Ebook Jackie's Girl: My Life with the Kennedy Family, by Kathy McKeon
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Jackie's Girl: My Life with the Kennedy Family, by Kathy McKeon
Ebook Jackie's Girl: My Life with the Kennedy Family, by Kathy McKeon
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About the Author
The fourth of eight children, Kathy McKeon grew up in Ireland and came to America in 1964 when she was nineteen. She was then hired as Jackie Kennedy’s assistant and occasional nanny to her children from 1964 to 1976. She is now a mother of three and a grandmother and lives in Florida.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Jackie’s Girl PROLOGUE Where Were You When It Happened? In 1964, the shock of President Kennedy’s assassination was still fresh, and the question felt more urgent than casual, popping up the way it did at bus stops and lunch counters, on church steps and park benches, within moments of meeting someone for the first time. It was as if everyone thought that collectively reliving that last moment of innocence might somehow help us recapture what was lost forever. That question would linger for five years, then ten, then fifty. . . . But in 1964, people were already beginning to reframe their lives around it. At nineteen, I was still too naive, though, too foreign, to grasp its significance. My worldview back then was no bigger than the servants’ quarters of the wealthy Manhattan households where I worked—making beds, polishing crystal, and caring for the well-groomed children of posh society women. I was really no more than a child myself when Jacqueline Kennedy came into my life and made me part of hers. I was in Caroline’s room one afternoon soon after I was hired when the question was directed at me. I froze for a panicked moment. No one had told me what to say, if there were rules I was to follow, or an answer I was meant to give. If the slain president’s seven-year-old daughter all of a sudden wanted to know: “Where were you when it happened, Kath?” Caroline, more than anyone, deserved an answer—of that much I was certain. I would have to trust that even at such a tender age, she had already learned in the months since her father’s murder what reminders of him might ease her heartache. After all, it was she who had broached the delicate subject. She had been showing me some of her favorite storybooks and toys when she paused and looked up at me. “Did you know my father was president of the United States, and that he got shot?” “Yes, I did know,” I answered carefully. “And I’m so sorry that happened, Caroline.” The words felt too thin to hold the weight of the moment, but Caroline seemed happy, not sad, to be talking about him. “Were you here or back in Ireland?” I told her I had been back home, in a wee village called Innis-keen, where I lived on a small farm with my parents and seven brothers and sisters. Caroline pressed me to go on. “The people in Ireland must be very sad, because my daddy was Irish, and very popular and people loved him,” she said. I was surprised that she seemed to know about her father’s deep bond with my homeland, and I could tell she was hungry to hear more about it firsthand. “You’re right,” I said. “We were all very sad. Every family had a picture of your father hanging up in their house, right next to the pope’s. My mother kept ours right there in the kitchen.” “Where were you when it happened, Kath?” Keeping my voice steady and calm, I told her my story. “There was a dance in the village every Friday,” I began. “My older sister, Briege, and I would always go with our friends.” We would spend hours getting ready, putting together our outfits and curling our hair using strips of clean rag. First we’d tie a length of cloth into a loose circle, then take a section of damp hair and wrap it around the circle before tying the two ends of the rag together tight. By the time our hair dried and we untied our rag curlers, we’d have ringlets to style into a bouncy sock-hop ponytail or a teased flip like Sandra Dee. I told Caroline how we had primped as usual in front of the broken kitchen mirror that night and started walking to the village. We stopped at a little shop on our way to buy sodas, or maybe it was breath mints. The shopkeeper, Mrs. Finnegan, looked at us and clucked her tongue. “I hate to tell you girls, but there’s no dance tonight,” she said. “The president of the United States, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was shot today. Everything is canceled.” Just five months earlier President Kennedy had visited his ancestral home in Dunganstown, County Wexford, arriving in Ireland mere hours after delivering his historic “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech in divided Germany. He had vowed to return to us soon, promising next time to bring his wife, Jackie, and their two children. We had no television at home—no electricity, even—but two days after the shooting in Dallas, Texas, my whole family spent hours huddled around Dad’s cheap battery-operated radio to listen as President Kennedy’s funeral Mass, then the long procession to Arlington National Cemetery, and his graveside service were all broadcast across the Atlantic. I remembered catching the faint echo of hoofbeats three thousand miles away as the horse-drawn caisson carried the fallen president to his final resting place. And then came the muted roar of fifty military jets flying overhead in tribute. It wasn’t that sound but the stillness that followed that made me feel connected for the first time in my life to a vast world beyond our small, rural corner of Ireland. Nothing this big had ever happened in my memory. I sensed that this sadness I felt was but a stitch in a tapestry more vast and intricate than any of us could possibly imagine. Now I was telling President Kennedy’s little girl how my father had come to our room that night, as he usually did for bedtime prayers, kneeling as he always did on the hard concrete floor, and how he offered up our daily rosary to the soul of President Kennedy and to his grieving family. “Peace be with them,” he murmured as we finished our final round of three Hail Marys, one Our Father, and a Glory Be. Peace be with them, I echoed. I went to bed wondering what their lives would be like now. I fell silent and saw tears falling down Caroline’s cheeks. She was very quiet for a few moments then spoke up in a clear voice meant to reassure me she was all right. “I was just saying a little prayer for him,” she said, wiping her eyes. “That’s good, Caroline,” I said. “I’ll say one for him, too.” I couldn’t know then, mere days into my new job, how thoroughly I would be swept up into this most royal of American families. How their everyday life would also become mine, my heart lifted by the powerful love they shared, and shattered by the unimaginable tragedies they endured. That I would someday tuck a piece of Caroline’s wedding cake in my freezer, or teach her brother how to ride a bike. I had no inkling that their beloved mother would play such an important part in shaping the woman I was yet to become. That not only my life, but my very character, would be transformed not by where I was when it happened, but after. Five years passed, then ten, then fifty. And now, I’m finally ready to tell my other Kennedy story.
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Product details
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Gallery Books; Reprint edition (March 13, 2018)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1501158953
ISBN-13: 978-1501158957
Product Dimensions:
6 x 0.9 x 9 inches
Shipping Weight: 11.4 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
4.6 out of 5 stars
352 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#44,343 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
This book arrived yesterday, and I have almost compelted it in one sitting. It is effortless to read and engaging from the very first page. The writer tells her personal life story growing up very poor, but happy in Ireland, as well as leading the reader through her transition from Ireland to New York City to work for the wealthy. The tale of her life with Jackie Kennedy and her children is mesmerizing. She paints Jackie as human, with flaws, but forgiving flaws, and a lot of love and grace. The most suprising thing I have found in this book is just how funny little John Kennedy Jr was as a child. More than once, I have doubled over in hysterical laughter reading her accounts of his michevious boyhood, and innocent sense of humor. Love love love this book!!!
Of all the books I've read by people who actually knew Jacqueline Kennedy or her children (John in particular), this one is quite possibly my favorite. It's a very well-written account of what it was like to be a young Irish immigrant, born and raised in humble circumstances (i.e. poor as a crow), new to America and thrust into one of the most auspicious positions anyone could've found themselves in at that time in our country's history.It's also refreshingly honest. Lots of people have handed themselves over in service to various Kennedys over the years, either via friendship or employment, without ever realizing how much of their own lives they were willing to sacrifice in exchange for the privilege. (See "Fairy Tale Interrupted" written by John Jr.'s secretary/personal assistant at George Magazine, RoseMarie Terenzio, as a prime example. Like many of her fellow acolytes, Terenzio didn't just work for a Kennedy; eventually her entire life revolved around his without so much as a second thought - and likely still would be if he was with us today, God rest him.) Most fascinating to me is how special most of them think they are for being allowed to become such loyal soldiers - and just how pitiful anyone else who isn't them must be, including those in "lesser" positions of importance in the ranks.McKeon was not one of these people.She worked hard for her employers and gave them a lot of her free time, but she worked just as hard to become her own person living her own life. She developed real affection for and close relationships with them, understood and respected their importance, and admired them as much as the next person, but more importantly she learned to value herself enough not to allow them to take advantage of her, something people like the Kennedys become so accustomed to doing it's as natural as breathing to them.In that regard, McKeon's years with the family is as much a coming of age story as anything else. She grew up, got a life and family of her own, and one gets the profound sense that that is how it should be. And she pulls no punches, giving both loving praise to and no nonsense portrayals of the people she came to know, some of them less affectionately than others but with goodwill and a lot of humor.In short, they couldn't have been luckier to have one another, and one gains a respect for all of them for their knowing it.My heartfelt thanks to Mrs. McKeon for sharing her story with us.
Kathy is a great storyteller!Jackie’s Girl is an easy read as she draws you in with her genuine innocence and sense of humor. If your goal is to ‘mine’ for Kennedy gossip you are sadly missing the over-arching theme of two women, from extremely different backgrounds, deeply connecting over mutual experiences of tragedy, isolation, and aloneness. She weaves together the stories of her life with Jackie in a manner that makes you feel the connection between Kathy and Jackie as it grows over time. This book is about a life-changing experience, its about human connection despite extremely different world experiences…its about a relationship that only becomes significant for those taking the time to think and reflect on how an individual can come into our lives and dramatically influence who we are. We are all human, and we can all relate to the moments when we hide in the pantry eating a loaf of Wonder Bread or finish a pint of Ice Cream from the container with a giant serving spoon. A beautiful story that will make you laugh and cry all at the same time. Add it to your Summer reading list!
Once I began reading this book, I couldn't put it down. I thought the author's experiences and memories were honest, credible, and reflective. She portrayed her famous boss and their relationship in a very accurate privately humanistic manner. Their long relationship was based on mutual trust, respect, and love. I enjoyed this book very much.
Without ever having been a Kennedy groupie, or a groupie for any group or person frankly, I absolutely loved this book.Kathie came from Ireland from a farming family whose life was very like US farming families in the 1800's, where a horse was used to plow and water carried in buckets from the well. She and her sister stopped attending school to help with chores and with supporting the family. They were given the opportunity to go to the US by relatives already there, which they did. Her plan was to work til her family no longer needed the money she sent back to them and return, following the love for family and country which nothing in the US could supplant.The trajectory of her life, however, was destined to be remarkable one. She was hired as a personal assistant to the recently widowed Jacqueline Kennedy, and part time nanny to her children John and Caroline. She found herself at the periphery of many major historical events in the years that followed, always as herself. She was never awed or impressed by where she was or who she was around, but always observing, compassionate and full of laughter.She clearly had a lot of help writing this book, since she stated several times she didn't read well. It has elements of "Upstairs Downstairs" US style. She fills out the personalities of both children and Jacqueline Kennedy humanizing them completely. I am so glad she made and kept a commitment to get her life down on paper, it was such a pleasure to read. She did fall in love, and stayed in the US, making her peace with leaving Ireland. It was our gain.
adorable memoir of service among the extremely rich with especially charming notes about young John Kennedy and a few surprises about Jacqueline K.
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