Producer Page 5

  I especially loved the drawing room where people gathered for events and entertainment. It seemed to have a life of its own. But I spent most of my time in the front room, on the phone, working for Ethel, a strong and demanding presence. She scrutinized everything I did to the tiniest detail, and the finished products of whatever she asked me to do were finely crafted and well thought out. She would accept nothing less, and this made a great impression on me.

  When we left for Hyannis for the summer, I could only anticipate what was coming. In the largest of seven villages on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, the Kennedy name and Hyannisport had been synonymous starting in 1926, when patriarch Joseph P. Kennedy had first rented and then purchased a summer cottage there. Over the years, various family members such as President John F. Kennedy and his brothers Bobby and Ted also purchased properties, eventually creating the family compound that spread out over six acres of waterfront property.

  The beauty of the setting was matched only by its historical significance. The JFK Hyannis Museum in the old town hall on Main Street featured the years that the president spent there. To this day, a waterfront memorial includes a fountain and a fieldstone monument with the presidential seal and the inspiring JFK inscription, “I believe it is important that this country sail and not sit still in the harbor.”

  Into the heart of the Kennedy legend I was headed, as my new friend and coworker, Suzy Wills, and I moved our things into the dorm that was located on the property (I had my own small room), between the residences of Ethel and Jackie Onassis. The bed linens in the rooms were hand-me-downs from various bedrooms past. They were feminine with flowers and scallops and they had been expensive. Now they were just a little bit worn. But so pretty. It was shabby chic style.

  The homes within the compound were typical Cape Cod white frame clapboard, with well-tended lawns, sumptuous gardens, and a sweeping view of the ocean. I walked around the property, taking in the two circular driveways, flagpoles, a boathouse, and stretches of lawn where the family famously played touch football.

  I remember early one afternoon, when I was in Ethel’s kitchen, working on her mailing list. Just before his daily sail, Ted walked unannounced into the kitchen in baggy pants and a pair of old sneakers. He headed over to the stove and stirred a pot of clam chowder that was brewing. He took a taste and said, “Ethel, that’s good chowder.” Plain and simple. But it was one of those events in which my brain took a permanent picture of everything—the room, the chowder smell, and Teddy’s voice. I was actually in Hyannisport in the kitchen with Ethel and Ted Kennedy talking about chowder! I just couldn’t help marveling that this was the Kennedy family, and everything they did, including stirring the soup, seemed so exciting.

  The preparations for the tournament were all-encompassing as I worked with Ray Benton, a sports attorney from Washington DC, who, incidentally, I already knew. It was another of those odd serendipitous occurrences, since I’d met him years before when I was growing up in Dubuque, Iowa. He happened to be the tennis pro at our local country club and I was his worst student. Really, I was horrible at tennis. In fact, I was bad at most sports except when it came to swimming and dancing. Those two things I could do, but just about any other sport, well, forget it. In school, I was the last to be picked as a member of any sports team for good reason. I was prissy and a lousy athlete.

  I remembered Ray before his name carried much sway, trying to get through to me as the ball would come speeding at me and end up getting stuck in my curly hair. “Okay, Bird Legs,” he used to call me for obvious reasons, “let’s try it again.” It was a humiliating period, since my boyfriend at the time, John Schrup, and some of my closest friends excelled at tennis. I was a dork, my forehand and backhand were equally ineffective, and Ray couldn’t help but laugh at me. I decided to overlook it now as Ray and I joined forces to work on this RFK Pro-Celebrity Tennis Tournament.

  “Oh, my gosh! Hey, Ray,” I called to him. “It’s me! Bird Legs!”

  He broke out into a huge smile and I marveled that he hadn’t changed a bit. He still remembered my nickname, but I must have looked completely different to him, since the last time he saw me, I was a kid. Now, with Ray coordinating the tennis talent, Suzy and I set up shop in a small garage on the compound that had been converted into an office. Suzy would go sailing with the Kennedys most days but I was usually too busy working, besides the fact that I wasn’t invited. But when I think back, that was a blessing in disguise. The one time I was included in a sailing trip on the spur of the moment, I got so seasick, I couldn’t speak. Worse than being seasick, which is hideously unpleasant, is trying to pretend you’re not. I would have been mortified if they knew, especially Ted and Ethel, who were hard-core sailors. When we finally got back onto terra firma, I had done enough sailing for one summer.

  I was generally holed up in the small garage all by myself to do the massive job of working on the tournament and type piles of personal letters for Ethel that never seemed to end. Admittedly, I was not the greatest typist in the world, and when I misspelled a word (there were no spell-check features on typewriters) and gave it to Ethel, it was right back on my desk. “I can’t sign this,” she’d say. “You misspelled a word.”

  I felt the sting of her judgment and I quickly made the correction, always eager to please. I felt a little better when I recalled a document framed on the wall back at Hickory Hill that had been written in President Kennedy’s own hand. Jackie had scribbled on it, “Can you pick out the misspelled words?” Apparently, JFK had been dyslexic and when Ethel said, “Don’t worry about it, Wendy. Jack couldn’t spell, either,” I felt redeemed by being compared to a president—especially that one!

  As I was dyslexic, too, typing was my major challenge. I never formally studied typing, and it was a tedious affair since standard typewriters were not self-correcting and each mistake had to be whited out and typed over. Then I heard about a brand-new invention called the IBM Correcting Selectric typewriter. I had repetitive letters to send out and the idea of correcting each one separately sounded unbelievably work-intensive, especially since I was not a crack typist. I simply had to have one of those typewriters.

  The part of me that would serve me as a future producer kicked in as I picked up the phone, called IBM, and said, “I’m calling for Ethel Kennedy. I hear you have a great typewriter with a memory.”

  “We do,” they said proudly. “It’s our Correcting Selectric version.”

  “How about donating one to the RFK Foundation for the summer?” I asked boldly. “We’re putting together a celebrity charity tennis tournament.”

  The next thing I knew, the donated typewriter magically took its place in the garage right beside Ethel’s newly organized Rolodex and the tennis tournament guest list.

  And then there was Jackie. There are few times in this life I’ve been totally blown away about meeting someone. If I were the type to be regularly starstruck by celebrities or politicians, there is no way I could ever do the job I’ve done over the years, both as CNN White House producer and then producing Larry King Live. I was basically immune to celebrity worship and mostly I still am—with a few exceptions, mostly comedians.

  The point is that each time I saw Jackie Onassis, the way she walked and dressed, I was instantly overwhelmed. There was simply no one like her, with her grace, her beauty, and her extraordinary and legendary fashion sense. She was a trendsetter from the moment we first found out about her, and I loved watching her leave her house and pass Ethel’s house in her bathing suit, when she took her daily walk to the ocean. As hard as I was working on the upcoming tennis fund-raiser, I tried never to miss seeing Mrs. Onassis elegantly stride by Ethel’s home to the beach. Always graceful, never in a hurry, she seemed to float from place to place and I never got tired of watching her. I know that many people share this feeling about her, because whenever I mention knowing the Kennedys, everyone wants to hear about Jackie.

  One day when the electricity went out in Ethel’s house, she said, �
��Wendy, go to Jackie’s house and ask her if you can call the electric company.”

  Okay, I thought, I’m on my way to Jackie’s house. I slowly walked over there in my pink flowered Lilly Pulitzer short shorts and knocked at her door. When she opened the door with a smile, I said, “Hello, Mrs. Onassis. May I use your phone? The electricity is off at Mrs. Kennedy’s house and she’d like me to call the electric company.”

  Jackie could not have been more gracious as she invited me in and offered me a Coke. “Why don’t you and Suzy work here today?” she offered in her inimitable voice as I stood in her kitchen, making a phone call. She was wearing a beautiful summery shift and she was barefoot and arranging flowers, a vision I will never forget. In fact, I will never forget a word she ever said to me or to anyone else.

  I recall one evening in my room, in bed, when I caught the glow of Jackie’s porch lights from outside my window. I sat up and watched through the window as she walked two guests out of her front door, lingering to say, “Good night, Maria. Arnold, I really enjoyed meeting you. Hope to see you again soon.” It just seemed that whatever Jackie did or said, I found her alluring and as beautiful with no makeup as she was when she was done up for the public.

  One day, when Ethel told me she was going to throw Jackie a party at the compound for her fiftieth birthday, I was thrilled. The rest of the world and I had watched this graceful woman as First Lady and as a grieving widow, veiled and walking in the funeral parade of her slain husband. I was ten years old when JFK was assassinated, and I wrote about it my diary:

  Nov. 22, 1963

  A very terrible thing happened, Kennedy is now dead. He was shot in the head and was dead at one o’clock. It’s very hard to believe. It’s so shocking. Each bullet was three inches. Now Vice President Johnson is President.

  He was a wonderful man. I am so sorry he is dead and I’m sure everyone else is, too. I haven’t written in my diary for 27 days. I thought this would be a good time to start. Even though I didn’t want him for President, he was a very good President. I hate to think someone would do such a thing as to kill him.

  Now it was Jackie’s fiftieth birthday, and I would help to arrange the details for her party. The birthday guest list included Tom Brokaw and Walter Cronkite as well as many other luminaries in the news and political world. And all the Kennedys. It was a cloudy evening, there was a slight breeze, and drinks were served outdoors before dinner while the sun was setting. I remember watching some people doing the limbo on the lawn, and I was amazed when Walter Cronkite took a turn shimmying his body under the limbo rope! Then, when we were all gathered around the dining room table after the drinks and games, there I was, too, part of the celebrating committee, sitting at a side table with Suzy, eating and toasting Jacqueline Onassis. All I could do was ask myself what on earth I was doing there.

  One afternoon before the tennis tournament, I was surprised when Mrs. Onassis wandered over to the small makeshift garage office where I was sitting on the front stoop, going over some lists. She sat beside me and looked at the papers I was holding. She had on a navy top and a pair of white pants held together with a safety pin.

  “Wendy,” she slowly articulated, “what plane is John on for the tournament? Who’s on the plane with him?” She looked directly into my eyes, something she always did when she spoke to anyone. After telling myself silently, Mrs. Jackie Onassis is sitting on a step beside me, I pulled it together and explained the flight manifest. I still recall her apparent discomfort as she wandered away looking less than satisfied. “I worry when he flies,” she said over her shoulder. Her son was a teenager at the time and she seemed concerned. How could anyone have known the fate that was awaiting John Jr., as he and his wife and her sister would die in a plane crash many years later. It feels positively eerie today when I recall how nervous Jackie was that day.

  To jump ahead, I was working for Larry in 1994 when I was at the Washington bureau and bumped into JFK Jr. There was a Democratic campaign office on the first floor of the building and John, now in his midtwenties, was leaving one afternoon as I was arriving with one of my staff producers. We greeted each other and he said, “Since CNN is in this building, do you think I could see the set? I always wanted to see those lights.”

  “Would you like to see them now?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said.

  I turned to the woman walking with me and said, “Please go to the set right now and make sure all the lights are turned on. We’ll be right up.”

  She took off ahead of me while John and I waited for the next elevator. By the time we got to the set, the lights were lit and I walked him around casually, as if I did this sort of thing every day. Like it was no big deal. The crew couldn’t take their eyes off John as he viewed the set and said, “Funny, it looks so different on the air.” When he went behind the desk and examined each colored light separately, I said, “I hope we get you to sit here sometime.”

  And so we did. Just as eerie and foreboding as Jackie’s fear of her son flying was September 28, 1995, when Larry interviewed JFK Jr. on the launch of his political magazine, George.

  KING: For the time being, do you want to stay with it [George]?

  KENNEDY JR.: Well, I would hate to say that I am going to do anything until I am seventy. But I am going to be doing this for the foreseeable future.

  KING: Do you ever fear for your own health?

  KENNEDY JR.: Sure.

  KING: There are nuts in this country. I mean, you Kennedys must think about it. How could they not think about it? Any Kennedy. In public life or not.

  KENNEDY JR.: It’s not something… like walking around wondering if you are going to be struck by lightning. It’s… just not something that you really keep in the forefront of your mind.

  KING: But it might affect decision making, like going into politics, mightn’t it?

  KENNEDY JR.: It might. But it doesn’t.

  KING: It seems not to for the five that are in it. But… if you went in, or thought about going in, the thought of being harmed by going in, would not enter into your thoughts?

  KENNEDY JR.: That wouldn’t be one of the considerations, no.

  I was so impressed with JFK Jr. I thought he should have his own show on CNN so I arranged for him to meet with the late Ed Turner, a top CNN executive at the time. John strolled into the meeting holding a banana. He looked incredibly beautiful, but the powers that be passed on putting him on the air. Big mistake! He would have been a natural. In fact, if he were alive today, I’m sure he would have a popular political show on the air called George, after his magazine, which ceased publication about a year after his tragic death.

  Back at the Kennedy compound in Hyannis, I recall a dinner one night when I met a White House producer for ABC news named Dorrance Smith. It was during the Carter administration and I was totally in awe of Dorrance’s job. It was during a conversation with him when I thought, This guy has a job that I’d like to have someday. I think I could do it. For the time being, though, Ethel was keeping me very busy so how could I even imagine having a job like that? It was quite a coincidence that Dorrance was a producer for reporter Sam Donaldson, someone I would date in a few years. But during the time in Hyannisport, I had no idea who he was.

  Toward the end of the summer of 1978, we were en route to Forest Hills, New York, on the various chartered planes for the August 26 tournament that would be broadcast on ABC. The turnout was fantastic and I was glad I had been a stickler for detail. Each little thing mattered when among the star-studded audience were crooner Andy Williams, Pulitzer Prize–winner Art Buchwald, actors Chevy Chase, Dustin Hoffman, and Lauren Bacall, and a load of Kennedys.

  I ran into Jackie at the tournament, and this time, a compliment from her sent me over the moon. I had chosen to wear an extremely classic outfit that would still work today—a white silk shirt, khaki lightweight trousers, and a Gucci scarf wrapped around my waist as a belt. Apparently, the outfit pleased her as Mrs. Onassis said enthusiastically, “Oh
, Wendy, I love your outfit.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Onassis,” I said, almost trembling with excitement. Knowing her fashion sense and her attention to beauty and detail, I was sure I would never get over it as I continued to scurry around, taking care of the logistics of this huge celebrity event that was being nationally televised. By the way, I never threw out that scarf!

  This was the first time I saw a string of limos and tons of celebrities all gathered in one place. The air was electric as hundreds of observers kept arriving, and I was intoxicated by the energy of so many people coming together to raise money for Ethel’s foundation. I was bit by the producing bug right then and there, as we all worked tirelessly to make the event a huge success. True, I was exhausted when it was over, and I had feared my lack of experience would get in the way of pulling this off. But pull it off we did. We had taken each thing as it came, made sure we had it all worked out to the smallest detail, and then moved on to the next.

  When we headed back to Hyannis, exhausted and satisfied after a job well done, Ethel asked her inner circle of friends to write a critique of the tournament so she could make improvements for the next one. The only complaint she received was that there was no camera on Jackie—the one thing they thought she should correct the next time! That was a testament to our attention to detail, both large and small. Nothing had been overlooked.

  My time with Ethel came to a close about a year after it began. I enjoyed working for Ethel and she asked me to stay on at Hickory Hill, but I ended up leaving because I had caught the producer bug and wanted to pursue it. I was sad when my time with the Kennedys came to an end, but I’m grateful for what I learned from being around one of the most famous American families, and to Suzy, who remains my close friend.

  Among the many things I took away from this unique experience, and particularly from Ethel, is that details are everything. I learned to multitask and to write everything down—and I do mean everything. I took notes on each conversation I had so I wouldn’t forget what I needed to do, and to this day, I don’t understand people who don’t keep lists and notes. If I had a hundred things to do for Ethel, and I finished ninety-nine of them, the detail I overlooked was inevitably the one thing that was most important to her. Keeping this in mind prepared me for the rest of my life as I left “all things Kennedy” with the tools to go into any situation and get the job done right.