BOBBY KENNEDY STOOD inside the DC Armory on the morning of Sunday, October 28, 1962. He wasn’t there on inspection, as the armory had lost its military usefulness decades before. Instead, he was enjoying a brief peaceful moment, watching a horse show with his daughters. The world might be on the brink of war, but life was continuing, at least for now. Like the other members of ExComm, Bobby could do nothing but wait for the Russians to make their next move. He watched as the horses jumped and galloped and must have wondered if he would ever enjoy a moment like this again.
At approximately 10:00 a.m., RFK was called away from the event to take an urgent phone call from Dean Rusk at the State Department. As Rusk spoke, the president’s brother could hardly believe what he was hearing. The Kremlin had just agreed to remove all nuclear missiles from Cuba.
In a message broadcast that morning over Radio Moscow, Premier Nikita Khrushchev spoke directly to President John F. Kennedy.
Esteemed Mr. President:
I have received your message of October 27, 1962. I express my satisfaction and thank you for the sense of proportion you have displayed and for realization of the responsibility which now devolves on you for the preservation of the peace of the world.
I regard with great understanding your concern and the concern of the United States people in connection with the fact that the weapons you describe as offensive are formidable weapons indeed. Both you and we understand what kind of weapons these are.
In order to eliminate as rapidly as possible the conflict which endangers the cause of peace, to give an assurance to all people who crave peace, and to reassure the American people, who, I am certain, also want peace, as do the people of the Soviet Union, the Soviet Government, in addition to earlier instructions on the discontinuation of further work on weapons construction sites, has given a new order to dismantle the arms which you described as offensive, and to crate and return them to the Soviet Union.1
Respectfully yours,
N. Khrushchev
Upon hearing the news, Bobby Kennedy drove directly to the White House. The president was getting dressed to attend Sunday morning mass at St. Stephen’s Church. The First Lady had taken Caroline and John-John to Glen Ora, the family estate in the Virginia horse country, that Friday. JFK had promised to join her there on Saturday, but then the world had turned black. Now, on October 28, there was light, and with light came hope. National Security Advisor Mac Bundy, the same man who had first notified the president that the Soviets were constructing missile sites on Cuba, now alerted him that Khrushchev was standing down. Bundy approached the president’s private quarters and handed the commander in chief the full text of Khrushchev’s message.
“It was a very beautiful morning, and it suddenly had become many times more beautiful,” Bundy later said. “And I am sure the President felt the same way from the feeling between us as we talked about it.… We all felt that the world had changed for the better.”2
ExComm reconvened at 11 a.m. with a collective sense of relief, while at the Pentagon skepticism and anger reigned. The Joint Chiefs thought Khrushchev’s letter was no more than another attempt to buy time until all the nuclear weapons on Cuba became operational. The Chiefs, led by General Curtis LeMay, again called on the president to order a major air strike against Cuba the following day, Monday, October 29, followed by a full invasion. The only dissenter among the Joint Chiefs, its chairman, General Maxwell Taylor, gave the Pentagon’s recommendation to Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, while informing him that he did not agree with it. Taylor’s view contrasted starkly with LeMay’s.
“We lost!” LeMay shouted. “We should just go in there today and knock ’em off!”3
Despite LeMay’s bloodthirsty blustering, Khrushchev’s morning announcement was not an attempt at misdirection. The Soviets were putting their words in action. There had simply been too many close brushes with potential Armageddon: Chuck Maultsby’s inadvertent incursion over Soviet airspace, Fidel Castro’s firing at Crusaders and wish to strike the first nuclear blow, and Soviet generals’ taking matters into their own hands with the firing of surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) at Jerry McIlmoyle and Rudy Anderson. These incidents had passed without prompting the start of World War III, but Khrushchev knew this good fortune could not last much longer. He quickly arranged for announcement of his agreement on Radio Moscow so that President Kennedy would have his answer as soon as possible.
The premier also understood that Kennedy might have a hard time keeping the reins on his generals—like Curtis LeMay—and that too had forced him to act. During a morning meeting with his advisors at his private dacha outside Moscow, the Soviet leader learned of Anatoly Dobrynin’s meeting with Bobby Kennedy the night before and of RFK’s warning that American generals wanted war and that the moment of reckoning had arrived. Khrushchev won agreement from his own generals and advisors to dismantle their missiles as long as the Americans promised not to invade Cuba and to eventually remove the Jupiter missiles from Turkey. Khrushchev saw the compromise as a victory for Soviet diplomacy.4
Fidel Castro did not agree. On learning of Khrushchev’s decision, the Cuban leader went on a profanity-laced tirade. He even punched a mirror and kicked a wall. Castro was furious that the Russians had made a deal with the Americans without consulting him first. His tirade had no effect as orders to stand down went out to Soviet military commanders on land and sea.
The Russian tanker Grozny, which had shown no signs of slowing as it closed in on the quarantine line, stopped dead in the water. Three hundred miles away, the Soviet sub B-59 retreated with its fully charged batteries. It dove to five hundred feet and altered course by 180 degrees, while on the ocean’s surface the jazz band aboard the 2,200-ton destroyer USS Lowry played “Yankee Doodle.”
By all appearances, the crisis was over after thirteen painstaking days that had tested the wills of men on all sides of the conflict.
At the White House, Mac Bundy reflected on ExComm’s shifting positions and allegiances, including his own, over the past week. Bundy said that some committee members had been hawks, and some had been doves. “Today is the day of the doves,” he said.5
President Kennedy ordered all air reconnaissance suspended for the day; no doubt the loss of Rudy Anderson was still fresh in his mind. JFK urged his advisors to temper their public remarks so as not to embarrass or provoke Khrushchev. The president understood that work remained to be done to keep the peace. He then placed calls to his predecessors—Dwight Eisenhower, Harry Truman, and Herbert Hoover. Eisenhower praised Kennedy and told him that he was “doing exactly right on this one.” Former president Harry Truman, who had never been a fan of Kennedy, concurred. “I’m just pleased to death the way these things came out.… That’s the way to do things,” he told JFK. Herbert Hoover, now eighty-eight years old, said during the phone call, “It seems to me these recent events are rather incredible.… That represents a good triumph for you.”6 Kennedy did not bring up his private promise to Khrushchev to remove the Jupiter missiles from Turkey.7
As JFK was placing his calls to the former presidents, Bobby returned from a meeting with Ambassador Dobrynin at the Justice Department. A relieved Dobrynin told RFK that the missiles on Cuba would be dismantled and withdrawn under adequate supervision and inspection. “Everything is going to work out satisfactorily,” the Russian promised.8 Dobrynin then said that Premier Khrushchev himself wanted to offer “best wishes” to Bobby and the president.
JFK knew that it was no time for a victory lap. Herbert Hoover had called his handling of the crisis “a triumph,” but the president understood how quickly the situation could change course if he didn’t keep a steady hand at the wheel. He also realized how a simple twist of fate could turn things back upside down. Remembering that Abraham Lincoln had been assassinated just after winning the Civil War, Kennedy joked—hauntingly in retrospect—to Bobby, “This is the night I should go to the theater.” Ever protective of his older brother, RFK responded, “If you go, I want to go with you.”9
When Bobby left for home, he recalled that his brother was sitting in the lamplight writing. JFK was expressing his condolences to Rudy Anderson’s wife, Jane. Amid the hundreds of tasks tugging at the young president, he had not forgotten the U-2 pilot who didn’t make it home.
The letter, typed by Kennedy’s secretary the next day, read,
Dear Mrs. Anderson:
I was deeply shocked by the loss of your husband on an operational flight on Saturday, October 27th, 1962.
The courage and outstanding abilities of your husband were evident throughout his career, as witnessed by the award to him during the Korean War, of the Distinguished Flying Cross with two clusters. His tragic loss on a mission of most vital national urgency was once again the sacrifice of a brave and patriotic man in time of crisis—the source of our freedom since the founding days of our country.
On behalf of a grateful nation, I wish to convey to you and your children the sincere gratitude of all the people. I have directed the award of the Distinguished Service Medal to your husband.
Mrs. Kennedy joins me in extending to you our deepest sympathy in the loss of your husband.
Sincerely, John F. Kennedy
The president added a handwritten sentence to the letter: “Your husband’s mission was of the greatest importance, but I know how deeply you must feel his loss.”
The Distinguished Service Medal is the highest honor awarded in peacetime. CIA director John McCone had recommended awarding Rudy the Congressional Medal of Honor, saying the crisis was close to war and an adversary’s missile had taken him down. McNamara, however, disagreed, stressing that the Medal of Honor could only be given during an actual declared war.10
Of course, no medal could cheer the devastated widow. She had eagerly awaited her husband’s return to tell him that she was pregnant with their third child. Instead, another visit from two air force officials to her home shattered her dream. Once again, they told Jane that her husband was dead. Once again, she refused to believe them.
“You’ve done this before,” she shouted angrily. “You should really get your facts straight before you needlessly scare people senseless.”11
The men shook their heads.
“There is no mistake,” one of them told her. “We are at the right house speaking with the correct person.”
As the reality set in, Jane ran through the living room and locked herself in the bathroom. Alone, she began to weep hysterically. Marlene Powell, a neighbor at Laughlin Air Force Base and also the wife of a U-2 pilot, went to console her, and the new widow simply said, “I don’t want to live without Rudy.”12
While Jane grieved and likely wondered if her husband’s remains would ever be found, the Soviets had already removed Rudy’s body from the plane. A couple days later a Cuban source working with the United States reported that the body of the pilot had been taken to Gibara for embalming and was in Russian custody. “The American was described as being about 27 and was wearing a flight jacket with an emblem denoting service in Korea. Photographs of 2 children were among his effects.”13
AFTER WRITING TO Jane Anderson that Sunday afternoon, President Kennedy left the White House and climbed aboard his helicopter to meet Jackie and the children in Virginia. When he arrived in Glen Ora, he stepped off the aircraft smiling. The president could not adequately express his relief in words, and he knew the successful outcome of the crisis owed partly to the pilots who risked it all flying over Cuba during the prior thirteen days. He did not forget those men.
Just a few days later the president visited Homestead Air Force Base to thank the U-2 pilots, Crusader pilots, and various generals gathered on the tarmac. Under the bright Florida sunshine, Kennedy strode to a single microphone—no podium, no stage, no notes—and thanked the service members for helping resolve the crisis.
Pilots Buddy Brown and Jerry McIlmoyle missed Kennedy’s short speech, as they had been selected to remain inside a hangar next to a U-2 spy plane. The two pilots didn’t mind—they would meet the president one-on-one and give him a personal tour of the aircraft.
Brown and McIlmoyle stood at attention as the president’s limousine slowly entered the hangar and rolled to a stop. Kennedy emerged dressed in a dark suit. Buddy and Jerry gave a stiff salute, but the president wasn’t having any of that formal stuff. He walked up to the men with his hand outstretched. The two pilots were taken off guard but recovered enough to shake his hand.
Kennedy must have told his staff and the generals to stay back, out of earshot, because when he asked the pilots to show him the plane, the others remained by the limousine. As the three men walked toward the cockpit of the U-2, the president turned to Jerry and asked, “What does your wife think about what you were doing?”
“She doesn’t know,” stammered Jerry. “It’s top secret.”
“Well I’m giving you permission to tell her and anyone else you want to about anything and everything you did.”
Then he looked at Buddy Brown and said, “You too.”
Buddy, in awe and somewhat tongue-tied, recovered and said, “Thank you, sir.”
The three men reached a portable stairway leading to the U-2’s cockpit. They all climbed up, and Jerry started pointing out the various instruments. Kennedy surprised Jerry yet again by asking, “Mind if I climb inside?” A seat pack and parachute had been installed just for that possibility.
“Please do.” Jerry knew nothing about JFK’s bad back, but the president showed no discomfort as he wedged himself into the pilot’s seat.
The two pilots explained the various instruments and even pointed out on a map where Rudy Anderson was shot down. Jerry decided this was neither the time nor the place to mention his own near miss with two SAMs, and because the president did not bring it up, he assumed Kennedy was unaware of his close call.
“How do you eject?” asked Kennedy.
Jerry, now comfortable talking with the president, joked, “First thing is you make sure you have to eject!”
The three men laughed. The pilots felt like they were with a friend and briefly forgot the man sitting in the cockpit was their commander in chief.
The president peppered the two pilots with questions, and Jerry thought, “This is a military man who has been in combat. He really wants to hear what we have to say, really wants to know how the plane functions.”
A full thirty minutes had passed since they had met the president, and Kennedy seemed reluctant to leave the cockpit, but they all descended the stairs to the floor of the hangar.
Just before the president walked back to the limousine, he turned to Jerry, put his arm around his shoulder, looked him in the eye, and said, “I’ll never be able to thank you men enough for bringing back those pictures which allowed me to peacefully end this crisis.”