“For years, your family and mine have been members of the Equestrian Order and the Patrician Party. Servants and rulers of Rome. Why have you left us for Gracchus and the mob?”
—Laurence Olivier as Marcus Crassus
DURING THE FIRST WEEK OF February 1961, Paul B. “Red” Fay was living alone. Newly appointed as the undersecretary of the navy, Fay was staying at the Army-Navy Club while waiting for his family to join him in Washington, D.C.
The phone rang on Wednesday morning, February 1. The receptionist buzzed him. Nervously, she said, “Mr. Fay, I have the president for you.”
“Grand Old Lovable,” boomed the Boston-accented voice, using the nickname he’d given Fay when they served together on a PT boat during World War II. “How would you like to see Spartacus on Friday night with the president of the United States?”
“Mr. President,” said Fay, “I’m with you all the way.”
“All right,” said Kennedy. “It’s playing at the Warner Theatre. Get a couple of good seats for Friday night, but don’t let anyone know who they are for. If there is a crowd out there to greet us, I’m going to have your top secret clearance removed. Be over here at seven p.m. for a quick dinner.”
“Here” was the White House.
The black Lincoln limousine pulled up in front of D.C.’s historic Warner Theatre shortly after 8:00 p.m. on a stormy Friday night. In giant letters, the theater’s marquee read:
SPARTACUS!
Starring Kirk Douglas, Laurence Olivier, Jean Simmons, Charles Laughton, Peter Ustinov, John Gavin,
and Tony Curtis
Although the trip was only four short blocks from the White House, the persistent snow combined with sleet made for treacherous driving on the icy streets.
There were still a few American Legion protesters shivering outside the theater on that cold Friday night, but the blizzard-like conditions made it impossible for them to see inside the car. When it came to a stop, four Secret Service men jumped out onto the snow-covered sidewalk, one of them holding the door open for its two remaining passengers.
First out of the car was Red Fay. Although his body was buried under layers of warm clothing, Fay’s face stung painfully as he was struck by a blast of the frigid night air.
Following immediately behind him, and shoving Fay quickly toward the warm lobby of the waiting theater, was John Fitzgerald Kennedy.
Exactly two weeks earlier, in weather just as cold, he had taken the oath of office as the thirty-fifth president of the United States, vowing “to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”
The president grimaced briefly when he saw the theater manager and his assistant standing on the street waiting for them. But it wasn’t Fay’s fault. The Secret Service must have contacted the theater on its own.
As the manager escorted them through the empty lobby, the president said, “We don’t want to disturb the audience. Can’t we just go right down to our seats without any commotion?”
“That’s all right, Mr. President. We’ve stopped the film for you. It’s only been on for a few minutes. We’ll start it again when you and Mr. Fay are seated.”
JFK winced again, but managed to say, “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted.
The doors opened and the four Secret Service men filed in ahead of Kennedy and Fay, blocking the audience from seeing their faces by the light from the lobby. The theater itself was still completely dark, yet the sound of rhythmic clapping began as soon as the president started walking down the aisle.
“Amazing,” whispered Red Fay. “They’re even applauding for you in the dark.”
“That’s not for me, Grand Old Lovable,” replied the president. “They want the film turned back on. C’mon, let’s sit down.”
The manager directed them to their two seats in the center of the theater, eight rows from the back. The rest of the aisle was completely empty, as were all the rows behind them. The Secret Service had seen to that.
The clapping was growing louder. There was hooting and whistling and a few catcalls. “We want our money back,” one man shouted.
“You’re right, Redhead, that is for me,” the president said with a grin as they sat down.
The four agents settled in directly behind them, and as if by some hidden cue, the film immediately started running again—but it had been rewound back to the beginning. There were groans and some additional catcalls from the audience, but the theater quickly grew quiet as Alex North’s magnificent score once more filled the room.
During the opening titles, the president spotted someone familiar sitting directly in front of him—Orville Freeman, the secretary of agriculture, along with his wife. Tapping him lightly on the shoulder, he leaned forward and asked, “Haven’t the leaders of the New Frontier got anything better to do with their time than spend it going to the movies?”
Freeman, a former governor of Minnesota who had experience answering tough questions, responded without hesitation, “I wanted to be immediately available on a moment’s notice if the president wanted me.” Kennedy laughed, and then they all turned their attention to the screen.
As “Screenplay by Dalton Trumbo” flashed across the giant screen, the president elbowed his friend. “I once met some Trumbos in Ireland. Do you think he’s Irish? I hope so.” Even in the flickering light of the projector, Fay could see the twinkle in Kennedy’s eye.
For the next three and half hours, Kennedy and Fay watched the film, engrossed in the story. From time to time, Kennedy would nudge his friend, saying things like “Look at that guy” and “Amazing acting.”
For JFK, an avid student of history, these were all familiar characters. Even before seeing the picture, he knew the story of Spartacus’ slave revolt, as well as numerous details of the lives of Roman leaders like Caesar, Crassus, and Gracchus.
As the final credits rolled, the audience was applauding once more.
This time it was for the film. Then the lights came on and the people in the front half of the theater turned around and saw the president of the United States putting on his coat and scarf.
The applause became thunderous. Kennedy nodded and smiled, waving slightly to the crowd. “It was a fine picture, don’t you think?” The crowd cheered its agreement.
The president and Red Fay walked out through the lobby. Kennedy took a brochure, “Spartacus, the Rebel Against Rome,” and stuck it in the pocket of his overcoat.
Back in the car, the president turned to his friend. “Bobby was right.” He smiled. “It was a good film. I should take his advice more often.”
The limousine drove slowly off into the now-clear night. The storm had passed.