Jack Kennedy - Chris Matthews [9]
Without realizing it, then, George St. John had thrown down a gauntlet. Sitting in front of him was Honey Fitz’s grandson, whose own Irish ancestry was a source of pride to him and for whom the insult hit home. But the headmaster’s choice of words also, Jack realized, provided an opportunity for a memorable stunt, perhaps the cap to his career at Choate.
Troublemaking by kids at school escalates. They compete to come up with outrageous schemes, each trying to top the other. Strategically astute, Jack and Lem—already known as Public Enemies Number One and Two on the Choate campus—had recruited their followers, the ones who now were the regulars in their room, from among the “wheels.” That is to say, their pals were the sons of rich fathers upon whose deep pockets the school’s endowment and building programs depended. That night, after chapel, back at Jack and Lem’s room, they agreed to be henceforth known, as dubbed by Jack, the Muckers.
It was a thumb in the eye to old St. John.
Then Jack was clever enough—when further inspiration struck—to conjure up a reality out of the metaphor. Here was the plan: The dining hall had been decorated for an important school dance. Just imagine, he proposed, the faces of their classmates if a large quantity of manure, imported from a nearby field, suddenly got dumped in front of them and their dates. Cue the Muckers, shovels in hand, to scoop it all up and save the day.
Glorious a prank as it was, it didn’t happen. What kept it stillborn was the killjoy who’d caught a whiff of what was going on and ratted them out to St. John. All thirteen would-be culprits were instantly called from their classrooms and onto the carpet of the headmaster’s office, where they were reminded the punishment for forming an illegal club was expulsion. They were told they could count themselves as Choate students no longer; they would have to pack their bags and arrange for transportation home.
Almost as quickly, Joseph Kennedy, Sr., was also summoned from his office in Washington, where he was chairing Franklin Roosevelt’s new Securities and Exchange Commission. Jack’s fifteen-year-old sister, Kick, alarmed at hearing the news from Lem—he adored her and stayed in close touch—telegrammed her support: DEAR PUBLIC ENEMIES ONE AND TWO ALL OUR PRAYERS ARE UNITED WITH YOU AND THE ELEVEN OTHER MUCKS WHEN THE OLD MEN ARRIVE SORRY WE WON’T BE THERE FOR THE BURIAL.
However, Jack’s father, a ruthless rule-breaker in his own right, seemed far more impressed than angry once he heard the story. Pretending to share the headmaster’s anger, he waited until he had his son alone to tell him that if he’d founded the club, its name would not have begun with an M.
For the first time, I imagine, Joe Kennedy was forced to take a good look at his second son. He’d devoted a great deal of his attention to imbuing Joe Jr. with the style he wanted, but now, I think, he saw in Jack essential qualities that he recognized only too well. Just as he, Joe Sr., had been a corsair defiantly mapping his own way, now Jack was revealed to be similarly audacious.
When the furor died down and, somehow, they weren’t expelled after all, the failed stunt only left Jack and Lem with a zest for defiance. On the night of a different dance, they and their dates drove off campus, chauffeured in a convertible by a friend who’d already graduated. Such behavior was strictly forbidden: no students were to leave the grounds, ever, during a Saturday-night dance.
Off they went—Jack and Lem in white tie and tails, the girls in long formal gowns, the Connecticut country lanes opening invitingly before them. But to their shock, just as they confidently assumed they were getting away with it, they glimpsed a car following them. Panicky, and sure it was campus security, they swerved into a farmhouse driveway, leaped out, and