembered: “[Joan’s] successful struggle to overcome alcoholism and her decision to live her life for herself had made a difference in the lives of others. One evening in Helena, Montana, when she walked up the long center aisle of the Shrine Temple to meet Vice President Mondale, the entire audience rose to its feet in applause and cheers.”

  Joan was greeted with great enthusiasm everywhere she went. When she gave a speech about the Equal Rights Amendment at the Parker House, the response was overwhelmingly positive.

  After all she had been through to forge her own identity within the Kennedy family (or as Jackie told her long ago, “Build a life for yourself within this Kennedy world”), Joan told her audience that she now understood and related to the women’s movement. She once thought of it as for “other women,” she said, “but no more.” During her speech, Joan discussed some of the issues facing working mothers, and called for an end to economic and social injustices facing women. She ended her speech by saying in a strong, authoritative voice, “I know that one of my husband’s top priorities is to see that the Equal Rights Amendment becomes at last the twenty-seventh amendment to the Constitution. And I know that if Ted is elected President, I will commit myself to the ongoing struggle for women’s equality with everything I have and everything I am.”

  Afterward, Joan shook hands with members of the audience—mostly young and very appreciative, mostly female but some male—for an hour or so. For years, she had craved affection and intimacy—just the touch of another person other than her children so that she could perhaps feel cherished and safe—and so the acceptance shown by these kinds of crowds on the campaign circuit was fulfilling in many ways. Joan found a great comfort in their acceptance of her, in the way they held on for a second longer than appropriate when shaking her hand, in the way they enveloped her with their arms in an embrace of approval. It all meant more to Joan Kennedy than her fans would probably ever know.

  By August, Joan was tired of running in and out of limousines and being shouted at by anxious Secret Service men to “step on it,” yet she rarely complained. She felt strong and in control, though she knew Ted’s campaign was in deep trouble, especially when, during a trip to Alabama, she saw someone holding a placard saying “How Can You Rescue the Country When You Couldn’t Even Rescue Mary Jo.” After Ted gave a speech at Columbia University, he and his contingent drove down 114th Street—Fraternity Row—and blaring from one of the windows as if to greet the motorcade were the strains of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Waters,” as an intentional and unkind ode to Chappaquiddick.

  “There was no fighting it,” observed Frank Mankiewicz, Bobby’s former press representative who also advised Ted from time to time during the campaign. “The sentiment against him was too strong. We all knew it. We knew it going in, but we just hoped that maybe… maybe… But it wasn’t meant to be.”

  The decision was made by Ted to bow out of the race. He didn’t really have much choice; his candidacy was roundly rejected by the delegates. Joan was never consulted, even though so many of her hopes and dreams for the future would be dashed by Ted’s cho
ice.

  In fact, by the time Ted finally withdrew his candidacy in August at the Democratic Convention at Madison Square Garden—on the same stage where Marilyn Monroe had sung “Happy Birthday” to his brother eighteen years earlier—he had left behind a Democratic political landscape of scorched earth that had created great divisiveness within his own party, and which some say aided in Ronald Reagan’s election. But in his hour of defeat, he spoke with an eloquence that banished for a moment all the shadows on the Kennedy legend. It would be the speech of a lifetime for Ted Kennedy, evoking what his brothers had come to mean for many Americans of their generation.

  “May it be said of our party in 1980 that we found our faith again,” he intoned, a look of total defiance and determination on his face. “And may it be said of us both in dark passages and bright days, in the words of Tennyson that my brothers quoted and loved, and that have special meaning for me now: ‘I am a part of all that I have met, too much is taken, much abides, that which we are, we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts, strong in will, to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.’ ”

  A teary-eyed Joan came forward on cue and stood at Ted’s side, as did their three children, Kara, Ted Jr., and Patrick. “For me, a few hours ago, this campaign came to an end,” concluded Ted, the last Kennedy of his generation. “For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die.”

  As the family was enveloped by applause, Joan put her arm around Ted’s neck. Their heads close together, they faced the assembly smiling, Ted with his arm around her waist. “It was the closest I had ever seen them,” recalled Marcia Chellis, who watched with great emotion from a far-away balcony. As everyone clapped and stomped their approval, Ted embraced his wife warmly. She melted into his arms. The family smiled and waved at their supporters and detractors, all of whom were by now standing and cheering—thousands of people in blue-and-white hats waving hundreds of blue-and-white Kennedy placards as similarly colored balloons floated in the air—for one final farewell, a send-off to Ted Kennedy, a twenty-three-minute standing ovation. “For an instant,” recalled Richard Burke, “Camelot was revisited.”

  While Ted’s and Joan’s appearance at the 1980 convention was one of its greatest moments, the most memorable and significant occurrence to many was the petty and divisive behavior Ted displayed on the podium when he absolutely refused to join hands with Jimmy Carter before the assembly.

  In years to come, other Kennedys would share the dream and take their chances in public life. But on that evening in Madison Square Garden, the quest for the Presidency had finally come to an end for the sons of Joseph P. Kennedy.

  Afterward, there was a party at the Waldorf-Astoria, where the family was staying. Joan seemed happy and relieved. As she spoke to supporters, Ted sidled over to her and invited her to lunch the next day. He wanted to thank her for all she had done, and maybe talk about their future. Joan looked at him suspiciously for a moment, but since she was in the company of others she smiled, reached for his hand, and said, “I would love to have lunch with you tomorrow, of course!” After a few hours, the gathering broke up and Joan retired, alone, to her suite in the hotel.

  The Last Straw for Joan

  The morning after Ted Kennedy dropped out of the race, Joan awakened to find her picture on the front page of the New York Times, kissing her estranged husband as they left the podium during the convention. Ethel telephoned Joan in New York that morning, as did Eunice, Pat, Jean, and a few other friends and relatives. Everyone who called complimented Joan on her perseverance during the campaign, even Ethel, who told her, “Kiddo, I feel so bad. But there’s always 1984!”

  From Jackie, Joan also received a telegram with a decidedly positive—and maybe even prophetic—message: “All’s well that ends well.”

  “After it was over, I think Joan felt what we all felt,” said Richard Burke, “which was ‘What the hell was I thinking? What the hell did I just do?’ It had all been so unrealistic. It was like waking up from a bad dream with a hangover.”

  The only one who had not said a word of thanks or encouragement had been the one whose opinion had always mattered, and maddeningly so, Ted.

  Joan seemed lost in thought when Marcia Chellis arrived to help her dress for her lunch date with Ted. All else had failed, she realized, but perhaps she could still salvage her marriage. “She held out hope that maybe this lunch with him might be the beginning of a new relationship with her husband,” said Chellis. “I think that, in all of the hysteria, she had even started to believe the illusion set by the campaign that he actually cared about her. She left for lunch with Ted with a great sense of expectation.”

  Accompanied by Secret Service agents, Ted and Joan lunched at The Box restaurant. One of the agents recalls, “It was a madhouse. There were reporters everywhere. Ted didn’t say two words to Joan. He barely looked at her. She sat there, picked at her salad, and tried to smile as photographers shot pictures. Afterward, as I helped push her through the crowd, she was furious. ‘That bastard,’ she said, looking at Ted. ‘He set this thing up as a photo opportunity, didn’t he?’ She looked at me as if I had an answer. I didn’t. But it sure looked like she was right. He just wanted the little wife by his side for the press.”

  The next evening, Joan and Ted hosted a party at their home in McLean, and then they were to fly to Hyannis Port. “Ted and I should have a chance to talk things over on Squaw Island,” Joan told Marcia Chellis, hopefully.

  The party in McLean was a success. While Joan was dancing with a Secret Service agent, Ted tapped her on the shoulder to tell her that it was time to go to the airport and catch a plane to Hyannis Port. They rushed to the airport, and while on the plane, Ted seemed relaxed and happy to be with his wife, though he never mentioned her work on his campaign. Suddenly they were landing, much too soon and not in Massachusetts. Much to Joan’s surprise, the aircraft touched down on Montauk Point in Long Island.

  “Okay, Joan, see ya later,” Ted said, kissing her on the forehead. “And, oh yeah. Thanks a lot,” he added as he got up and walked away. Joan bore the cruelty of it all without a word or sound of protest, just a look of dismay. Through the small, circular window she watched her husband disembark from the aircraft and gather his luggage. Her stunned gaze followed him as he walked to a waiting car and got in. He was driven off into the night.

  Joan was flown onward to Hyannis Port, alone. Later she would learn that Ted had ordered that his yacht, the Curraugh, be sailed in from the Cape and be waiting for him in the harbor. From there, accompanied by a female guest, Ted went sailing in the Caribbean to unwind from his grueling campaign experience.

  While on her flight from Long Island to Hyannis Port, as Joan would later tell it, something inside of her was “adjusted.” As she gazed out at the vastness dotted with heavenly stars, the possibility of her life suddenly seemed as wide open as the soft, engulfing darkness. Another world awaited her. It was not the manic, almost unnatural one inhabited by the Kennedys, but one that perhaps made more sense, populated by reasonable-thinking, “normal” people. Maybe it was for this world that she had been destined before becoming derailed so many years ago, on that day when Ted came to speak at Manhattanville College. Perhaps she would be the only one of the sisters-in-law to escape by her own volition; Jackie and Ethel certainly had no choice after the deaths of their husbands, though she often wondered whether they would ever have ended their marriages had those tragedies not occurred. Joan did have a choice—it could be argued that she had it all along, though she didn’t seem to know it—and now she seemed ready to make a decision.

  Joan would remember years later that as she assessed her past and wondered about the future, a sense of tranquillity washed over her. Ted’s abandonment that evening in Long Island was truly a defining moment. With astonishing clarity she could now see the man she had known for the last twenty years for who he really was, not what she wanted him to be or hope
d he would one day become. Clearly, the senator would never change. As a politician he had always been without peer—at least in her view. As a suitor he had been irresistible. As a lover, generous and caring. But as a husband, he’d been intolerable. It no longer mattered to Joan. There was no anger, resentment, or judgment, as she would tell it, just a certain sadness about all of the wasted years, “and a sense of relief, like exhaling,” she recalled, “because, finally, I got it. I got it.”

  Once she landed in Hyannis Port, Joan Kennedy knew what she had to do.

  Postscript: Jackie, Ethel, and Joan after Camelot

  The official announcement was made on January 21, 1981: Ted and Joan Kennedy were divorcing. Barbara Gibson was in the servants’ dining room of the Palm Beach estate with Rose when Ted called his mother to tell her the news before it hit the press. “Oh, really?” Gibson heard Rose ask her son, with great interest. “Well, is there someone else?”

  Before making her decision, Joan discussed her intention with Jackie Kennedy Onassis, which was appropriate considering that she had depended on Jackie’s counsel about Ted’s unfaithfulness for more than twenty years. The two women spent four hours discussing the state of Joan’s marriage and her future.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jackie told Joan, according to what she would later recall, “because now I feel that I should have told you to do this fifteen years ago. I just didn’t know back then what we know today.” Jackie said she felt “terrible” about the way Joan’s marriage had turned out.