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With her certain instinct for fashion and lively writing flair, she won Vogue's Prix de Paris in competition with 1,280 other girls. (Her answer to one question—which three eminent men of the past she would prefer to meet?—gives another small clue to her character. She picked Baudelaire, Oscar Wilde and Diaghilev.) But Jackie regretfully declined the prize—a return trip to Paris—when her mother objected. There was a brief engagement to John Husted Jr., a socially registered Manhattan broker, but, both agree, it was never really serious.
And then, fresh from his senatorial triumph, Jack Kennedy returned to Washington, renewed his courtship with increased ardor. For six months Jack campaigned relentlessly for Jackie's vote, in and out of Georgetown dinner parties, Washington art theaters and movie houses (he even learned to tolerate Ingmar Bergman), at hunt breakfasts, up and down the Atlantic littoral from Palm Beach to Cape Cod. In June 1953, their engagement was announced. The Bouviers received the news with mixed reactions. Black Jack and his son-in-law-elect hit it off immediately. "They were very much alike," recalls Jackie. "We three had dinner before we were engaged, and they talked about politics and sports and girls—what all red-blooded men like to talk about." But other Bouviers were not so enthusiastic. "She telephoned me to tell me the news," recalls Jackie's aunt, Maude Davis, "but she said, 'You can't say anything about it because the Saturday Evening Post is about to come out with an article on Jack called "The Senate's Gay Young Bachelor," and this would spoil it.' " Sniffs Aunt Michelle Bouvier Putnam: "The whole Kennedy clan is unperturbed by publicity. We feel differently about it. Their clan is totally united; ours is not."
In September, John Fitzgerald Kennedy and Jacqueline Lee Bouvier were married by Boston's Cardinal (then Archbishop) Gushing in a Newport extravaganza that moved society columnists to transports of joy. There were 26 groomsmen and bridesmaids, 700 guests (ranging from Alfred Gwynne Vanderbilt to Marion Davies) at the nuptial Mass and 900 at the reception.
A mob of 3,000 spectators broke through the police cordon around the church, nearly crushed the bride. After cutting the wedding cake, Jackie acknowledged the toasts gracefully, then noted that her mother had always told her to wait and judge a man by his correspondence. With quiet humor, she held up a postcard from Bermuda with a picture of a passion flower. On the back was scrawled: "Wish you were here. Cheers. Jack." "This," said Jackie, "is my entire correspondence from Jack."
Forty for Lunch. But life with Jack was not all rose petals. "It was like being married to a whirlwind. Life was so disorganized. We never had a home for five years. Politics was sort of my enemy as far as seeing Jack was concerned." She coped with problems that would have sent the average bride sprinting home to mother. "One morning the first year we were married, Jack said to me, 'What food are you planning for the 40 guests we are having for luncheon?' No one had told me anything about it. It was 11 a.m., the guests were expected at 1. I was in a panic."