Chapter 14: The Trip
KENNY O’DONNELL SAT at his desk, staring into the distance, exhausted by the events of the previous week. It was evening on Thursday March 22, 1962, and his exhaustion was compounded by the fact that the next morning he, and the entire entourage of the president of the United States, were due to travel to California. The chopper to Andrews Air Force Base was due to leave the White House at 8:30 a.m. so, for Kenny that meant a five thirty start.
The California visit had been on the cards for over a year, and there were a lot of moving parts, which O’Donnell had painstakingly tried to coordinate. His carefully orchestrated arrangements had been put in place to cover not just the political bases, but also the repayment of favors to Democratic Party and social friends, as well as events that would show the president in a positive light in this most important of states. Despite the fact that California was Richard Nixon’s home state, the former vice-president had won there by less than thirty-six thousand votes, the narrowest margin of any of the states he carried in November 1960. With a margin that tight, Larry O’Brien believed that only a presidential challenger from California would have the potential to secure the vital 32 electoral college votes ahead of Jack in the next election. The three-day trip was all about making sure those votes were kept warm enough for Kennedy to take them in 1964.
As well as making sure the local party faithful were kept happy, Kenny had reached out across party lines and had included a visit with former President Eisenhower in the itinerary. Eisenhower, who was spending time at the El Dorado country club in Palm Springs, probably had more to gain from the visit than Jack, whom he had continuously privately derided during his last months in office. The war general’s reputation had suffered in recent months and he was now seen, by many, as relatively inactive and uninspiring in comparison to the dynamic and stylish, new, young president. Kennedy wasn’t letting bygones be bygones, though; he felt the meeting would look good, particularly in the eyes of California Republicans and sentimental older voters, who still held the older man in great regard.
Kennedy was also due to visit Vandenberg Air Force base to view a “minuteman” missile in its silo. The Titan testing program was based at Vandenberg and the president was due to observe the nation’s primary Intercontinental Ballistic Missile installation and tour the launch center. Add to this an honorary degree at a conferring ceremony at the University of California at Berkeley, followed by a visit to a cutting edge radiation treatment development center, and the few days had the makings of a very solid political tour.
For Kennedy, though, the centerpiece of the trip was the visit to Sinatra’s place in Palm Springs. Selected members of the presidential entourage were due to stay for two nights at the newly refurbished residence, and Frank had declared himself honored and excited about the arrival of his special guest. The president knew Frank’s place well, of course, and was looking forward to a little R&R in the California sunshine and, perhaps, an opportunity to reacquaint himself with some old friends.
Frank had known about the proposed presidential visit for some time. Despite the fact that the secret service had refused to confirm it, Jack had intimated that when he got around to visiting California, as he inevitably would, he would stay with Sinatra. Peter Lawford had been instrumental in ensuring that the president was as good as his intimation. Pierre Salinger had as much as confirmed things in late ’62 as the schedule for the spring of the following year began to firm up, and O’Donnell had been in contact fairly regularly as the date got closer. Frank was anything but discreet about the information entrusted to him about the potential movements of the commander-in-chief.
He was, however, more than enthusiastic about the arrangements he decided to make to ensure that every comfort of his guests would be catered to.
But now the Sinatra stopover was off. What was to have been a pleasurable, undoubtedly relaxing interlude, in the heat of the California sun, away from the cold of Washington, had turned into what Bobby was now describing as “a complete and utter fucking nightmare.”
The previous week had been somewhat of an administrative headache. Because the trip was to begin on Friday the twenty-third, the resulting four day week meant a busier than normal schedule, compounded even further by a busy schedule the previous weekend, which revolved around St. Patrick’s Day and the Gridiron Dinner. The Irish Ambassador, Thomas McKiernan, along with two Irish American congressmen, John E. Fogarty and Michael Kirwan, had paid their respects at around ten o’clock on Saturday, and the president had kept up a round of meetings and social chats right across the morning. His engagements that day had ranged from a discussion on the Cuban situation with General Maxwell Taylor and McGeorge Bundy, to a meeting with Florence Mahoney and Lady Barbara Jackson, ten minutes with Charlie Bartlett, his journalist friend, who had first introduced him to Jackie, and lunch with Richard Rovere, another journalist. Despite his hectic schedule, Kennedy still liked to spend time with press friends like Ben Bradlee of The Washington Post, Joe Alsop, and Hugh Sidey of Time magazine. All three had been to visit or to dinner in the previous two weeks, and Jack considered their opinions and feedback a vital barometer of the public’s opinion of the administration.
The members of the press were also his hosts that evening at the Capital Hilton. The Gridiron Club, Washington’s oldest journalistic society, an “invitation-only” group of sixty-five of the most influential people in the media, held an annual dinner event at which the president was traditionally the guest of honor. It had been a lively, jovial affair with members engaging in satirical and musical skits about each other and political figures. Kennedy, introduced by Julius Frandsen, the UPI bureau chief and president of the club, had spoken, somewhat informally, and had spent the evening working the roomful of people whose views, he knew, had such a huge influence on America. It was a long evening, with the president spending four-and-a-half hours at the dinner before arriving back the White House after eleven thirty.
O’Donnell had been waiting at the door of the office when the president walked in at 9:35 a.m. on Monday morning. Kenny briefed him on the week’s events and appointments, among them a breakfast with the legislative leaders, including the speaker of the house, John McCormack, a visit by the president of the African Republic of Togo, and the signing of the recently passed Welfare and Pension Plans Disclosure Act Amendments. The two then went over the schedule for the California trip Friday, and the Sinatra “situation,” which O’Donnell had been trying to contain for the last few days. In reality it was a difficulty that he had found himself caught up in for some time and had accentuated the personal conflict that he had long feared, having to choose between his loyalty to his boss and his friend, his boss’s brother. Thankfully, it now looked as if it would not come to a head but, at times, over the past couple of weeks, there had been some very tense moments between the Kennedy brothers, and Kenny had found himself in the middle.
O’Donnell had been well aware of Frank Sinatra’s efforts to ingratiate himself with the president and had himself, like Jack, been somewhat blinded by Sinatra’s stardom as far back as the mid-1950s. He had accompanied the senator, as candidate, on some of the visits to meet with Sinatra and had witnessed firsthand the attraction Frank had for JFK, particularly where women were concerned. But since the election Sinatra had sought access to, and approval from, the president with a new intensity. Beginning in the late spring of 1961, Sinatra had bombarded Kennedy and, to a lesser extent, Pierre Salinger, with letters, messages, gifts, and suggestions. Since Kenny saw pretty much everything his boss saw, he was aware of just how keen Sinatra was to keep close.
A pile of Sinatra material arrived in the White House while Kennedy was on a tour of South America in September 1961, prompting him to write on October 3,
“Dear Frank, a wonderful assortment of albums and three of your tape recordings awaited my return to the White House this week. I am delighted with these gifts and wanted you to know how very much I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
Two weeks later Kennedy acknowledged a “generous assortment of matches that you recently sent to me. I am delighted by your very thoughtful gesture.”
In a follow up to the inauguration gala, Frank had suggested the production of a souvenir two-disc highlight record to both commemorate the event and to raise some funds to defray the expenses incurred in staging it. He had, he claimed, mentioned the idea to the president earlier in the year, and on March 30 had written to Salinger, “I think my people did a damn good job compiling it. I hope you and, of course, the president agree. Any changes you or the president think of, we can discuss by telephone.” Frank was obviously taking a hands-on approach to the project, going on to write, “We are thinking of a price of fifteen dollars a copy which I think is quite fair to the buyer. We have a few ideas on how to distribute and sell them which should bring us some good loot.” The note finished, “Please ask your secretary to forward the album to the president after you have seen it in Washington.” Perhaps in an effort to ensure that JFK would hear the record the letter was copied to Joe Kennedy, whom Sinatra correctly assumed would raise the matter with his son, as note of June 8 from O’Donnell to Salinger confirmed, “Re: Sinatra Album. Mr. Kennedy senior has the album in hand and has discussed the matter with the president.”
In the meantime, Salinger had obviously, unintentionally or on purpose, managed to mislay the discs as Kenny finished by writing, “Despite your efforts to lose the album it was found by Tish” (Letitia Baldrige, Jackie’s social secretary).
As O’Donnell’s relationship with Frank had moved to a more formal basis as his position within the administration became more pivotal, Pierre Salinger’s dealings with him had become more frequent and warmer: “Dear Frank,” he wrote upon learning of Sinatra’s short-lived engagement to the actress Juliet Prowse, “Heartiest congratulations on your engagement. Everyone back here is most pleased with the news.” Frank also sought to flatter the president and his administration with regular telegrams, usually through Salinger: “Dear Pierre, Please convey to the president the following message—We are in complete accord with your belief and attitudes and we applaud you.” This particular telegram from July 1961 ended with the sort of teasing message that generally excited JFK with the potential for female liaisons: “Peter (Lawford) and I hope to see you in a few weeks. Frank.” On this occasion, however, the meeting referred to would take place in Hyannis Port, where Kennedy’s opportunities for extramarital fun were very limited and on this occasion the press had been informed that Sinatra was a guest of Lawford and Ted Kennedy, and not of the president. Following that visit, a Mr. Charles N. Stah of Hollywood, one of many correspondents to the White House on the subject of Frank, which Salinger had to field on the president’s behalf, wrote in a telegram, “Recent United Press report insinuating Yves Montand and Sinone (sic) Singoret plus left wing sympathizer Frank Sinatra allegedly were your guests at Hyannis Port this weekend surely most Americans as I feel in these critical times if the story was true the company was very ill chosen.”
Jack Rosenstein, the editor of the entertainment trade magazine Hollywood Close-Up, was more specific about Frank’s behavior in his letter to Salinger of February 3, 1962: “Aside from his own small clique there is a virulent odium attached to Sinatra in the motion picture industry generally, particularly in the self-aggrandizement of the identification of himself with the President.”
The note also said: “It may be of interest to you that there is a persistent rumor that Frank Sinatra is having a house constructed adjoining his residence in Palm Springs specifically as a vacation home for President Kennedy.”
It was no rumor. In anticipation of the visit, work on the Sinatra property had been ongoing for some time. In addition to a remodeling of the main house, Sinatra had, among other things, commissioned the construction of additional buildings, which he intended for the accommodation of the president’s secret service detail and other members of the Kennedy entourage. He’d also had a bank of twenty-five telephone lines and a switchboard wired in so the leader of the free world could remain in contact with his office, his cabinet, and the presidents and prime ministers of other countries if necessary. Add to this the installation of a concrete helipad and a presidential flagpole, like the one he’d seen in Hyannis Port the previous September, and the place had the capability to function like a sort of western White House.
Salinger, and others like O’Donnell and Bobby, didn’t need the disaffected Mr. Rosenstein to tell them of Frank’s insinuation or “self-aggrandizement.” The man they considered the most dangerous threat to the success or otherwise of the administration already knew how badly Sinatra felt the need to tell anyone who would listen about his relationship with the president and the upcoming visit. J. Edgar Hoover’s file on Frank and his activities continued to expand, and word had already reached him about the construction that was taking place on the Palm Spring property. Of most interest to Hoover, however, was the continuing relationship between the president and Judy Campbell.
Jack Kennedy’s dalliance had become a serious affair over the two years since Sinatra had introduced them, and she had seen Jack on at least ten occasions between their first meeting and the inauguration, and had continued to see him in Washington throughout 1961.
By early 1962, Hoover, through his now routine surveillance of Sinatra and Johnny Roselli, and the Dan Rowan hotel wiretap among other sources, knew definitively about “Mr. Flood,” and that she had been carrying on a relationship with him as well as with the president. Hoover had made it abundantly clear to Bobby Kennedy that he was in possession of this information and that he knew Sam Flood was Giancana. He had continued to warn the attorney general about the dangers of the president’s relationship with Sinatra right across 1961, and Frank had become the become the subject of much intensified FBI surveillance in this period.
Frank was also receiving attention from another unwelcome direction. Bobby Kennedy’s campaign against organized crime, which he had begun within days of taking up office, was intensifying. As the key adviser to his brother, Bobby was enjoying the luxury of being able to do what he wanted at the Justice Department with the minimum of interference. In fact, the president, compromised by his, and his father’s, ties to a number of dubious underworld personalities, may even have wished to turn a blind eye to the ferocity of the war that his brother had embarked upon. Jack would say, “If I want something done and done immediately I rely on the attorney general. He is very much the doer in this administration, and has an organizational gift I have rarely if ever seen surpassed.” To support his crusade the attorney general had assembled what Arthur Schlesinger described as an “outstanding” group of deputy and assistant attorneys general, including Byron White and Nicholas Katzenbach, and this tightly knit team had embarked on their task like zealots.
While there could never have been a formal agreement between the Kennedys and the Mob, there was certainly an implication that those who had helped Jack get elected in 1960 would benefit to some degree from the largesse of the administration. Powers and O’Donnell had supervised the distribution of thousands of jobs and favors to campaign and long-standing loyalists. Political figures like Mayor Richard Daley in Chicago and Senator George Smathers from Florida (arguably JFK’s best friend in the Senate) could always rely on the support of the president if they had to call upon it. Having orchestrated so many dirty tricks on Jack’s behalf during the election campaign, the Mob now expected that the status quo, which had existed up to November 1960, would, at the very least, be maintained. What they actually experienced shook the commission to the core.
By 1962 racketeering prosecutions involving the Organized Crime Section of the Criminal Division of the Department had increased approximately 300 percent over 1961 and 700 percent over 1960. Convictions had increased more than 350 percent over 1961 and almost 400 percent over 1960. By 1962 the number of individuals indicted for offences connected with organized crime had risen from 49 in 1960 to 350. Across the United States well-known mobster figures were being put away, and the central information pool that the department coordinated now had comprehensive files on the background and activities of more than 1,100 major racketeering figures. The Organized Crime and Racketeering section of the Criminal Division had been greatly expanded. Since January 1961, the personnel strength of the section had been more than tripled from seventeen attorneys to more than sixty. Permanent field units had also been set up in Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, and Miami. All of this spelled bad news for characters like Mayer Lansky, Anthony Accardo, Santa Trafficante, and, of course, Roselli and Giancana. For Sinatra it was a disaster. Not only was he the subject of intensive surveillance by the most senior and dangerous law enforcement officer in the land, he was now being regarded with increasing suspicion by the powerful Italian American gang bosses he had effectively represented as a go-between with the Kennedys, the same people who were now trying to crush the Cosa Nostra’s interests. And to make matters worse, the brothers were now about to throw him overboard.
The news about the cancellation of the trip hadn’t been handled very sensitively. At the removal of half a century and with all of the major participants deceased, it is difficult to piece together the sequence of events accurately, but what appears to have happened is the following:
At the end of February, Hoover dropped his bombshell. In identical memos to Bobby and Kenny O’Donnell he informed both that the president had been having a relationship with Judy Campbell and she, in turn, had been involved with Mob boss and criminal suspect, Sam Giancana. The person responsible for making the various introductions was Frank Sinatra, another subject of FBI surveillance, and as far as the director was concerned, it would be wholly inappropriate for the president to stay in Sinatra’s house on his forthcoming trip to California. If the attorney general did not feel he could advise the president to adopt this course of action, then Hoover would do so himself.
Bobby may not have known about the proposed stay at Sinatra’s, although this seems unlikely given his closeness to O’Donnell. He was fully aware, however, of the relationship between his brother and Frank, and was obviously more than aware of Frank’s more dubious connections. Given that he was now effectively “at war” with the Mob, why he had not moved earlier to distance the administration from Sinatra is hard to fathom. The answer may lie in the fact that Jack, deep down, valued the friendship and all Sinatra had done for him, and was unwilling to cut him loose. There is also a distinct possibility that Bobby may have been agitating for this for some time without success. Hoover’s ultimatum changed all that.
At what exact point the president finally acquiesced to his brother’s remonstrations is also unclear. There is only one record of Bobby visiting the White House in March 1962 prior to the California trip, on Tuesday the 20, and that is in the company of Clark Clifford and also after Sinatra had been ditched. While the two spoke frequently on the telephone, the brothers were definitely in each other’s company when they traveled home together from Palm Beach, after visiting their father, at his home there, on the weekend of March 10–11. They spent two hours en route from Miami together and Jack’s first appointment at 9:35 a.m. the next morning, was with O’Donnell and Salinger.
The decision made, it was really only a matter of who would pull the trigger.
Kenny O’Donnell’s orders were straightforward. The president would not be staying with Frank Sinatra, an alternative would have to be found, and Peter Lawford, as the man deemed closest to Frank, would be the one to break the bad news. O’Donnell was also instructed to find a plausible excuse for the cancellation.
Lawford, as the instigator of the visit, and the man now charged with the dirty work, was the last to know. He and Pat had been to the White House for a private dinner with the first couple on February 8. If Peter had known there was a confrontation with Frank on the horizon he would have steered a million miles clear of it, or at a minimum tried to keep the visit on the tracks. Peter and Pat Lawford were still very close to Frank, but they were both more than aware of his volcanic temper, and the clothes-ripping incident of 1958 must have crossed Peter’s mind.
Now Lawford’s loyalty was being tested, and he was in a no-win situation. “It fell to me to break the news to Frank, and I was scared,” Lawford told Sinatra biographer Kitty Kelley. He went on to say, “When Jack called me, he said that as president he just couldn’t stay at Frank’s and sleep in the same bed that Giancana or any other hood had slept in.” “You can handle it, Petah,” Jack had said in his Massachusetts drawl. Jack had called only after Kenny let the president know that encouraging “Petah” to do the deed might need the weight of the commander-in-chief behind it.
O’Donnell was now faced with the task of finding suitable alternative accommodation for the presidential entourage. While providing bed and board for the president of the United States, his key staff, and secret service detail would inevitably be challenging at such short notice, the clumsiness of what happened next is the most unbelievable and insensitive part of the whole sorry chapter. Chris Dunphy, a prominent Republican supporter from Florida, was contacted, and he, in turn, made arrangements for most of the presidential party to be put up at Bing Crosby’s house, just down the road at Rancho Mirage. The agents were accommodated next door at Jimmy Van Heusen’s place. The reason for the change of venue was put down to security, the Secret Service deeming that they would be unable to effectively protect the president at Sinatra’s the official line. Had the entire group checked into the local Holiday Inn, Frank might have bought the excuse, or at least have been able to put it about, to the numerous people to whom he had announced the visit, as a reason for the cancellation. As it was, the Kennedys had left him in a most humiliating position, salt rubbed into the wound by switching the trip to Crosby’s.
When Lawford made the call, his official line quickly crumbled, and he confessed that it was Bobby who had really decided that the president could not stay with Frank. Sinatra was having none of it, accusing Lawford of setting the whole thing up at Crosby’s, before slamming the phone down. Frank then called Bobby in Washington to be told that the reason for the cancellation was the disreputable company he was keeping and the need for the administration to distance itself from people such as himself. Sinatra called the attorney general every name in the book before slamming the phone down. Frank is then alleged to have gone around the house, smashing up everything in his way before taking a sledgehammer to the concrete helipad outside. Despite his temper, whether he did anything quite so dramatic is debatable. What is certain, however, is that he was deeply wounded by what he regarded as a huge personal insult to him. Unaware of the machinations behind the scenes and the urgent, if somewhat tardy, political necessity of the cancellation, Sinatra took out his rage on Bobby. He cut him off, knowing the relationship was now all but at an end.