Part 10 (1/2)

During the course of discussions with potential cabinet appointees who modestly explained that they had no experience in the office the president-elect wanted them to fill, Kennedy invariably replied that he had no experience being president either. They would, he explained with some levity, all learn on the job. His response was partly meant to rea.s.sure future officials that he had enough confidence in their native talents and past performance to believe that they would serve his administration with distinction. But he was also signaling his intention to keep policy commitments to a minimum until he could a.s.sess immediate realities. Arthur Schlesinger Jr. recalled that after Bobby had asked if he would like to be an amba.s.sador and Schlesinger replied that he would prefer to be at the White House, Jack said to him: ”'So, Arthur, I hear you are coming to the White House.' 'I am,'” Schlesinger replied. ”'What will I be doing there?' 'I don't know,'” Kennedy answered. ”But you can bet we will both be busy more than eight hours a day.” And Schlesinger would be. He operated from the East Wing, which, except for Schlesinger, was filled with peripheral administration officials who, in Sorensen's words, ”were regarded almost as inhabitants of another world.” Schlesinger, who would usually see the president two or three times a week, would be the administration's spokesman to liberals at home and abroad as well as ”a source of innovation, ideas and occasional speeches on all topics.”

Kennedy, remembering the wartime service of Republicans Henry Stimson and Frank Knox in FDR's cabinet, made clear to O'Donnell that he would do something similar. ”If I string along exclusively with Galbraith and Arthur Schlesinger and Seymour Harris and those other Harvard liberals, they'll fill Was.h.i.+ngton with wild-eyed ADA people,” he said. ”And if I listen to you and Powers and [John] Bailey and [d.i.c.k] Maguire [at the DNC], we'll have so many Irish Catholics that we'll have to organize a White House Knights of Columbus Council. I can use a few smart Republicans. Anyway, we need a Secretary of the Treasury who can call a few of those people on Wall Street by their first names.”

For Kennedy, the two most important cabinet appointments were Treasury and Defense. Since he intended to keep tight control over foreign policy, finding a secretary of state was a lower priority. Help in managing the domestic economy and national security came first. He wanted moderate Republicans for both posts who could give him some political cover for the hard decisions a minority president would need to make to expand the economy and bolster the national defense.

Although Kennedy felt more comfortable addressing defense and foreign policy issues, he knew that reinvigorating a sluggish economy was essential to a successful administration. The country's substantial economic growth between 1946 and 1957 had ground to a halt with a nine-month recession in 1957-58, when unemployment had increased to 7.5 percent, the highest level since the Great Depression. Another economic downturn in 1960 had followed a relatively weak recovery in 1958-59. As one economist explained the problem, the backlogged demands of the war years had been largely sated and the nation now faced a period of excess capacity and higher unemployment. On top of these difficulties, an international balance-of-payment deficit causing a ”gold drain” had raised questions about the soundness of the dollar. In these circ.u.mstances, winning the confidence of businessmen, especially in the financial community; labor unions; and middle-cla.s.s consumers would be something of a high-wire act that no one was sure the new, untested president could perform.

As a Democrat who could count on traditional backing from labor and consumers, Kennedy felt compelled to pay special attention to skeptical bankers and business chiefs. But how was he to quiet predictable liberal antagonism to a prominent representative of Wall Street, who seemed likely to favor tax and monetary policies serving big business rather than working-cla.s.s citizens, in the Treasury Department? Giving a Republican so much influence over economic policy seemed certain to touch off an internal battle and produce even greater damage to the administration's standing in the business community than the initial choice of a Democrat.

Kennedy hoped to solve this problem by making Republican Robert Lovett secretary of the treasury. A pillar of the New York banking establishment, Lovett had intermittently served as a high government official since World War II. His worldliness and track record of putting country above partisans.h.i.+p moved Kennedy to offer him State, Defense, or Treasury. But failing health, caused by a bleeding ulcer, decided Lovett against accepting any office, and Kennedy turned instead to C. Douglas Dillon. Dillon was an even more imposing establishment figure: His father had founded the Wall Street banking firm of Dillon, Read & Company. A privileged child, Dillon had graduated from Groton, FDR's alma mater, and Harvard, and, with family apartments and homes in New York, New Jersey, Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., Maine, Florida, and France, he enjoyed connections with America's wealthiest, most influential people. During World War II, he had served in the southwest Pacific, where he had won medals as a navy aviator. After the war, he had become chairman of Dillon, Read and of the New Jersey State Republican committee. His early support of Eisenhower had led to his appointment as amba.s.sador to France, where his effective service had persuaded Ike to make him undersecretary of state for economic affairs and then the undersecretary, the second-highest State Department official. Dillon impressed populists like Tennessee senator Albert Gore as an enemy of the people, but in fact he was an open-minded moderate, a liberal Republican whom Kennedy believed he could trust.

Dillon had to be persuaded to accept. Eisenhower warned him against taking the job, urging a written commitment to a free hand lest Kennedy give him no more than symbolic authority. But although Kennedy promised to do nothing affecting the economy without Dillon's recommendation, he refused to give him any written pledge, saying, ”A President can't enter into treaties with cabinet members.” Kennedy extracted a commitment from Dillon, however, that if he resigned, it would be ”in a peaceful, happy fas.h.i.+on and wouldn't indicate directly or indirectly that he was disturbed about what President Kennedy and the administration were doing.”

For both economic and political considerations, Kennedy felt he had to balance Dillon's appointment with a Council of Economic Advisers (CEA) made up of innovative liberal Keynesians who would favor bold proposals for stimulating the economy and would convince Democrats that he was not partial to Eisenhower's cautious policies. Although he told Dillon that he was appointing the Keynesians for strictly political reasons, Kennedy truly wanted them as a prod to more advanced thinking and a way to educate the public and himself. As he freely admitted, he was unschooled in economics, telling everyone that he had received a C in freshman economics at Harvard (in fact, it was a B) and could not remember much, if anything, from the course.

Walter h.e.l.ler was a University of Minnesota economics professor whom Kennedy had met during the campaign through Hubert Humphrey. At his first session with h.e.l.ler, Kennedy asked him four questions: Could government action achieve a 5 percent growth rate? Was accelerated depreciation likely to increase investment? Why had high interest rates not inhibited German economic expansion? And could a tax cut be an important economic stimulus? h.e.l.ler's replies were so succinct and literate that Kennedy decided to make him chairman of the CEA. During a December meeting, Kennedy told h.e.l.ler, ”I need you as a counterweight to Dillon. He will have conservative leanings, and I know that you are a liberal.” h.e.l.ler wanted to know if Kennedy would ask for a tax cut and whether he would have carte blanche to choose his CEA colleagues. Not now, Kennedy said of the tax reduction, explaining he could not ask the country for sacrifice at the same time he proposed lower taxes. The answer to the second question was yes. h.e.l.ler also had the advantage of not being from the Ivy League or the Northeast, as James Tobin and Kermit Gordon, the other economists h.e.l.ler asked to have as council colleagues, were. Kennedy was not well schooled in economics and found much of the theory mystifying, but he had a keen feel for who had the essential combination of economic knowledge and political common sense vital to successful management of the economy.

Finding a defense secretary who could ease the political and national security concerns of Democrats and Republicans was a bit easier than a.s.sembling an economic team. Liberals were not as worried about the impact of a defense chief as they were about a treasury secretary. Besides, with the deepening of the Cold War, when the Soviet Union seemed to pose so grave a threat to the nation's future, partisans.h.i.+p had become less of a problem. Still, Kennedy remembered the political pummeling the Democrats had taken in the late forties and fifties over Yalta, China, and Korea, and he knew that any misstep on defense could quickly become a political liability. After all, he had made effective use of the missile gap in his campaign and understood that if the opportunity presented itself in the next four years, the Republicans would not hesitate to use a defense failure against his reelection. He briefly considered reappointing the inc.u.mbent Thomas Gates, but concluded that it would open him to charges of political cynicism for having been so critical of the administration's defense policies during the campaign.

A number of names came before him, but none as repeatedly as that of Ford Motor Company president Robert S. McNamara, a nominal Republican with impeccable credentials as a businessman and service as an air force officer during World War II, when he had increased the effectiveness of air power by applying a system of statistical control. McNamara seemed to be on everybody's list of candidates for the job. Michigan Democrats, including United Auto Workers officials, and princ.i.p.al members of the New York and Was.h.i.+ngton establishments described him as an exceptionally intelligent man with the independence, tough-mindedness, and, above all, managerial skills to make the unwieldy Defense Department more effective in serving the national security. ”The talent scouts,” McNamara biographer Deborah Shapley writes, ”were delighted to find a Republican businessman who had risen meteorically at Ford and who was, at forty-four, only a year older than the president-elect... . That a young Republican businessman could also be well thought of by labor, be Harvard-trained, support the ACLU, and read Teilhard de Chardin were all bonuses.”

Without ever having met McNamara, Kennedy authorized Sargent Shriver to offer him an appointment as secretary of the treasury or secretary of defense. (Dillon had not yet been offered the Treasury job.) When McNamara got a message that Shriver had called, he asked his secretary who he was. (McNamara or his secretary, having never heard of Shriver, wrote him on the calendar as ”Mr. Shriber.”) The offer of the Treasury job stunned McNamara, who turned it down as something he wasn't qualified to handle. He said the same about the Defense post but had enough interest to agree to come to Was.h.i.+ngton to meet with Kennedy on the following day. McNamara and Kennedy made positive impressions on each other. Nevertheless, McNamara continued to declare himself unqualified to head the Defense Department. Kennedy countered with the a.s.sertion that there was no school for defense secretaries or presidents.

McNamara refused to commit himself at the first meeting but promised to come back for a second conversation in a few days. When he did, he gave Kennedy a letter asking a.s.surances that he could run his own department; could choose his subordinates, meaning he would not have to agree to political appointees; and would not have to partic.i.p.ate in the capital's social life. Bobby, who sat in on the second meeting, said McNamara's letter made it clear that he ”was going to run the Defense Department, that he was going to be in charge; and although he'd clear things with the President, that political interests or favors couldn't play a role.” He recalled that his brother ”was so impressed with the fact that [McNamara] was so tough about it-and strong and stalwart. He impressed him.” McNamara's letter, Bobby felt, flabbergasted his brother, but because Kennedy saw McNamara as so suited for the job, he accepted his conditions. To pressure McNamara into officially accepting, Kennedy leaked his selection to the Was.h.i.+ngton Post, Was.h.i.+ngton Post, which ran a front-page story. (”The s.h.i.+p of State is the only s.h.i.+p that often leaks at the top,” a Kennedy aide later said.) After McNamara had accepted the appointment, he told Kennedy that after talking over the job with Tom Gates, he believed he could handle it. Kennedy teasingly responded in echo, ”I talked over the presidency with Eisenhower, and after hearing what it's all about, I'm convinced I can handle it.” which ran a front-page story. (”The s.h.i.+p of State is the only s.h.i.+p that often leaks at the top,” a Kennedy aide later said.) After McNamara had accepted the appointment, he told Kennedy that after talking over the job with Tom Gates, he believed he could handle it. Kennedy teasingly responded in echo, ”I talked over the presidency with Eisenhower, and after hearing what it's all about, I'm convinced I can handle it.”

After JFK's election, many a.s.sumed that Kennedy would have to choose Adlai Stevenson as his secretary of state. Stevenson remained the party's senior statesman and had established himself as an expert on foreign policy. Although in January 1960, Kennedy had promised to make Stevenson secretary of state if he supported his candidacy, Stevenson's failure to do so had nullified the proposal. After Kennedy got the nomination, however, he encouraged Stevenson's ambition for the job by asking him to prepare a report on foreign policy problems. This had some practical reasoning behind it-Stevenson was, after all, experienced and knowledgeable about a great deal-but was also somewhat petty and personal. Jack had absolutely no intention of appointing Stevenson. ”f.u.c.k him,” Kennedy said to Abe Ribicoff after the election. ”I'm not going to give him anything.” Kennedy remained angry at Stevenson for failing to support his nomination, believed he was too equivocal to help make tough foreign policy decisions, and worried that he ”might forget who's the President and who's the Secretary of State.” Kennedy wanted no part of the arrangement that seemed to have made John Foster Dulles the most important foreign policy decision maker in Eisenhower's administration.

Liberal pressure to give Stevenson something, however, pushed Kennedy to offer him a choice of three jobs: amba.s.sador to Britain, attorney general, or amba.s.sador to the United Nations. Stevenson did not want to go to the U.K. or head the Justice Department, and he felt humiliated at the idea of accepting the U.N., a post with no real policy making authority, telling Bill Blair, ”I will never be amba.s.sador to the U.N.”

In deciding on a secretary of state, Kennedy wanted to ensure that the State Department would be under his control. He asked John Sharon, who had worked with Stevenson on the foreign policy report, for ”'a s.h.i.+t list'-that was his word,” Sharon said, ”- of people in the state department who ought to be fired.” But before he could get rid of department bureaucrats who might obstruct his policies, he needed to decide on a cooperative secretary. Chester Bowles, Harvard University dean McGeorge Bundy, and diplomat David Bruce all received brief consideration, but Bowles was too idealistic, Bundy too young and inexperienced, and Bruce too old for the a.s.signment.

William Fulbright, the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, received more serious consideration. Kennedy knew Fulbright from their work together in the Senate and admired his handling of the Foreign Relations Committee. Kennedy ”thought he had some brains and some sense and some judgment,” as Bobby put it. ”He was really rather taken with him.” But Bobby and their father talked Jack out of choosing him. As a southern senator ”who had been tied up in all the segregation votes” and had signed a southern manifesto opposing the Supreme Court's school desegregation orders, Fulbright seemed certain to stir antagonism among Third World countries, especially in Africa, a sharply contested region of the world in the East-West struggle. Fulbright also had enemies in the Jewish community, where he had aroused hostility with pro-Arab p.r.o.nouncements. Seeing the international opposition as too great for him to serve successfully and uncertain that he wanted to trade his Senate seat for the administration of an unwieldy bureaucracy, Fulbright asked Kennedy not to make the offer.

By process of elimination, and determined to run foreign policy from the White House, Kennedy came to Dean Rusk, the president of the Rockefeller Foundation. Rusk was an acceptable last choice, with the right credentials and the right backers. A Rhodes scholar, a college professor, a World War II officer, an a.s.sistant secretary of state for the Far East under Truman, a liberal Georgian sympathetic to integration, and a consistent Stevenson supporter, Rusk offended no one. The foreign policy establishment-Acheson, Lovett, liberals Bowles and Stevenson, and the New York Times New York Times-all sang his praises. But most of all, it was clear to Kennedy from their one meeting in December 1960 that Rusk would be a sort of faceless, faithful bureaucrat who would serve rather than attempt to lead. ”It is the President alone who must make the major decisions of our foreign policy,” Kennedy had publicly announced the previous January. He called the office ”the vital center of action in our whole scheme of government” and declared his belief that a president must ”be prepared to exercise the fullest powers of his office-all that are specified and some that are not.” It was an open secret that Jack intended to be his own secretary of state. Journalists, congressmen, and Kennedy intimates saw Rusk's selection as confirmation of this a.s.sumption and as the princ.i.p.al reason behind the attempt to consign Stevenson to a second-line diplomatic post.

According to Rusk, an exploratory meeting with Kennedy at his Georgetown home did not go well. He told Bowles, ”Kennedy and I could not communicate. If the idea of making me Secretary ever actually entered his mind, I am sure it is now dead.” But Rusk had misread Kennedy's intentions. He was as close to what Kennedy wanted as he seemed likely to find. His diffidence was transparent. He set no conditions for taking the job; in making no demands about freedom to choose subordinates, he persuaded Kennedy that he would reflect the president's opinions rather than try to determine them. The Kennedys made much of the idea that people who came into the administration needed to be tough. When Bobby told Ken O'Donnell to check on someone as a possible secretary of the army, he described him as a ”hard-working tough guy.” And one of Jack's initial inquiries about Rusk was whether he was ”tough-fibered.” But with Jack and Bobby there to take a strong line on foreign affairs and a tough-minded Bob McNamara at Defense, they could afford to have a pliable secretary of state. It was clear to Kennedy that Rusk would be pa.s.sive in future policy debates: After he had served as secretary for a while, Kennedy said that when they were alone, Rusk would whisper that there were still too many others present.

Now Kennedy came back to Stevenson, who badly wanted to serve in some major foreign policy capacity and announced he could work well with Rusk. Still, Stevenson equivocated, and Kennedy came close to withdrawing the U.N. offer. Finally, despite his earlier p.r.o.nouncements, and the likelihood that he would have little influence on policy, Stevenson agreed.

If Bobby was genuinely torn about a postelection career choice, his indecision did not last long. His first priority had to have been helping his brother succeed as president. It was inconceivable that after all the hard work to put his brother in the White House, Bobby would now walk away from the tough fights Jack faced as president. As Ribicoff told the president-elect, ”I have now watched you Kennedy brothers for five solid years and I notice that every time you face a crisis, you automatically turn to Bobby. You're out of the same womb. There's an empathy. You understand one another. You're not going to be able to be President without using Bobby all the time.” Jack agreed. He told Acheson that ”he did not know and would not know most of the people who would be around him in high cabinet positions-and he just felt that he had to have someone whom he knew very well and trusted completely with whom he could just sort of put his feet up and talk things over.”

The princ.i.p.al question for Jack about Bobby was where he would serve in the administration. At first, there were thoughts of making him an undersecretary of defense or an a.s.sistant secretary of state. But on reflection, this seemed like a poor idea. As Dean Acheson told him, it would ”be a great mistake... . It would be wholly impossible for any cabinet officer to have the President's brother as second in command... . This would not be fair to anybody-and, therefore, if he were to be brought in at all, he ought to be given complete responsibility for a department of government, or be brought to the White House and be close to the President himself.” Bobby, however, wanted no part of a White House appointment working directly under his brother. ”That would be impossible,” Bobby told Schlesinger. ”I had to do something on my own, or have my own area of responsibility... . I had to be apart from what he was doing so I wasn't working directly for him and getting orders from him as to what I should do that day. That wouldn't be possible. So I never considered working at the White House.” Even if he had, Jack's promise during the campaign that he ”would not appoint any relative to the White House staff” ruled out giving Bobby such an a.s.signment.

Jack had actually asked Bobby about heading the Justice Department before he turned to Ribicoff and Stevenson, but Bobby had worried about charges of nepotism. Bobby also expected an attorney general to provoke so much antagonism over civil rights that it would undermine Jack's political standing for him to take the position. ”It would be the 'Kennedy brothers' by the time a year was up,” Bobby said, ”and the President would be blamed for everything we had to do in civil rights; and it was an unnecessary burden to undertake.” Others reinforced Bobby's concerns. Dean Acheson, Clark Clifford, Drew Pearson, and Sam Rayburn all warned against the repercussions of having Bobby at the Justice Department. And the New York Times, New York Times, to which Jack leaked the idea of his brother's appointment, opposed it as politicizing an office that should be strictly nonpartisan and as a gift to someone lacking enough legal experience. But after Ribicoff and Stevenson had rejected offers to become attorney general, Kennedy decided that his brother should take the job, despite Bobby's doubts. to which Jack leaked the idea of his brother's appointment, opposed it as politicizing an office that should be strictly nonpartisan and as a gift to someone lacking enough legal experience. But after Ribicoff and Stevenson had rejected offers to become attorney general, Kennedy decided that his brother should take the job, despite Bobby's doubts.

Bobby was particularly sensitive to complaints that he had not practiced law or sat on the bench. When Jack joked with friends that he ”just wanted to give him a little legal practice before he becomes a lawyer,” Bobby upbraided his brother: ”Jack, you shouldn't have said that about me.” ”Bobby, you don't understand,” Jack replied. ”You've got to make fun of it, you've got to make fun of yourself in politics.” Bobby answered, ”You weren't making fun of yourself. You were making fun of me.”

Once Jack had decided to appoint Bobby to the Justice Department, he tried to minimize the political damage. So Jack, Bobby, and their father encouraged the belief that Joe had forced Bobby and Jack into doing it. Jack told Clark Clifford that his father was insisting on Bobby's appointment against their wishes. Clifford listened with ”amazement” to Kennedy's description of the family argument and thought it ”truly a strange a.s.signment” when Jack asked him to talk his father out of the idea. Clifford went to New York to make the case to Joe, but to no avail. Looking Clifford straight in the eye, Joe said, ”Bobby is going to be Attorney General. All of us have worked our tails off for Jack, and now that we have succeeded, I am going to see to it that Bobby gets the same chance that we gave to Jack.” All of us have worked our tails off for Jack, and now that we have succeeded, I am going to see to it that Bobby gets the same chance that we gave to Jack.”

As Bobby later described events, he had decided in December not to take the job. He recalled how he called Jack up to say he didn't want the job and then told a friend, ”This will kill my father.” Jack had refused to talk about it on the phone, and insisted that they discuss it over breakfast the next morning. Bobby and John Seigenthaler, a reporter from the Nashville Tennessean, Nashville Tennessean, whom Bobby brought with him, described Jack as determined to appoint Bobby. They recounted Jack's concern to have a cabinet member who would tell him ”the unvarnished truth, no matter what,” when problems arose. ”He thought it would be important to him and that he needed some people around that he could talk to so I decided to accept it,” Bobby said later. Remembering Jack's advice to inject some humor into the account, Bobby also described how Jack then said, ”So that's it, General. Let's grab our b.a.l.l.s and go” talk to the press. But before they did, Jack told him to go upstairs and comb his hair. As they went outside, Jack counseled him, ”Don't smile too much or they'll think we're happy about the appointment.” (Bobby remembered Jack telling Ben Bradlee of whom Bobby brought with him, described Jack as determined to appoint Bobby. They recounted Jack's concern to have a cabinet member who would tell him ”the unvarnished truth, no matter what,” when problems arose. ”He thought it would be important to him and that he needed some people around that he could talk to so I decided to accept it,” Bobby said later. Remembering Jack's advice to inject some humor into the account, Bobby also described how Jack then said, ”So that's it, General. Let's grab our b.a.l.l.s and go” talk to the press. But before they did, Jack told him to go upstairs and comb his hair. As they went outside, Jack counseled him, ”Don't smile too much or they'll think we're happy about the appointment.” (Bobby remembered Jack telling Ben Bradlee of Newsweek Newsweek that he had actually wanted to announce the appointment some morning at about 2 that he had actually wanted to announce the appointment some morning at about 2 A.M. A.M. He would open the front door of his house, look up and down the street, and if no one was there, he would whisper, ”It's Bobby.”) He would open the front door of his house, look up and down the street, and if no one was there, he would whisper, ”It's Bobby.”) The story of Bobby's reluctance, Joe's insistence, and Jack's need for an intimate in court was a useful means of muting criticism. But the written record shows it was mostly fiction. A letter Bobby wrote to Drew Pearson on December 15, the day before Jack supposedly talked him into taking the job and they announced Bobby's appointment, makes clear that the story of Bobby's reluctance was meant to disarm critics. ”I made up my mind today and Jack and I take the plunge tomorrow,” Bobby told Pearson. ”For many reasons I believe it was the only thing I could do-I shall do my best and hope that it turns out well.” Seigenthaler's presence at the morning meeting during which Bobby and Jack pretended to be debating Bobby's possible appointment guaranteed public knowledge of the invented account.

Evelyn Lincoln, Jack's secretary, was given the same false view of Bobby's appointment as Seigenthaler. In a diary entry on December 15, at the same time Bobby was telling Pearson of his decision to accept the appointment, Lincoln recorded that Bobby called Jack, who ”tried to persuade him to take the Attorney Generals.h.i.+p, if not that Senator from Ma.s.sachusetts, if not that then perhaps be Under Secretary of State for Latin Affairs. Bobby said he wasn't interested in any of them-would rather write a book.” That Jack and Bobby were hiding their true intentions to quiet objections was without question. When Ethel Kennedy greeted her husband at the West Palm Beach airport after Jack and Bobby had disclosed the appointment, ”she flashed a big smile and shouted, 'We did it.'”

The Kennedys believed that Bobby's expected effectiveness as attorney general and the success of the administration ultimately would make misgivings about the appointment disappear. But Bobby's selection generated sharp criticism despite the Kennedys' manufactured story. Journalists and legal experts complained that Bobby's background gave him no claim on the office. Political insiders were no less skeptical. ”d.i.c.k Russell,” Lyndon Johnson told Senate secretary Bobby Baker, ”is absolutely s.h.i.+ttin' a squealin' worm. He thinks it's a disgrace for a kid who's never practiced law to be appointed... . I agree with him.” But Johnson did not believe that Bobby's influence as attorney general would be very great. He also told Baker, ”I don't think Jack Kennedy's gonna let a little fart like Bobby lead him around by the nose.” Johnson made the same point to his former Senate colleagues, who needed to rationalize voting for Bobby's appointment. Johnson also appealed to his friends on personal grounds, telling Baker, ”I'm gonna put it on the line and tell 'em it's a matter of my personal survival.” Reluctant to challenge the new administration on a matter of executive privilege-the freedom of a president to choose his cabinet-senators repressed their doubts and confirmed Bobby's nomination.

Other cabinet and subcabinet appointments came together almost randomly. Kennedy emphasized his eagerness for high-quality people rather than representatives of particular groups or factions. ”Kennedy wanted a ministry of talent,” Sorensen said, but he was under constant pressure from private groups advocating one candidate or another. Governor Luther Hodges of North Carolina became secretary of commerce not only because he had proven his effectiveness as a public official but also because his reputation as a moderate would appeal to southerners and the business community. Arthur Goldberg and Stewart Udall were appointed labor secretary and interior secretary, respectively, not only because of their competence and ties to Kennedy but also because they satisfied special interest groups in the Democratic party like labor unions and conservationists.

Personal predilections also came into play. Ribicoff turned down Kennedy's offer of the Justice Department out of concern that civil rights disputes would antagonize southerners, who would ultimately bar him from a high-court appointment. In addition, he did not think it a good idea for a Jewish attorney general to be forcing racial integration on white Protestants at the direction of a Catholic president. Ribicoff preferred and received appointment as secretary of health, education, and welfare, which meant that former governor G. Mennen Williams of Michigan, who wanted HEW, would have to become an a.s.sistant secretary of state for Africa. When Schlesinger advised Kennedy that liberals were discontented with their limited representation in the cabinet, he replied that the program was more important than the men. ”We are going down the line on the program,” he said. Schlesinger interpreted this to mean that it would be an administration of ”conservative men and liberal measures.” JFK agreed: ”We'll have to go along with this for a year or so. Then I would like to bring in some new people.” But then ”he paused and added reflectively, 'I suppose it may be hard to get rid of these people once they are in.'”

Still, Kennedy believed that a strong president with clear ideas of what he wanted to accomplish would be more important than the men who served under him or their cabinet discussions. One of the things that sold him on Dillon was his almost contemptuous description of Eisenhower's cabinet meetings, with their ”opening prayers, visual aids, and rehea.r.s.ed presentations.” Although Kennedy invested considerable energy in finding the right people for his administration and even told Sorensen that their decisions on appointments ”could make or break us all,” he had a healthy skepticism about whether people he brought into the government would have much impact on the issues he saw as of greatest importance. When he interviewed someone for Agriculture, for example, a department that was never at the forefront of his concerns, he found the man and the discussion so boring that he fell asleep. It was an indication of how little Kennedy intended to rely on cabinet meetings for important administration decisions.

Nevertheless, the cabinet was reflective of the tone and direction the new administration seemed likely to take. Just as Eisenhower's selection of so many businessmen proved to be a clear signal of policies favoring less government regulation and influence, so Kennedy's choice of so many highly intelligent, broad-minded men indicated that his presidency would be open to new ideas and inclined to break with conventional wisdom in search of more effective actions at home and abroad. It also promised to embody n.o.blesse oblige-well-off Americans responsive to the suffering of the less fortunate in the United States and around the globe. Kennedy's presidency, of course, would never be a perfect expression of these values, but if there was an indication of the New Frontier's distinctive contours, it could be found in the men Kennedy appointed to his government's highest positions.

Kennedy believed that what he said and the impression he made on the country at the start of his term were more important than who made temporary headlines as cabinet members. Nevertheless, he made every cabinet selection the occasion for a press conference at which he not only emphasized the virtues of the appointee but also his own attentiveness to and knowledge of the major issues facing them. He used the press in other ways, too. Having asked groups of experts to provide task force a.n.a.lyses on everything from relations with Africa to domestic taxes, Kennedy converted the reports during the transition into press releases on current understanding of how to meet various difficulties. The resulting image was one of vigorous engagement, somewhat in contrast to Kennedy's less than daring cabinet selections. ”There is no evidence in Palm Beach,” journalist Charles Bartlett told his readers at the end of November, ”that the New Frontiersmen are being moved to temper their objectives for the nation by the close election. The objectives which the candidate enunciated in his campaign were measured statements of intent.” ”Reporters are not your friends,” Joe had told his sons. But Jack, like every skillful politician since Theodore Roosevelt, saw how useful they could be in advancing his political goals.

KENNEDY BELIEVED that no single element was more important in launching his administration than a compelling inaugural address. Remembering how brilliantly Franklin Roosevelt's inaugural speech had initiated his presidency, Kennedy wished to use his address to inspire renewed national confidence and hope. True, the current challenge was not as great as that FDR had faced, but fears that communist aggression might force the U.S. into a nuclear war generated considerable anxiety. Pollster Lou Harris, who gave Kennedy periodic soundings on public mood, advised him to concentrate on two major themes rather than on ”a plethora of specifics ... : The spirit of inspired realism that will be the mood of this new Administration; [and] the nature of the challenge and the broad approaches that can bring about national fulfillment and peace for all peoples everywhere.” Kennedy wished to draw the strongest possible contrast between the ”drift” of his predecessor and the promise of renewed mastery. that no single element was more important in launching his administration than a compelling inaugural address. Remembering how brilliantly Franklin Roosevelt's inaugural speech had initiated his presidency, Kennedy wished to use his address to inspire renewed national confidence and hope. True, the current challenge was not as great as that FDR had faced, but fears that communist aggression might force the U.S. into a nuclear war generated considerable anxiety. Pollster Lou Harris, who gave Kennedy periodic soundings on public mood, advised him to concentrate on two major themes rather than on ”a plethora of specifics ... : The spirit of inspired realism that will be the mood of this new Administration; [and] the nature of the challenge and the broad approaches that can bring about national fulfillment and peace for all peoples everywhere.” Kennedy wished to draw the strongest possible contrast between the ”drift” of his predecessor and the promise of renewed mastery.

As one symbol of the change in Was.h.i.+ngton, Kennedy decreed that top hats were required dress at the Inauguration, a s.h.i.+ft from the black homburgs Eisenhower had made part of the 1952 dress code. (When Kennedy spotted a newsman in a homburg outside his Georgetown home, he asked in mock horror, ”Didn't you get the word? Top hats are the rule this year.”) Yet during Inauguration Day, the New York Times New York Times reported, ”Kennedy, who is usually hatless, seemed self-consciously uncomfortable in his topper. He wore it as briefly as possible in the trips back and forth from the White House to Capitol Hill.” Despite ”a Siberian wind knifing down Pennsylvania Avenue ... [that] turned majorettes' legs blue, froze baton twirlers' fingers and drove beauty queens to flannels and overcoats,” Kennedy stood bareheaded and without his overcoat while taking the oath, giving his address, and watching the three-and-a-half-hour inaugural parade along Pennsylvania Avenue. His only concession to the cold was an occasional sip of soup or coffee. reported, ”Kennedy, who is usually hatless, seemed self-consciously uncomfortable in his topper. He wore it as briefly as possible in the trips back and forth from the White House to Capitol Hill.” Despite ”a Siberian wind knifing down Pennsylvania Avenue ... [that] turned majorettes' legs blue, froze baton twirlers' fingers and drove beauty queens to flannels and overcoats,” Kennedy stood bareheaded and without his overcoat while taking the oath, giving his address, and watching the three-and-a-half-hour inaugural parade along Pennsylvania Avenue. His only concession to the cold was an occasional sip of soup or coffee.