Fifty years ago this month, the nation elected its first Roman-Catholic/hot president (no offense, Ulysses S. Grant—the crazy, gun-wielding, alcoholic General thing went out of style with Andrew Jackson). John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the second son of Joseph and Rose Kennedy, only held the post for 1,000 days, but his legacy lives on, especially in the cradle of liberalism that is Massachusetts. At 43 years old, Kennedy was the youngest elected president—Teddy Roosevelt assumed the title at 42, after the assassination of William McKinley—and he brought a youthful energy to the post, especially in the post-1945 era that while shaped by war, was looking for change.
Personally, I love JFK; he was an ideas guy who did not live long enough to accomplish nearly as much as he dreamed up. He and his family of miscreants were crazy, flawed and brutally ambitious, but they started a cultural revolution. They're the closest we'll ever get to American royalty: as divisive as the Mitford sisters, yet as popular as the Windsors. All the same, the Kennedys proved that a family could be both political and social icons.
Still, I find it curious that people casually mention JFK in their "top-ten" presidents. I love the idea of the man, but let's face it: Bay of Pigs didn't go exactly the way he would have liked and it took Lyndon Johnson to pass Civil Rights legislation. Granted, JFK had success in increasing the minimum wage and Social Security benefits, as well as mobilizing youth with the Peace Corps and starting the urban renewal process. He pushed for civil rights, as well as space exploration and arts education—the last of which was vehemently supported by his wife, Jackie.
My version of the Kennedys has been shaped by Massachusetts lore; the death of Ted Sorensen, longtime Kennedy speechwriter and supporter, truly marks the end of the Kennedy era, or at least the end of the golden age of the family. Sorensen was the major architect of JFK's image; not only did he write such iconic lines as "Ask not what your country can do for you," he was the de facto author of Kennedy's 1955 Pulitzer-Prize-winning book "Profiles in Courage." Sorensen's influence and loyalty are admirable, yet his work reminds us that the Kennedys did not start a cultural and political revolution alone. Perhaps it is more apt to look at the Kennedys as a movement instead of merely a family. The age of Camelot swept up the country and offered dreams of progress, both in the arts and sciences. While not idyllic, it was an epoch of hope.
My mom bought me a book on the Kennedys when I was in kindergarten and from that point on I wanted to be a Kennedy. Any one. Preferably Jackie (on whom I wrote a biography at the tender age of six), but I would have been fine with Kick or Bobby. I loved Joe, Jack, Rosemary, Kathleen, Eunice, Pat, Jean, Bobby and Ted (no I did not have to look any of those names up. And yes, that is also their birth order.) The Kennedys ushered in cultural consciousness to my childhood; even though I remained blissfully unaware of a great many of their flaws and tragedies, their idealism, spirit and influence inspired me—inspires me. And while I am very happy being me, myself, and I, and recognize the family as almost entirely imperfect, I take their great rhetoric to heart.
Fifty years out, JFK's spirit of change motivates me, even if that change came gradually, even after he was gone. To quote Ted, my senator, the liberal lion, and the last brother: "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." If ever a leader wanted my support, she or he would only need to say this. And follow through.
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