The Kennedy Men_ 1901-1963 - Laurence Leamer [339]
If the president had relied only on this report, he most likely would have called for an invasion and challenged those Americans who were asking what they could do for their country to help in its militarization. Kennedy read the report, but he had other crucial sources of information from the State Department and the CIA that presented the reality of Castro’s popularity, the difficulty of any attempt to overthrow him, and the fact that the Cuban revolution was much less a threat to Latin America than it had once appeared. In the end Kennedy backed away from most of the recommendations that Bobby and his associates proposed.
Although Dulles and Bissell retired, Kennedy was left with much the same CIA and military leaders he had before. He still read their memos, but he no longer fully trusted their judgment. The president was like a pilot flying a plane with a feathered engine: always looking nervously out the window, afraid that the plane would burst into flame. What he had now that he had not had before was his brother sitting beside him as co-pilot.
23
A Gold Winter
In the middle of May 1961, Kennedy flew up to Canada for his first state visit. Travel was a tonic to a president who had been living too long in the compressed world of Washington. The crowds along the boulevards were sidewalk-wide, shouting his name out as if it were a magical talisman. As much as the Canadians saluted his visit, they were even more enthusiastic about Jackie, who had only reluctantly made the trip. She had become a problem for the president: only fitfully willing to apply herself to all the banal rituals of her life as first lady, Jackie much preferred her fancy friends in New York, Charlottesville, and Palm Beach. On this visit, however, Kennedy’s elegant wife was celebrated as an American icon, giving panache to his every public moment while deflecting attention away from the Bay of Pigs.
When it came time for the ritual planting of a tree on the grounds of Government House, it would not do for the vibrant young president to join his wife in turning over a few grains of dirt with a silver trowel. Instead, he hefted up shovel-load after shovel-load. And when he was finished, he felt the ominous twinges of back pain. It got so bad that he had a difficult time walking, and in the following weeks he spent much of his time in private on crutches.
All his political life Kennedy had managed to keep the question of his health problems to no more than an uncivil murmur. So it was quite unacceptable now, of all moments, to be seen hobbling along. He was about to set off for a summit conference with the rotund, aging Russian leader Nikita Khrushchev; it would be a war of symbols, and neither Kennedy nor his nation walked on crutches.
Even though the young president looked like the very definition of good health, he often walked on what amounted to invisible crutches. He had no problem allowing photographers to picture him sitting in a rocking chair because it seemed so incongruous. When the photographers left, he often stayed in the rocking chair with his feet propped on his desk, seeking some relief that way. For most presidents, throwing out the ritual first baseball of the major league season was one of the pleasant rites of spring. For Kennedy, it was a potentially troubling moment, and each year, as the day approached, he had his right shoulder checked out to make sure he could throw the ball.
Even before his trip to Ottawa, Kennedy’s back had been bothering him. The problem created an unwelcome surprise for Judith Exner, his occasional mistress, when early in May she checked into the Mayflower Hotel and visited the president. Exner recalled: “This was the first time that he remained completely on his back. He was