From Navy war hero to President of the United States, John F. Kennedy was an influential all-star in American history whose childhood is the focus of this narrative biography.
Born and raised in Massachusetts, John F. Kennedy, nicknamed “Jack” was the second oldest of nine siblings. Despite a preference for fun over schoolwork, he graduated from Harvard, joined in the Navy, and went on to earn recognition for “extremely heroic conduct.” He later served in both the House and the Senate before being elected thirty-fifth President of the United States, where he achieved much before his assassination in 1963.
Discover the details of John F. Kennedy’s childhood in this this narrative biography that explores the early events and experiences that helped shape the life of this remarkable man.
John F.Kennedy
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FIREWORKS ON THE FOURTH
THUMP! THUD! WHACK! The two boys traded savage blows. Pounding, punching, poking, they fought their way from one side of the lawn to the other. A jab here, a sock there. A belt to the right, a clout to the left. First one was on top, then the other.
Finally, the smaller boy found himself spread-eagle on the ground, his scrawny arms pinned down, his slight frame wriggling furiously as he tried to free himself.
“Give up, Jack?”
“Don’t be silly,” Jack gasped. “Of course I won’t give up. Not if you clobber me all day.”
“Don’t you know when you’re licked?”
“Who says I’m licked?” Jack’s nose was bloody, one eye swollen shut, his face streaked with dirt. “I’m not licked. I’m resting.”
The three little girls on the sidelines were watching the scuffle with mixed feelings. Kick was excited and even four-year-old Eunice was watching the battle, but their oldest sister, Rosemary, didn’t like to see anyone get hurt. In spite of the noise of combat, baby Patricia was still sleeping soundly in her carriage.
“Get up, Jack,” Kick urged her brother. “Don’t let Joe beat you again! Smash him!”
“Smash him!” Eunice echoed.
“Smash him!” Joe Jr. repeated in disgust. “Who do you silly girls think he is? Jack Dempsey? Just because his name is Jack doesn’t mean he can fight like the heavyweight champ. Remember this Jack is named Kennedy!”’
“Better let him up, Joe,” Rosemary warned. “Here comes Mother. You know how she feels about you boys scrapping.”
The boys were still sprawled out on the grass as Mrs. Kennedy rounded the corner.
“Boys!” She stared in dismay. “Fighting again! And in your best clothes. You were all dressed up to go into the city with your grandfather and now look at you!”
The boys’ white shirts were all grass stained. She knew their knickers would never come clean. Dirt and grime covered their faces and their hands were filthy.
Mrs. Kennedy shook her head. “I’m afraid there’ll be no Fourth of July celebration for either one of you. No parade, no ball game, no fireworks—”
“Mother,” Jack tried to explain. “Joe really didn’t mean any harm. I dared him and he took the dare, that’s all.”
“That’s all, Mother.” Joe put a friendly arm around his brother’s shoulders. “We won’t get in another fight. We promise.”
“Not for another five minutes, I presume.” Her voice was stern but there was a slight twinkle in her eye. “I’ll give you boys one more chance to behave. Clean up in a hurry. Your grandfather is due here now. And remember, boys, if there is any more quarreling, you’ll both see fireworks, but,” she added in a warning tone, “they won’t be the kind that celebrates the Fourth of July!”
By midmorning, the boys were feeding the pigeons on Boston Common and waiting with their grandfather for the parade to start. On the gravel paths through the Public Gardens, the nursemaids wheeled their young charges in prams. Small boys tore by on their three-wheelers. Quaint elderly ladies, unmistakably from Beacon Hill, primly took their daily walk along the edges of the pond.
The Swan Boats looked cool and inviting as they sailed quietly along on the willow-fringed lagoon.
“Could we have a ride?” Jack asked.
“Sissy stuff,” Joe Jr. said. “For girls.”
“If the Swan Boats are for girls, how come all those other boys are taking rides?” Jack asked. “They’re bigger than you, Joe!”
“Swan Boat rides are for everybody—the young, the old, and the in-between.” Grandpa Fitzgerald beamed with remembered joys. “I was just a little tyke when my mother first took me for a ride on the Swan Boats. And it seems only yesterday that your mother was a tiny girl riding along in these very same boats. They have been a part of Boston for a good many years.”
“How do they work?” Joe asked curiously. “Don’t see any oars.”
“There aren’t any oars, Joe.”
“There aren’t any sails, either,” Jack said. “And there’s no noise—no vibration—no motor—nothing—”
“Must move by magic,” their grandpa said.
“Don’t be so mysterious, Grandpa,” Joe said impatiently. “Tell us how they run.”
“The drivers pedal them like bicycles.”
“That’s why the boats move so silently,” Jack said. “Why, they’re just like the barges of King Arthur’s day, aren’t they?”
“Don’t ask us, Sir Galahad,” Joe replied. “You’re the one who is always reading about King Arthur and his noble knights.”
Across the Common, tentative drumbeats and horn tootings of the band could be heard.
“Hear that, boys? The band is warming up. Wait another day for a Swan Boat ride, Jack. You don’t want to be out in the middle of the pond when the parade starts.” Mr. Fitzgerald pulled his watch out of his vest pocket and held it to his ear. He shook his head. Then he shook the watch. “Jack, my timepiece has stopped again. Run over and ask that policeman the correct hour.”
“What policeman, Grandpa?”
“Yonder by Washington’s statue.”
Jack took off on a run, while Joe Jr. and his grandfather watched the crowds gather along the street.
“Ah, this is a great day, Joe. It’s Uncle Sam’s birthday and everybody in America ought to be celebrating. Old John Adams had the right idea. He always said the Fourth of July should be a day of public rejoicing. Flags should wave, he said. Ring bells, fire the cannons, beat drums, and blow bugles!”
“Jack and I have been firing the cannons, all right,” Joe said with a grin. “We were up before dawn, shooting off firecrackers.”
“You boys will be worn out before the fracas begins. What kinds of fireworks do you have?”
“Jack and I wanted to get the biggest noise for the money—”
“Naturally,” his grandfather agreed.
“So we bought torpedoes. We really wanted to get some of those five- or six-inchers, but we didn’t dare. You know how Mother and the girls are about noisy firecrackers. Wish Dad could have been home for the Fourth,” Joe added wistfully. “It would be fun to shoot off the fireworks with him.”
“Once his business affairs in New York and Hollywood are settled, your father’ll be able to spend more time with you. He misses you just as much as you miss him,” Grandpa Fitz said sympathetically. “I’ll be glad to help you boys set off your fireworks. Did you buy anything besides the noisy type? You know your grandmother likes fancy ones.”
“We had to get sparklers for the girls, of course. Sparklers!” Joe growled the word.
“Sparklers seem tame to you boys?”
“I’ll say they do. Jack and I managed to get a few skyrockets and Roman candles though,” he added. “I like skyrockets best. They’re the most...
