Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1963)

of them of two years of study, “That Grace Kelly’s such a pretty little thing. Isn’t it a shame she's too shy ever to amount to anything?” There was also something different about Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy when she was a young girl. Her litmus-paperlike sensitivity, her own special brand of shyness, were probably intensified when her father, whom she adored, was divorced from her mother. But her stepfather, country squire Hugh Auchincloss, was to provide her with a haven and sanctuary at his secluded Merrywood estate in Virginia. It was, says playwright Gore Vidal (a relative of Jackie by marriage), “a world of deliberate quietude removed from 20thcentury tension. ... It was a life that gave total security, but not much preparation for the real world, which burst on us as a Great Adventure, a Big Discovery. Most of us broke away; Jackie surely rejected the Great Lady tradition.” At eighteen Jackie was the “Queen Debutante of the Year”; yet just one year later she was dissatisfied, unwilling to be just a piece of pretty, fragile and useless Dresden porcelain. Not so long ago, looking back at that period, she said, “But Newport — when I was about nineteen, I knew I didn’t want the rest of my life to be there. I didn’t want to marry any of the young men I grew up with — not because of them but because of their life. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was still floundering.” Unlike Jackie, Grace Kelly thought she knew what she wanted. Fame. Recognition as an actress. Success. She got a small part on a Broadway show. Then, for a long time, nothing. Even after she achieved success, recognition and fame in Hollywood beyond her fondest dreams, she was still lonely. She was waiting . . . waiting . . . for exactly what, she did not know. Jacqueline Bouvier’s floundering took her to Vassar for two years, then to Paris for a year at the Sorbonne, and then back to the United States where, determined not to be “a little girl at Vassar again,” she took a journalism course at George Washington University. Girl photographer It was time. Jackie told herself, to see what the “real world” was like, so with the help of old-friend-of-the-family Arthur Kroc.k, chief of The New York Times’ Washington bureau, she wangled a job on the Washington Times-Herald. When Krock phoned that paper’s managing editor and was told there was a $42.50-aweek opening for an inquiring photographer who could handle a camera, he put his hand over the receiver, repeated this to Jackie and asked her if she could take pictures. Jackie gulped, crossed her fingers to take the sting out of her lie, and said, “Yes.” Newspaper work was exciting and interviewing and taking pictures of the manon-the-street and the celebrity-in-the-limelight (once staff photographer Joe Heiberger had showed her how easy it was to snap pictures: you just set your camera for six feet and take all shots from that distance) was fun. Yet there was something lacking, and it began to intrude itself unconsciously (or was it consciously ?) into her column. Her inquiring reporter questions dealt more and more with love. Questions like: “Is your marriage a fifty-fifty partnership, or do you feel that you give more?” and “Can you give any reason why a contented bachelor should get married?” To this last question, Jackie found that she herself could come up with lots of reasons. The bachelor she had in mind was handsome Jack Kennedy, senator from Massachusetts. In fact, when she framed another question in her column, people who knew Jacqueline Bouvier best were convinced she was trying to tease (and to goad?) Jack. The column question: “The Irish author, Sean O’Faolain, claims that the Irish are deficient in the art of love. Do you agree?” The men and women to whom Jackie asked this question agreed and disagreed. But Jack Kennedy, who read Jackie’s column every day, showed his disagreement by his actions. The art of love meant showing your girl that you’re sincere, like buying her books she should read, instead of gifting her perfume, and giving her gifts that were educational instead of frilly. The art of love meant letting her know how you felt about her, nothing gooey and gushy, mind you, but a simple, straightforward statement, like sending her a cable when she was in England covering the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, saying: ARTICLES EXCELLENT, BUT YOU ARE MISSED. The art of love meant reversing roles and asking the inquiring camera girl a question and having her answer, “Yes.” The art of love meant forsaking the alleged benefits of bachelorhood for the responsibilities and joys of marriage. For Grace Kelly, too, her moment of fulfillment and end of loneliness came the day the S.S. Independence delivered her to Prince Rainier’s yacht and she stepped into the arms of her husband-to-be. Love and marriage brought Grace and Jackie their true “vocation” of being wives and mothers. Yet, because both women had married extraordinary men, theii vocation was soon extended to cover a much wider range than home-making and child-bearing. Immediately for Grace, and a few years after her wedding for Jackie, they both became the First Ladies of their countries. Serving society instead of Society, it was inevitable that their skills and accomplishments as hostesses, diplomats, fashion setters, beauties, patronesses of culture, sponsors of charities, sportswomen, etc., etc., should be contrasted and compared. And it was inevitable that they should compete. Actually, the very fact that they had so much in common — social position, family background, shyness, education, religious training, deep concern for art, music and literature — made this competition possible. Healthy competition, not destructive competition. The kind of competition possible only between two people who deeply respect each other. Not the “anything you can do I can do better” sort of jockyeing for position, but the “what are you doing for your husband, your children, your country that I might adopt and adapt and make my own?” As for the gossips’ inference that Grace Kelly might be jealous of Jacqueline Kennedy— as you can see, there is no jealousy. Only a coinciding of activities of two women who have a lot in common and a big job to do — and want only to do it welL — Jim Hoffman Vote Today— A Gift Is Waiting For You! We’ll put your name on one of 400 prizes — and all you have to do is fill out and mail this ballot. This month, the prize — for the first 400 ballots we receive is “Reduce Relax Rejuvenate in 7 Fun-Filled Days” by beauty expert Manya Kahn. This informative new Macfadden Book is a “how-to” of beauty and health. Be sure to mail in your ballot today to win this book. Paste this ballot on a postcard and send it to Reader’s Poll , Box 1374, Grand Central Station, New York 17, New York. MY FAVORITES ARE: MALE STAR: 1. 2. 3. FEMALE STAR: 1. 2. 3. FAVORITE STORY IN THIS ISSUE: 1. 2. 3. THE NEWCOMER I’D LIKE MOST TO READ ABOUT: THE FAMOUS PERSON, NOT IN SHOW BUSINESS, I’D LIKE TO READ ABOUT: Name Address 6-63 72