Man Of The Year: John F. Kennedy, A Way with the People

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that policy may be altered, but it can rarely be fully reversed. When Kennedy first came to the White House, he resented his inheritance, constantly referred to problems "not of our own making." But now those old problems tend to become "our problems," and the fact that the world is in trouble seems to Kennedy less Dwight Eisenhower's fault than he once suspected. At a recent meeting of the National Security Council, Kennedy opened a folder filled with briefs of U.S. problems. "Now, let's see," he said. "Did we inherit these, or are these our own?" Now, Kennedy can even joke to friends: "I had plenty of problems when I came in. But wait until the fellow who follows me sees what he will inherit."

Key to Power. Behind such subtle, sometimes facetiously stated, changes of attitude lies the central story of a U.S. President coming of age. Personality is a key to the use of presidential power, and John Kennedy in 1961 passed through three distinct phases of presidential personality. First, there was the cocksure new man in office. Then, after the disastrous, U.S.-backed invasion of Cuba (in White House circles, B.C. still means Before Cuba), came disillusionment. Finally, in the year's last months, came a return of confidence—but of a wiser, more mature kind that had been tempered by the bitter lessons of experience.

Kennedy's inaugural address, delivered under a brilliant sun after a night of wild snowstorm, rang with eloquence and the hope born of confidence. "Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans ... In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not shrink from this responsibility—I welcome it."

Man of Destiny. Such was Kennedy's performance during the inauguration ceremonies that the late Sam Rayburn was moved to remark: "He's a man of destiny." Poet Robert Frost, then 86, obviously thought so, too, and his proud reading of one of his poems at the inaugural set a tone of expectation. After a few weeks in the Presidency, Kennedy told a friend: "This is a damned good job." He was fascinated by the perquisites of his office and his sudden access to the deepest secrets of government. He explored the White House, poked his head into offices, asked secretaries how they were getting along. He propped up pictures of his wife and children in office-wall niches, while Jackie rummaged through the cellar and attic, charmed with the treasures she found there and already determined to make the White House into a "museum of our country's heritage."

The Kennedy "style" came like a hurricane. For a while, the problems of the world seemed less important than what parties the Kennedys went to, what hairdo Jackie wore. Seldom, perhaps never, has any President had such thorough exposure in so short a time. At one point, Theodore Sorensen, Kennedy's special counsel, reminded the president of Kennedy's old campaign line: that he was tired of getting up every morning and reading what Khrushchev and Castro were doing; instead, he wanted to read what the President of the U.S. was doing. Replied Kennedy: "That's so, and I've been hearing