J. D. Salinger_ A Life - Kenneth Slawenski [196]
Salinger was devastated by Kennedy’s assassination. He had respected the president, but his feelings were far more intimate than reverence: he felt he knew the Kennedy family personally. During the spring of 1962, he had received an invitation from President Kennedy to attend a White House dinner honoring popular authors. He was inclined to accept, but he wavered, having declined an attempt by the Kennedy administration to press him into public service just weeks before.
In autumn 1961, Salinger was contacted by Gordon Lish, a director of the Behavioral Research Laboratories at Palo Alto, California, a branch of the federal government’s Office of Economic Opportunity. Seeking Salinger’s participation in the newly formed Job Corps, the government requested that he write an inspirational essay aimed at motivating unemployed urban youths. In February 1962, Salinger called Lish on the telephone in response. According to Lish, the author sounded weary and tentative. He explained that he knew only how to write about the Caulfield and Glass families and was perhaps a poor choice for the Job Corps assignment. “Well, gee, that would be fine. Just give me some of that,” Lish responded. Salinger promised nothing. “You only want me to participate in this because I’m famous,” he charged. “No no, no,” Lish protested, “it’s because you know how to speak to children.” Salinger paused and then made a startling confession. “No. I can’t,” he said. “I can’t even speak to my own children.”4*
So when Salinger received the White House invitation, he was wary. Though honored, he was apprehensive about attending an event where someone might try to pressure him into public service yet again. He might have dealt with Gordon Lish over the telephone, but rejecting an offer by the president at a face-to-face meeting might have proved impossible. There were other reasons too that gave him pause. The White House dinner would be an ostentatious affair where fashion took center stage and one swarmed over by the press. All eyes would have been upon him. Most likely, the dinner would have required Salinger to make a formal statement and might even have included some kind of award. In short, it was everything that he had sought to avoid and had rejected over the years.
The Kennedys were not easily denied. Having heard nothing in response to the invitation, Jacqueline Kennedy attempted to persuade the author herself. When the telephone rang at Cornish that spring, Claire answered. According to Peggy, who excitedly eavesdropped on the conversation, the first lady expressed her admiration for Salinger’s talent and her hope that the Salingers would attend the dinner. Claire was in agreement and anxiously called her husband to the phone. Salinger must have been stunned when he realized that it was Jacqueline Kennedy on the line. He said little as Jackie implored him to attend the White House event, but he resisted her legendary charms nonetheless. Salinger could not bring himself to endure an ego-filled night of intense scrutiny engaging in so many of the activities that his writings had condemned. That would have been “phony.”
Claire and Peggy probably never forgave him for denying them the experience of Camelot. It may be that Salinger never forgave himself. During the closing week of November 1963, Salinger spent his days like most Americans: visibly shaken, sitting silently in front of the television, where the mournful pageantry of President Kennedy’s funeral unfolded before his eyes. As he watched the cortege’s procession to Arlington National Cemetery, he was confronted with images that were hauntingly familiar and that he had not witnessed since the end of the war. Rows of military men marched