The tide broke at the end of the property on Marchant Avenue. Bubbling white caps of saltwater rushed in and out. As the sun slowly rose, the dark sand inched up, wave by wave, and piles of spongy seaweed dotted the shrinking swath of sand. Nantucket Sound was empty and quiet.
Inside the Big House the nice china sat stacked in the white windowed cabinet in the dining room. Dark, delicately carved wooden dining room chairs were pushed under the matching glass-topped table. Fresh flowers filled a glass bowl sitting on top of a round mirror in the middle of the table. A matching bouquet sat on a tall console table in the foyer. The first floor was bathed in the early-morning light. It was a quiet morning—until the black phone in the living room vibrated with its tinny, shrill ring, which continued throughout the day.
When did Jack propose? And how?
Who’s the girl?
Are they coming back to Hyannis Port?
How long will they be here?
Will they sit for an interview?
What about photos?
It was June 25, 1953, and in that day’s Barnstable Patriot there was a two-inch story headlined: “Senator Kennedy Engaged to Girl From Newport.” The article read, simply, “The marriage of the 23-year-old heiress to ‘the most eligible bachelor of Capital society’ will take place September 12 in Newport.” Just two weeks before, thirty-six-year-old Jack had been featured in the Saturday Evening Post. Under the headline “The Senate’s Gay Young Bachelor,” Jack was pictured sailing on the Potomac and laughing with groups of young women. Journalist Paul F. Healy had written: “Many women have hopefully concluded that Kennedy needs looking after. In their opinion, he is, as a young millionaire senator, just about the most eligible bachelor in the United States—and the least justifiable one.”
Jack was already engaged to twenty-three-year-old Jacqueline Bouvier by the time the article came out, but the couple had delayed the announcement, so nobody knew it yet. The engagement notice drew huge curiosity about the mysterious fiancée of the Senate’s most eligible bachelor. Over the next twenty-four hours, news spread that the couple would be coming back home to Hyannis Port the following weekend to celebrate their engagement with a party at the Hyannisport Club.
As Rose and the staff readied the house, Jack sat by himself at LaGuardia Airport, waiting for Jackie. They’d made plans to meet at the New York airport to fly together to the Cape. As Jack waited and waited, waves of travelers hauled their bags to the terminal he faced. In the crowd, Jack recognized a young sports photographer named Hy Peskin, who was a fixture on the sidelines of the biggest sports events of the early 1950s, running up and down the court nearly as quickly as the players but with a heavy camera in his hands. As Peskin stepped up to the gate to check in, Jack walked up, hand extended to introduce himself.
“I’m Jack Kennedy. I’m meeting my new fiancée here—she should be here any minute—we’re on our way back home for the Fourth,” he said, flashing a toothy smile. “We’d love some photos, what do you think about coming back with us?”
Peskin, who knew of the young senator, hadn’t photographed politicians, but he knew this was a big opportunity and agreed to do it. He found a pay phone to call his boss at Sports Illustrated. His boss told his counterpart at their sister publication, Life magazine. And within a few hours, they’d arranged for a writer to fly to the Cape to meet Peskin and the couple. Jack invited Peskin to stay at the Big House. There was always room on the second floor for an extra guest.
Bettmann/Getty Images.
Kate Storey
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