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Kennedy's inaugural speech, destined to be famed within minutes of its delivery, was about the last solemn occasion of the day. That afternoon the new President and his First Lady drove to the reviewing stand in front of the White House to see the inaugural parade. With a steady thump-de-thump of the drums and a silvery splash of cymbals and brass, the marchers tootled endlessly down the avenue. Trundling along, interspersed with the 32,060 marchers, were more than 40 huge floats: Massachusetts' contribution portrayed highlights of Kennedy's life; Texas proudly hoisted a big portrait of Lyndon Johnson between an enormous Lone Star and a globe that sprouted rockets ("From Lone Star to Space Star"); Hawaii launched a star of orchids fitted with a device that pumped scent out along the way; the Navy trucked in a PT boat carrying members of Kennedy's wartime crew—and when the President spied it, he raised his hands and cheered.
Now and then, a Kennedy sister or brother joined President Kennedy at the front reviewing position. Father Joe shared the spotlight for a long while, and Mother Rose watched too. They came—and they left, and even Jackie Kennedy disappeared after a suitable time. Two and a half hours passed, then three, then 3½. The sun went down, but the President of the U.S., popping his topper on and off his head, stuck it out to the very end-and seemed to be having the time of his life.
Do It Again. It was a shuddering thought, but there was still more—much more—to come. The time had arrived for the partymakers to get back to work, and Jack Kennedy is no man to shun parties. Leaving Jacqueline to rest at the White House, Kennedy headed off for the most important private social function of the week: a dinner party at the home of his Choate schoolmate (now a Washington lobbyist) George Wheeler. Dashing back to the White House, he picked up Jackie and started a tour of the five inaugural balls. For a while Jackie, glowing in a silver-embroidered gown, stuck it out; then shortly after midnight, she gave up. Touching down at each of the massive balls, Kennedy found the halls so jammed that dancing was impossible. To one crowd he cracked: "I hope we can all meet here tomorrow at the same place at 1 o'clock and do it all over again." To another he quipped: "I must say that you dance much better than at any of the other balls. I don't know a better way to spend an evening than for you to be standing and looking at us and for us to be looking at you." To a third he said: "We still have one unfulfilled ambition. We still would like to see somebody dance."
At 2 a.m. Kennedy dropped his police escort and churned through the snowy side streets with his Secret Service and press detail to the Georgetown home of Columnist Joe Alsop. He tarried at a party there for about an hour and a half, came out alone, puffing serenely on a cigar, and rode off to the White House. And so, at last, to bed in the home he would occupy for the next four years.