substance, led in Boston by Cardinal William O’Connell. The cardinal was as much a player in the world of power as Mayor James Michael Curley or Senator Henry Cabot Lodge. Cardinal O’Connell had officiated at Joe and Rose’s wedding and blessed their lives. His nephew, Monsignor James O’Connell, may have been present that day too, for he then lived with his uncle in the official residence.
Monsignor O’Connell had a certain disability for a priest—a wife in New York City. So did Father David J. Toomey, editor of the Pilot, the publication read by good Catholics in Boston. When Father Toomey was secretly excommunicated, he claimed that the cardinal’s nephew had bought his uncle’s silence by threatening to expose the cardinal himself for embezzlingfrom the archdiocese as well as his “sexual affection for men.” By apparently lying to Pope Benedict XV about his nephew, the cardinal defused the controversy and returned to Boston to inveigh against immoral movies and sin in general. The cardinal was not one to look too deeply into the cellars of Joe Kennedy’s life, for he might find his own skeletons hidden away there in the darkness. Beyond that, Joe was not only a generous contributor to his church but, in Photoplay magazine’s authoritative words, “the screen’s … leading family man.”
For Joe, the Catholic Church was like the Democratic Party—an institution that he was born into and that he used as he saw fit—but he had no more deep faith in one than the other. A great family, as Joe defined the term, was a wealthy family, and he was now a millionaire several times over. Wealth, however, could be either the rich sustenance out of which accomplishment grew for generations or an overrich banquet that left those who feasted on it satiated and weak. Joe had seen both aspects of wealth.
Joe’s father-in-law, Honey Fitz, had feared that his sons might outdo him. If anything, Joe feared the opposite. He had an astute understanding of the psychology of money. One key to the success of the great families lay in institutionalizing money in irrevocable trust funds. Thus, no one generation could squander the family’s assets, and each member could know that he would go into life spared the tedious necessity of scrambling for a basic living.
Early in 1926, Joe institutionalized his belief in family when he established the first of a series of trust funds. The trust agreement was an artful document, for it created a family wealth that could go on for generations. Until they were thirty-five years old, the trustees had discretion over the percentage of the income they would give the Kennedy offspring. The Kennedy daughters received the same share as their brothers, but with his low opinion of their financial acumen and assumption that women were naturally profligate, Joe added a typical “spendthrift clause for female beneficiaries.”
Joe told the financier Bernard Baruch, who shared his cynicism about human nature, that the trust fund would allow his children to “spit in his eye.” It was not that at all. Joe’s belief in family was in some ways an immortality wish, a way of living on through his sons and his sons’ sons. A trust fund was as much a part of that vision for his sons’ lives as private school education and athletic competition, as well as a part of his vision of what he thought a true man should be and have and do.
5
Moving On
I n September 1927, the Kennedy chauffeur drove the family from Brookline to South Station to take a train to their new home in New York. Joe had a gift for mythic self-creation that was as American as the curveball. He could not admit that he was moving to New York largely because it was a more convenient place for him. He had to create a moral drama. He was fond of saying later that he had left so that his children would not have to suffer from the anti-Catholic, anti-Irish ambience of Boston.
“I felt it was no place to bring up Irish Catholic
Monsignor O’Connell had a certain disability for a priest—a wife in New York City. So did Father David J. Toomey, editor of the Pilot, the publication read by good Catholics in Boston. When Father Toomey was secretly excommunicated, he claimed that the cardinal’s nephew had bought his uncle’s silence by threatening to expose the cardinal himself for embezzlingfrom the archdiocese as well as his “sexual affection for men.” By apparently lying to Pope Benedict XV about his nephew, the cardinal defused the controversy and returned to Boston to inveigh against immoral movies and sin in general. The cardinal was not one to look too deeply into the cellars of Joe Kennedy’s life, for he might find his own skeletons hidden away there in the darkness. Beyond that, Joe was not only a generous contributor to his church but, in Photoplay magazine’s authoritative words, “the screen’s … leading family man.”
For Joe, the Catholic Church was like the Democratic Party—an institution that he was born into and that he used as he saw fit—but he had no more deep faith in one than the other. A great family, as Joe defined the term, was a wealthy family, and he was now a millionaire several times over. Wealth, however, could be either the rich sustenance out of which accomplishment grew for generations or an overrich banquet that left those who feasted on it satiated and weak. Joe had seen both aspects of wealth.
Joe’s father-in-law, Honey Fitz, had feared that his sons might outdo him. If anything, Joe feared the opposite. He had an astute understanding of the psychology of money. One key to the success of the great families lay in institutionalizing money in irrevocable trust funds. Thus, no one generation could squander the family’s assets, and each member could know that he would go into life spared the tedious necessity of scrambling for a basic living.
Early in 1926, Joe institutionalized his belief in family when he established the first of a series of trust funds. The trust agreement was an artful document, for it created a family wealth that could go on for generations. Until they were thirty-five years old, the trustees had discretion over the percentage of the income they would give the Kennedy offspring. The Kennedy daughters received the same share as their brothers, but with his low opinion of their financial acumen and assumption that women were naturally profligate, Joe added a typical “spendthrift clause for female beneficiaries.”
Joe told the financier Bernard Baruch, who shared his cynicism about human nature, that the trust fund would allow his children to “spit in his eye.” It was not that at all. Joe’s belief in family was in some ways an immortality wish, a way of living on through his sons and his sons’ sons. A trust fund was as much a part of that vision for his sons’ lives as private school education and athletic competition, as well as a part of his vision of what he thought a true man should be and have and do.
5
Moving On
I n September 1927, the Kennedy chauffeur drove the family from Brookline to South Station to take a train to their new home in New York. Joe had a gift for mythic self-creation that was as American as the curveball. He could not admit that he was moving to New York largely because it was a more convenient place for him. He had to create a moral drama. He was fond of saying later that he had left so that his children would not have to suffer from the anti-Catholic, anti-Irish ambience of Boston.
“I felt it was no place to bring up Irish Catholic
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