Prologue
The New York Times
May 20, 1994
Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy,
Former First Lady, Dies at 64
Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, the former First Lady whopresided over a renaissance of the arts and a famous restoration of the White House during her husband’s presidency, died yesterday from complications from cancer. She was 64.
Mrs. Kennedy was among the youngest and most popular first ladies in American history. During her eight years in the role, she made the Kennedy White House a magnet for artists and creatives and completed an extensive restoration of the executive mansion to highlight its history. During her post-White House years, she began a career publishing, working as a book editor first at Viking Press and then at Doubleday, where she continued working until her death.
Mrs. Kennedy died surrounded by her family, including her husband of forty years, former President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and their three children. Also at her bedside during her final hours were her brothers-in-law, former President Robert F. Kennedy and Senator Edward Kennedy, as well as other family and friends.
Mrs. Kennedy will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery on Monday, May 23. (See article on p. 23 Style section for more about Mrs. Kennedy’s life and legacy).
Chapter One
Dallas, Texas
November 23, 1963
Jack, what do you think you’re doing?”
Her voice stopped him as he attempted to rouse himself from the hospital bed, and he fell back against the pillow in resignation. “Nothing.”
“You shouldn’t be moving. Just lie still for once, will you please? What do you need?”
She walked quickly from the doorway of the hospital room and sat down on the edge of his bed. She was still wearing the same pink suit she’d had on yesterday, the one he’d asked her to wear for him as it had always been his favorite. She hadn’t changed yet; she hadn’t gotten a chance. Since the moment he’d been brought to the hospital, she hadn’t left his side until now.
“Just some water. Thanks.”
She reached over and poured some into the glass that had been just out of his reach. How easily they slipped back into these roles, he mused; him lying helpless in a hospital bed while she took care of him. His mind wandered back to the first year of their marriage, a decade ago now, when he had almost died in another hospital on an operating table, when their life together had barely begun.
And yesterday, once again, it had almost ended.
“I just spoke with the doctor,” she said, reaching out to take the glass back from him after he had gulped down the water she’d offered.
“He says you’re going to be fine.” For the first time since they’d arrived at the hospital yesterday, she smiled at him, and he could see the relief in her eyes.
“Of course I am. The bullet barely grazed me.” This was true for the most part, but he had to admit that being shot at was not a comfortable experience even if he realized things could certainly have turned out much worse.
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The doctor said there was some significant blood loss, which is why they had to give you the transfusions. But he thinks you’ll recover just fine, assuming you take it easy and don’t overtax yourself.”
“Well I’ll try, but you know I do have a country to run.” He tried to sit up again but winced as the wound in his shoulder issued a stabbing pain, a reminder of yesterday’s near-miss. As if he needed anything to remind him of what had happened just twenty-four hours ago.