Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis was born on this day eighty years ago. I never knew or met Mrs. Onassis, and saw her in the flesh only twice. She was always my idea of a goodlooking woman from the earliest times she was on the national scene.
My most memorable sighting of her was on Madison Avenue in the low 80s one weekday late afternoon in the last 1970s. It was chilly mid- autumn. I happened to notice this woman wearing a belted trenchcoat, black stockings and flats, moving quickly through the crowd across the avenue. A long stride, she had; and well-shaped muscular calves. The sidewalk was busy, so she was dashing in and out to move ahead of the crowd.
At 83rd Street, she dashed and jumped like a thoroughbred, just ahead of traffic, across the avenue from west to east, and then disappeared down toward Park Avenue. It was the energy that was so alluring; the gait, which was wide and brisk. So when I realized whom I was watching, it was an even greater pleasure.
 |  |
| Jackie dealing with the lensman outside her apartment door at 1040 Fifth Avenue in 1975. |
 |
I’ve known several people in my life who knew her well. Or, I should say, spent a lot of time in her company over the years. One friend knew her from her earliest days with
Jack Kennedy right up through the days with
Aristotle Onassis and the
Christina. This friend, who was more than her social peer, did not like her. She said she was mean (stingy) with money and always looking for someone else to pick up the check. This friend also imitated her “little” voice in a way that was not flattering. I don’t doubt the veracity of my friend’s take on her. And I don’t doubt that maybe my friend was a tad jealous of Jackie for reasons unknown to me. It was also true that Jackie was famous among others for not picking up the bill, as well as being famous for liking rich people who did, including her last husband. She was also shrewd.
I have another friend who knew her from the time she entered publishing. Also a woman. Their friendship began on mutual professional grounds and over time blossomed into a friendship in which Jackie would share some of her thoughts and memories with this friend. My friend would go up to 1040 Fifth for dinner, just the two of them, and Jackie would talk about her life for five hours. It should also be noted that this particular mutual friend is a very discreet and trustworthy individual. I would no more expect her to break Jackie’s confidence (even in memoriam) than I would expect her to break mine. I don’t doubt Jackie had the perception to know this.
As a historical figure, she was clever and even prescient. She claimed, in interviews anyway, to be interested in historical figures, especially those in the Court of Versailles in the 18th century. In many ways, it seemed to me, she resembled many aspects of court life, including creating a court of her own. It also could be that her historical notions were highly romantic and fit in well with the popular notions but had little basis in reality.
Fate handed her a role: the widow of a fallen martyr. She played that role with finesse, style, and humanity; an amazing feat. She got kudos for being a good mother to the aggrieved man’s children. True or not, no one questioned her intense interest in her children’s welfare. She demonstrated truly regal stature to her world.
She dreamed up the idea of “Camelot” after her husband’s death, and it created a beautiful dream to frame a tragedy. That was brilliance, and leadership, on her part. She also knew when to stop. No public interviews with Jackie. A big smile, even a lawsuit to chase away the nuisances of publicity maybe, but always standing tall. And moving quickly like the thoroughbred that she was.
She was a master at public relations, and what was remarkable about her accomplishments in that department was that she produced a Good Effect. We do not remember
John F. Kennedy in a morbid way but instead as a dream that was dashed with hopes lost; a man of his people.
At the very end of her days, I was told by another friend who knew her well, she burned many of the letters that she’d received and saved over the years. She sat before a blazing fire, with this particular friend at her side, and threw bundles of envelopes tied up in ribbon into it, erasing history.
I heard that story as a contradiction of the terms by which the lady identified herself. If she had such a reverence for history, then why would she obliterate evidence which involved her? It was speculated that among those souvenirs going up in flame were messages from men – some famous -- with whom she’d had an intimate relationship. Mere mortal was she, never realizing, as it is with the rest of us, that once it’s over, for us it’s over. She didn’t know it didn’t matter.
After the assassination of John Kennedy in Dallas, for the rest of her life, Jackie encountered or was stopped by people who would say to her, evidently in expression of sympathy, “I remember where I was when the President was shot.”
What these people never seemed to realize, Jackie told a friend of mine, was that she too remembered where she was when the President was shot.
My friend asked her how she dealt with those moments. She said that she trained herself so that a “steel door” came down and separated her from the thought and the voices expressing them.
Oftentimes public personalities are quite different in private moments, and it is all privately revealed in the gossip of the day. Usually the revelation is that the person is a “bitch,” or a “monster,” or a “phony” or has some other glaring (and unattractive) weakness. Something along those lines. Somehow Jackie eluded that kind of talk.
There were others who agreed with my friend that she was “cheap” when it came to spending a buck. Greed and venality is a decisive aspect of possessed wealth. There is and there was no doubt that she went for the money when making decisions about her future. Others still might have a laugh over her breathless little
Marilyn Monroe voice (which at her dinner table was less breathless, ahem).
And it was true, that at the end of her life, she was living with a man who had a wife from whom he was not divorced who lived less than a mile away at the crow flies. They lived publicly in full view of the world and so great was the public respect for her, nothing was ever said either in print or in gossip about it.
After that moment in Dallas, the public allowed the woman to do as she wished. And she allowed the public to view it all publicly, and with dignity, and self-respect. To think of her is to miss her.