Nation: All This Will Not Be Finished

A dignified top hat sat squarely upon his head, but beneath it a boyish grin showed that the young man was having the time of his life. On that day—Jan. 20, 1961—John Fitzgerald Kennedy was sworn in as the 35th President of the United States. And when he had taken the oath of office, he stood bareheaded in a bitter winter wind and delivered an inaugural address that crackled with the gusto of youth, yet had an eloquence that was ageless.

"In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hours of maximum danger," he said, as his breath steamed in the cold air. "I do not shrink from this responsibility—I welcome it. I do not believe that any of us would exchange places with any other people, or any other generation. The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will light our country and all who serve it—and the glow from that fire can truly light the world."

High Judgment. Despite his narrow margin of victory, Kennedy's advent to office had raised hopes high. The rhetoric of his inaugural led to extravagant overpraise. But he had asked to be judged by the highest standards, and he died before achieving them.

His nation was prosperous and at peace. But if a historical scoreboard would not record many errors, it would list a few hits and fewer runs. He was a subject of boundless fascination to his countrymen; yet he aroused no such passions of either love or hatred as did Franklin Roosevelt. In the long view of history his Administration might be known less for the substance of its achievement than for its style.

Style he had. He was born with it, and he displayed it at every stage of his life—as the heir to a savagely competitive spirit and a million-dollar trust fund from his father; as the wartime hero of PT109; as the student of power; as the driving politician who went from the House to the Senate to the White House. "Why do you want to be President?" he was asked in the summer of 1960. "Because that's where the power is," he replied.

In his style was a tough wit. When he met Nikita Khrushchev for the first time in Vienna in 1961, he noticed a medal on the Russian's chest, asked what it was. When Khrushchev replied that it symbolized the Lenin Peace Prize, Kennedy snapped back: "I hope you keep it." Again, when he spoke at a big-money fund-raising dinner in Denver, he looked over the audience for a moment, then cracked: "I am touched by your attendance—but, of course, not as deeply touched as you were."

Occasionally, his self-confidence amounted to cockiness. Just before he was inaugurated, he said: "Sure it's a big job. But I don't know anybody who can do it any better than I can. It isn't going to be so bad. You've got time to think—and besides, the pay is pretty good." Yet he was always the realist, and a year later he frankly admitted: "This job is interesting, but the possibilities for trouble are unlimited. It's been a tough first year, but then they're all going to be tough."