John F. Fitzgerald put his seal on his city, his times, and a political tribe that still increases. To foes he was “Fitxblarney” but friends called him
August 1968 | Volume 19, Issue 5
I never met his grandson Jack. The one time I saw him was when as a congressman he was running against Senator Lodge in 1952. With members of the Democratic State Committee and Governor Dever he stood on the platform at Springfield, welcoming Adlai Stevenson to Massachusetts. Those assembled politicians were of the second generation, heavy-jowled, heavy-paunched, the shoulders of their suits vast and padded, their ties hand-painted in rainbow tints. Stevenson, the mutely dressed academic Hamlet, and the third-generation congressman in his narrow-shouldered suit and regimental-stripe tie, seemed from another world. Kennedy looked like what indeed he would shortly become, the youngest member of the Harvard Board of Overseers. Watching him I suddenly realized that in this young man moving rather elegantly among the “pols” the consolidation of a new class had reached its conclusion.