(3 of 7)
Amid all the gaiety, the first flakes of snow were barely noticed. But they kept falling—and falling and falling. By nightfall on inaugural eve, confusion was complete. At least 10,000 cars were stalled and abandoned. Airplanes stacked up over the airport, then flew away; Herbert Hoover, winging up from Miami, had to turn back, never got to the inaugural. It took Pat Nixon 2½ hours to get from her Wesley Heights home to the Senate Office Building, where her husband was holding a farewell party for his staff. Secretary of State Christian Herter got stuck for two hours in the traffic jam. At the White House, 30 members of President Eisenhower's staff were snowbound for the night. Determined partygoers struggled through the storm, some of the men in white ties and parkas, some of the women wearing leotards under their gowns.
But despite the blinding snow and the treacherous ice and the marrow-freezing wind, Democratic hearts stayed high. "To hell with it all," cried one celebrator. "We've elected a President!" They had indeed—and Jack Kennedy moved relentlessly through his week, seemingly never pausing even for breath and totally unfazed by the soaring confusion. He was at all times the central and dominating figure of inauguration week.
Leaving Wife Jackie in Palm Beach early in the week (she flew up to Washington later), Kennedy climbed aboard his twin-engined Convair Caroline for a quick trip to the capital. As the plane turned northward, Kennedy removed his coat, slouched down in his seat behind a desk, drank a glass of milk and sawed away at a medium-rare filet of beef. Lunch done, he squinted out the window, picked up a ruled pad of yellow paper and a ballpoint pen. Over the first three pages, he scribbled a new opening for his inaugural speech—even while, just a few feet away, Secretary Evelyn Lincoln was hammering out an older version.
"It's tough." mused Jack Kennedy. "The speech to the Massachusetts legislature went so well. It's going to be hard to meet that standard." He read the three pages aloud, ticking off historical allusions. He paused for a moment, then murmured some doubts about the long introductory part of the speech. "What I want to say," he explained, "is that the spirit of the revolution still is here, still is a part of this country." He wrote for a minute or two, crossed out a few words, then flung the tablet on the desk and began talking, ranging over a wide variety of subjects, both personal and political. He was concerned about the Eisenhower budget, felt that it was unrealistically balanced and that all the red ink to follow would be blamed on the new Administration. He was pleased with his Cabinet: "I've got good men. It looks good." He was sure that Lyndon Johnson would do well in his new job, though he was worried about Johnson's weight (L.B.J. has lost 30 Ibs. since Election Day). Things would start happening the moment he moved into the White House: on the day after the inauguration he would issue an executive order doubling the allotment of surplus food sent to depressed areas. "I'm going to start seeing people right away," he said. Secretary Lincoln had already begun to book appointments, and an order had gone out to the Kennedy staff to be at work at 9 a.m. on Saturday.