242: THE BROOKLINE CONNECTION OF YOUNG JOHN KENNEDY

The day was growing old when we departed Quincy, Massachusetts and headed north towards Boston on Thursday June 8, 2023. As I saw the clock ticking towards three o’clock in the afternoon, I started to wonder what the traffic situation would be like on I-93. Unfortunately, it didn’t take very long before I found out. As soon as we got near the entrance ramp to the expressway, Tom had our Ford Explorer tangled in the middle of a bumper-to-bumper gridlock that appeared to have no end in sight.

Once we were snarled in the afternoon Boston traffic jam, my two companions agreed to pull the plug on the Presidential sites in Bean Town, only because of the horrendous traffic situation, as well as the time of day. The decision wasn’t a huge blow to me because we had only three sites scheduled to visit in Boston anyway – the Massachusetts State House where Calvin Coolidge served as Governor; the Old North Church, which hosted Theodore Roosevelt in 1912; and the old Hotel Bellevue where JFK lived in early 1946. Tom’s biggest concern was fighting the traffic for hours, then having to fight to find a parking spot near the State House – all before those sites closed for the day. As soon as we got to the first exit ramp on I-93, Bob Moldenhauer readjusted the navigation system and had Siri barking out directions to the John F. Kennedy Birthplace in Brookline. Thankfully, the new route took us west of downtown Boston and away from the bottleneck we had been caught in.

Although we had only travelled about 13 miles from the Abigail Adams Cairn to the birthplace home of our 35th President, it took one hour to complete the stressful journey around Boston. But as hectic as that trip was, once we were parked along Beals Street in Brookline, we found ourselves in what I would consider a tranquil ‘Leave it to Beaver’ neighborhood. As soon as my photographer removed me from the camera case, the first thing I noticed was we were on a tree-lined street with very little traffic, and the stillness of the air was only broken by an occasional chirping of some birds. No wonder Joe and Rose Kennedy decided to purchase a house there in 1914.

For me, it was great to be back at the birthplace of John F. Kennedy, even though JFK’s parents could never be compared to Ward and June Cleaver while the future President was growing up – not by any stretch of the imagination. John’s father, Joseph Kennedy Sr. was a shrewd businessman who was known to have had ties to organized crime. And Rose Kennedy, JFK’s mother, was no saint herself – even though she practiced strict Catholic beliefs. The fact Rose left her children in the care of others while she traveled around the world would make June Cleaver shake her head in disbelief and wonder what the heck-fire was wrong with The Beaver. Rose’s frequent absences once made the young, rebellious JFK lament: “Gee, you’re a great mother to go away and leave your children alone.”

My first visit to JFK’s birthplace was on July 14, 2017, which was just 47 days after the 100th anniversary of Kennedy’s birth. During that 2017 visit, my photographer and I, along with Tom’s wife, had an extensive tour of the home’s interior. But unfortunately, on this trip, we weren’t going inside the home – the birthplace of John F. Kennedy was closed to the public. For the past several years, the NPS has been attempting to renovate the historic site’s Visitor Center; while at the same time, they wanted to complete necessary maintenance updates to the building as well. But once again, the Covid pandemic has allegedly slowed the work to a crawl. I’m not an infectious disease expert bobble head, but how long will society keep blaming the pandemic for everything that’s closed or delayed? Like my companions have said many times on our trips, Americans now use Covid as an excuse to not work for a living.

While I stood on the porch of the historic home, I envisioned three-year-old John running out of the front door as he was chased by his older brother Joe, Jr. Although it would’ve been awesome to see the upstairs Master Bedroom where JFK was born on May 29, 1917, it was still an honor for me to once again stand in the yard, and on the porch, at President Kennedy’s birthplace.

John F. Kennedy became one of America’s greatest Presidents, and it was a privilege for me to see the house where he was born. But as I spent my final moments gazing at the historic home, I thought about the scary fact that it was Joseph Kennedy, Jr., and not his younger brother, who was on the fast-track to the White House. Had Joe, Jr. not been killed in World War II, our nation and the world may look a lot different today. In 1934, one decade before his aircraft was destroyed with him in it, Joe Kennedy, Jr. was sent to Nazi Germany by his father, who was the Ambassador to Great Britain in the Franklin Roosevelt administration. While in Germany, young Joe wrote a letter to good old dad expressing his support for Adolf Hitler and his extermination plans, stating it was “a great thing that will do away with many of the disgusting specimens of men.” It turned out the acorn didn’t fall too far from the tree. It’s a fact that JFK’s dad did his best to persuade FDR not to come to Britain’s aid during Hitler’s onslaught of Europe. What the heck was the Kennedy hierarchy trying to do? In my opinion, I think Joe Sr. believed FDR would lose popularity (with his help) after two terms, then the elder Kennedy would slide right into the White House after being elected President in 1940. At the same time, while he served as Commander-in-Chief, President Joe Kennedy would groom Joe Jr. to follow in his footsteps to the White House in 1948. Thankfully Joe Kennedy’s scheme never came to fruition, especially since the Ambassador believed democracy was finished in England, with the United States’ freedom the next in line to fall. Is it even conceivable to think the elder Kennedy had planned on world domination partnered with Hitler? As a bobble head who tries very hard to keep political scandals and conspiracy theories out of my Presidential tributes, I’m very thankful JFK was brilliant and wasn’t easily influenced by others, including his conniving, shifty, and traitorous dad.

I thought for sure the three of us would walk to the home where the Kennedy’s had moved in 1920, because that’s what Tom, Vicki, and I did during our 2017 visit. But since it was getting later in the day, and my photographer’s Advil was likely wearing off, Tom made the decision to drive the two-and-a-half-blocks to JFK’s boyhood home.

Once we arrived, and my photographer carried me up to the sidewalk in front of the private home at 51 Abbottsford Road, I recognized it right away from our first visit six years earlier. The large, three-story Queen Anne-style home, which was partially hidden by trees, bushes, and other foliage, was built in 1897. Joseph Kennedy Sr. purchased the larger home in late 1920 because he wanted to keep his family in the developing neighborhood of Brookline and close to St. Aiden’s Catholic Church where they worshipped. When the Kennedy’s moved into the home with their growing “litter” of Joe, Jr., John, Rosemary and Kathleen, Rose Kennedy was expecting their fifth child, whom they named Eunice after her birth on July 10, 1921. Two additional Kennedy kids, Patricia and Bobby, were born in that larger house as well.

While I stood in front of the historic home and smiled for the camera, I couldn’t help but envision Rose Kennedy sitting on the expansive porch where she played with all of her children, at least during the times when she was home and not traveling. Our visit lasted roughly ten minutes, while the Kennedy’s resided in the home for nearly seven years. When Joe packed up the family and moved them to New York City, he said it was because Boston was no place to raise an Irish family. Perhaps the senior Kennedy should’ve moved his clan to Germany where life would’ve been a lot better!

I love standing in the footsteps of John F. Kennedy, but the more I learned about his “old man”, the more disgusted I became. However, I wasn’t about to let Joseph Kennedy, Sr. pee on my Post Toasties. After our visit to JFK’s boyhood home had wrapped up, the three of us boarded the Explorer and Tom drove us a little over two blocks east where he parked across the street from a church. But that wasn’t just any church, mind you, it was St. Aidan’s Church where the Kennedy’s worshipped in Brookline and where John and Bobby Kennedy were baptized.

Built in 1911, St. Aidan’s Church was relatively new when the Kennedy’s worshipped there from 1914 until they moved to New York City in 1927. When Tom had me pose in several locations near the exterior of the historic Catholic Church, I noticed the structure had a Medieval-style flare, which I thought was cool. Since JFK was baptized inside the building on June 19, 1917, I was hoping we could get inside to see where that ceremony took place. But that wasn’t about to happen, and it wasn’t due to the church not allowing visitors inside. It was due to the church not being a church anymore. That’s right, St. Aidan’s closed its doors for good in 1999 and was transformed into a housing complex.

John F. Kennedy was the first Catholic President, and the only Catholic to be elected to the White House until Joe Biden took office in 2021. But due to his religious upbringing in the Catholic faith, JFK nearly lost the 1960 election to Richard Nixon. Countless citizens feared a Catholic President would be more loyal to the Vatican than the American people and he would let the Pope call the shots in the White House. To squash those unfounded and bigoted beliefs, Kennedy said over and over on the 1960 campaign trail: “I am not the Catholic candidate for President. I am the Democratic Party’s candidate for President, who happens also to be a Catholic. I do not speak for my church on public matters, and the church does not speak for me.” Like I said earlier, JFK was brilliant, and he wasn’t easily influenced by others, including Pope Saint John XXIII.

We had spent roughly 45 minutes in the Brookline neighborhood where the Kennedy’s once called home. As much as I thoroughly enjoyed visiting President John F. Kennedy’s early stomping grounds, I was happy when we left that area, and Joseph Kennedy, behind. I treasure America’s fragile experiment we call democracy, and I abhor anyone who puts it in jeopardy.

In September 1936, John F. Kennedy enrolled at Harvard University where he focused on athletics more than academics. Even though JFK was 6′ 1″ tall and weighed only 163 pounds, he was a pass receiver for Harvard’s freshman and junior varsity football teams. During his sophomore season, Kennedy suffered a spinal injury, one which plagued him for the rest of his life. Intellectually, JFK was a genius – however, it wasn’t until his junior year at Harvard before he took his studies seriously.

The three of us followed John Kennedy to Harvard, which was only four miles north of Brookline. But since it was already five o’clock in the afternoon and Tom was tired of fighting the traffic around the Boston area, we opted to bypass the university and visit the nearby headquarters of George Washington instead.

My photographer parked our vehicle along Brattle Street in Cambridge and then carried me onto the grounds of what’s called the Longfellow House – Washington Headquarters National Historic Site. I laughed to myself because there must be hundreds of headquarters associated with General Washington all along the East Coast, many of which I’ve visited in the past. At first, this was seemingly just another headquarters to add to my ever-growing list. But the Longfellow House turned out to be more than that.

The 2 1/2-story mansion was built in 1759 for John Vassall, Jr., a Loyalist and slave owner. Since he was loyal to the King of England, Patriots forced Vassall to leave his home, and Boston altogether, on the eve of the Revolutionary War. On July 16, 1775, General George Washington moved into the home and used it as his personal headquarters, mainly due to the building’s large size and the view the General had of the Charles River during the Siege of Boston. During his time at the home, Washington entertained several famous visitors, including John and Abigail Adams, Benedict Arnold, Henry Knox, and Nathanael Greene. In December 1775, Martha arrived at the headquarters to stay with her husband. As a matter of fact, they celebrated their 17th wedding anniversary in the home. During her four-month stay, Martha and George dined very well, plus they often entertained guests. As a matter of fact, gallons of brandy and rum, along with 217 bottles of Madeira wine, were purchased in a two-week period. Ol’ George sure knew how to throw a party – at least until he left the home on April 4, 1776.

Since the historic mansion was closed to the public on Thursday, my photographer and Bob were relegated to walking the grounds and seeing the exterior of the house. At several different vantage points, Tom had me pose near the home or on its large porch. I had to laugh when I saw an artist’s sculpture which appeared to be fashioned out of wine bottles. To me, the piece was an eyesore; but perhaps it was symbolic of Washington’s indulgence of the sauce during his time in the house.

While I was focused primarily on George Washington’s time in the mansion, the place also became home to renowned American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow as well. In 1837, while a professor at Harvard University, Longfellow rented a room in the home where his literary career got its start. Following his marriage to Frances Appleton on July 13, 1843, Longfellow’s father-in-law bought the mansion and gave it to the couple as a wedding gift. Fanny, as she was affectionately called, died in the home on July 10, 1861 after she was badly burned when her dress caught fire. Longfellow’s face was badly burned when he tried to extinguish the fire, which caused him to sport his signature beard for the rest of his life. Devastated by his wife’s death, Longfellow grieved in the home until his own death there on March 24, 1882 at the age of 75. Sadly, eighteen years after his wife’s death, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow penned one of his last sonnets in her honor; he called it ‘The Cross of Snow’. “Such is the cross I wear upon my breast. These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes. And seasons, changeless since the day she died.”

Although our visit to the Longfellow House – Washington Headquarters lasted for roughly 20 minutes, it turned out to be an unexpected, and very impressive, historic site to see. It was late in the day and my photographer decided to start the tedious 30-mile drive to our hotel, which he had reserved in Westborough, Massachusetts. Just before we reached the Massachusetts Turnpike, however, Tom and Bob decided to have dinner at the IHOP near Brighton. Part of their decision for the early meal was to allow the traffic to clear a bit before we headed west. As I stood on the table in the restaurant and watched my photographer stuff his face with blueberry-filled pancakes, a sonnet popped into my resin head – likely caused by the spirit of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. “Such is the sadness I wear on my face. These passing moments of gluttonous hunger. Pancakes and hashbrowns, devoured, before my painted eyes. Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.”

Tom and Bob’s strategic plan to let the turnpike traffic subside a bit had worked, although it still took us nearly an hour to reach the Double Tree by Hilton in Westborough. I found it funny that my two companions didn’t say anything during our ride, because I knew it had to bother them to be so close to Lexington and Concord and not stop to see some of the sites. But perhaps they remained quiet because they’re getting old and can’t go full tilt from sunup to sundown like they used to.

By 7:30pm, my friends were registered, had the vehicle unpacked, and we were in our room for the night. Once again, like he had done every evening of the trip, Tom placed me alongside the television set where I stood throughout the night. But one thing was different at the Double Tree – my photographer set his alarm to ring at four o’clock instead of six. In my resin mind, I questioned the reason for the early wake-up call because I knew how cranky my COBS-infected photographer gets when he’s tired. However, when I heard Tom mention to Bob that he was excited to eat breakfast at Chet’s Diner in the morning, I understood his motive. The small highway diner along Main Street in Northborough is owned by Jessica Fidrych, the 36-year-old daughter of Mark “The Bird” Fidrych, who is my photographer’s all-time favorite Detroit Tigers baseball player. On Sunday July 10, 2016, the MLB Network premiered a documentary about the amazing life and career of Fidrych. The show was called ‘MLB Network Presents: The Bird’. Since the moment Tom first saw that program on the MLB channel, my photographer knew he had to make the pilgrimage to Chet’s Diner to meet Jessica – if for no other reason than to let Jessica know how much her dad meant to him and how saddened Tom was when “The Bird” tragically passed away in 2009. In July 2020, Tom made his first trip to Chet’s with his wife and me, but the darn pandemic had forced Jessica to keep the doors of her diner closed.

But now we were back, and I knew Tom couldn’t wait for morning to arrive. After all, the early worm gets The Bird! Or should I say, his daughter!