Just Jackie: Her Private Years

Just Jackie: Her Private Years

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by Edward Klein
     
 

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In this journalistic tour de force, bestselling author Edward Klein, a friend of Jacqueline Onassis's for many years, takes us behind the public image to give us a story that has never been told before. For this myth-shattering portrait, Klein has amassed a wealth of exclusive information from private documents and correspondence; FBI files; and hundreds of interviews

Overview

In this journalistic tour de force, bestselling author Edward Klein, a friend of Jacqueline Onassis's for many years, takes us behind the public image to give us a story that has never been told before. For this myth-shattering portrait, Klein has amassed a wealth of exclusive information from private documents and correspondence; FBI files; and hundreds of interviews with Jackie's friends, the associates of Aristotle Onassis, and people familiar with her longtime companion, the mysterious diamond merchant Maurice Tempelsman. Many people break their silence here for the first time.

Much more than a portrait of a famous celebrity, JUST JACKIE: HER PRIVATE YEARS captures the essence of a captivating woman whose passion for wealth was matched only by her deep need for privacy.


From the Paperback edition.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Fascinating."
--LIZ SMITH
   New York Post

"REVEAL[S] FASCINATING TIDBITS THAT MAY HELP SET THE RECORD STRAIGHT ABOUT ONE OF THE 20TH CENTURY'S MOST FASCINATING WOMEN."
--Houston Chronicle

"STARTLING AND TERRIFIC . . . [KLEIN] CLEARLY WAS ABLE TO TAP SOME OF THOSE WHO WERE IN HER CLOSEST CIRCLE."
--Minneapolis Star Tribune

From the Paperback edition.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780307574817
Publisher:
Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:
12/16/2009
Sold by:
Random House
Format:
NOOK Book
Pages:
432
Sales rank:
245,114
File size:
5 MB

Read an Excerpt

A giant thunderbolt split open the night sky, and in the shuddering light a car emerged from a swirl of fog and raced on through the storm. Slumped in the backseat was the journalist Theodore White, a stubby little man in his late forties with thinning hair and an owlish expression. He took a slug from a plastic bottle that contained a decanted pint of Scotch whisky--his self-imposed allotment of alcohol for the long hours that lay ahead.

There was another huge flash of lightning, followed this time by a thumping crash of thunder. White peered out the window at the flooded stretch of highway. It was coming down in solid sheets of water, just the way it had rained a week ago on the night President Kennedy's body was brought back from Dallas in a dark bronze coffin.

White had covered the assassination and the three-day pageant of Kennedy's funeral for Life magazine. He was still physically exhausted and emotionally drained from the experience. Now, however, he found himself in a rented limousine, with a strange chauffeur, driving at break-neck speed through an old-fashioned northeaster on his way to another assignment for
Life.

"There is something I want Life magazine to say to the country," the
President's widow, Jacqueline Kennedy, had told White during a brief phone conversation from her home on Cape Cod, "and you must do it."

White did not know what Jackie had in mind, but he could guess why she had chosen him above all other journalists to carry her message to the American people. He was the author of The Making of the President 1960, a book that had caught the mood and the strains of the election campaign, and that helped give birth to the myth of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Jackie had selected White because he was a storyteller with a talent for hero worship.

The limousine slowed down as it approached the summer resort town of
Hyannis on Nantucket Sound. The board of selectmen of Barnstable Township had decked the facade of the town hall with black crepe in memory of the dead President, but the merchants had strung up colored Christmas lights along Main Street in an effort to dispel the gloom. White tossed down another stiff slug of Scotch and instructed the chauffeur to stop at a gas station. He got out, ducked into a telephone booth, and placed a call to
New York City.

"How's my mother doing?" he asked.

The thunder and pelting rain drowned out the reply.

"What?" White shouted. "I can't hear you.

"She's doing as well as can be expected," Dr. Harold Ritkin, his family physician, yelled back into the phone.

White's mother was gravely ill. It was she who had answered the telephone at her son's East Side town house in Manhattan when Jackie called from the
Cape, and in all the excitement, the old woman began having a heart attack.
White was forced to make a hard decision: stay with his mother, or answer
Jackie's call.

On the phone, Jackie had not spoken to White in her tiny, whispery voice.
She had used her other voice, the one rarely heard by strangers, the deep,
expressive vibrato that she employed when she refused to take no for an answer. You must do it, she had told White, and he felt compelled to heed her summons. He chose Jackie over his mother, and drove off into the raging storm.

He was afflicted by pangs of guilt as his car pulled up to a checkpoint in front of the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port. It was not quite eight-thirty on Friday, November 29,1963. The presidential flag,
illuminated by floodlights and tugged by the wind, was flying in the front yard of John and Jacqueline Kennedy's rented summer house on nearby Squaw
Island.

The place was crawling with Secret Service men. No one knew if the assassination had been part of a larger conspiracy, or whether a plot existed to murder Jackie and her young children, too. Two agents, dressed in water-stained trench coats and dripping fedoras, shone flashlights into
White's face, then waved him through an opening in the barricade.

The car crunched up the long driveway, past broad lawns that swept down to the gray, restless waters of Nantucket Sound. White took another snort of
Scotch, cupped a hand over his mouth to check the smell on his breath, and climbed out of the limousine into the pouring rain. He dashed up the steps to the big veranda that wrapped around the white clapboard house belonging to Joseph P. Kennedy Sr., the family patriarch.

He knocked on the door and a maid ushered him into the first-floor parlor,
which was filled with comfortable stuffed furniture. In the room he spotted a number of familiar faces--Dave Powers, the President's political crony; Chuck Spalding, Jack's classmate at Harvard; Pat Lawford, the
President's sister; Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr.; and Clint Hill, the agent in charge of Jackie's Secret Service detail. They greeted him with a chorus of friendly hellos, followed by polite inquiries about his mother.

He placed another call to New York City from the phone in the hallway, and while he waited for the long distance operator to connect him to Dr Rilkin,
he snuck another nip from his plastic bottle. He caught sight of himself in a mirror. His pale and frantic face was glistening with perspiration.

His mind reeled with what seemed like a thousand thoughts. The editors of
Life were holding the magazine's giant presses for him at a cost of $30,000
an hour He must notify them as soon as possible about what Jackie had to say. His contract with Life called for him to be paid $5,000 for long pieces and $1,500 for so-called white-fang pieces-stories that could be done in one quick bite. He wondered whether his editors would try to pay him the lower rate for tonight's work.

"There's no change in your mother's condition," Dr. Rifkin informed him.

White put down the phone just as Jackie entered the room.

Out of the dozens of hours of funeral coverage that White had watched on television and events he had witnessed in person, he retained a few indelible images of Jackie: her swollen eyes behind the sheer veil, her sad black stockings, her firm, long stride as she marched behind the caparisoned horse and the President's catafalque on the way to St.
Matthew's Cathedral. Jackie's flawless performance during the President's funeral had transformed her in the eyes of the public into a kind of paragon of virtue, practically a saint, and White half expected to find her here in Hyannis Port still dressed in mourning.

Instead she was turned out in trim black slacks, tapered at the ankles, and a beige pullover sweater. Even in flat shoes, she looked taller than White remembered. This impression of height was enhanced by her long, graceful neck, broad shoulders, and slim hips. Everything about her, even her hands, seemed slightly out of proportion, yet somehow absolutely right.

She had not bothered to fix her hair. It was tucked casually behind her ears, exposing the broad contours of her face with its high cheekbones and full, voluptuous mouth. Without eyeliner or mascara, her eyes seemed to be set even wider apart than they appeared in photos. But that was not what made them look different, White decided. It was their color. They were darker than before. Tragedy had both darkened and deepened her beauty.

"Oh, Teddy," she said, "you came all the way up here in the storm just for me."

He was suddenly stone-cold sober.

His fatigue, his anxiety over Life's idle presses, his concern over his fee--all these worries left him in an instant. Even the guilt about his mother evaporated without a trace. The storyteller in White took over, and he thought: A talk with Mary Todd Lincoln a week after Lincoln's assassination wouldn't have been nearly as compelling as this.

From the Hardcover edition.

Meet the Author

Edward Klein is a well-known writer with a distinguished career in American journalism. He is the author of the New York Times bestseller All Too Human: The Love Story of Jack and Jackie Kennedy. He covered John F. Kennedy's 1960 presidential campaign, served as a foreign correspondent in Asia, and was foreign editor of Newsweek. During his eleven years as editor in chief of The New York Times Magazine, it won the first Pulitzer Prize in its history. His articles have appeared in New York and Parade, and he contributes regularly to Vanity Fair. He is also the author of the novel The Parachutists. He lives with his wife, Dolores Barrett, in New York City and Bridgehampton, Long Island.


From the Hardcover edition.

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Just Jackie 4.1 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 15 reviews.
cd1947 More than 1 year ago
It is hard to believe that with so many books written about Jackie that the subject would be boring. But, this book is probably one of the best books written just about her. You will not be sorry and you will find it VERY HARD to put down. Once you finish the book, you will crave for more.
brathjens More than 1 year ago
I liked this book, my only complaint is that the author seems to rush through the last quarter of the book. What a shame - it could have been great.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Interesting details about her life with Onassis. Author seems to have had unusual access to Jackie's acquaintances. Not as good as other Ed Klein books that I've read. Ends abruptly.
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Meaghan Sliwka More than 1 year ago
Overall, this book was very interesting and quite a page turner. However, the ending was a bit vague and more detail could have been added.
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Guest More than 1 year ago
This book will be a handsome edition to anyone's bookshelf. this tells the true story of jackie. highly recommended. PLEASE E-MAIL ME FOR DISCUSSIONS OR QUESTIONS ABOUT JACKIE!!!!!!!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great book, highly recommend it.