JFK in Ireland: Four Days that Changed a President. Ryan Tubridy
July 1938.
At the state banquet, de Valera was effusive: “We welcome you for yourself and for your race. We are proud that men like you not merely do honour for your country, but honour to our race.”13 These words must have meant a lot to a man coming from the East Coast of America, where his Irish nationality had always been held against him. To be told that the Taoiseach of the country of his ancestors respected his achievements must have been welcome praise indeed.
Writing to Senator Edward Kennedy in 1964, President de Valera recalled: “The impression your father made on me … was that he was brisk in thought and action, very forceful and decisive in opinion. I looked upon him as a stout American who had served his country in important offices in critical times and believed that the United States was the leading nation of the world and deserved recognition as such.”14
There was some talk about the Kennedys’ Irish heritage during the visit, with The Irish Times speculating that “if there are any relations left, they probably reside in the Clonakilty district or Wexford Field”.15 At a press conference at the American Legation in Dublin, while fielding questions from journalists, the Ambassador had trouble understanding a particularly strong Cork accent. “I am sorry, I can’t quite understand you,” he remarked. And the Corkman answered: “Well, I come from near Clonakilty, where your people came from.” The Ambassador laughed. “Yes. But I haven’t managed to keep the accent through a generation and a half.”
Before he left, Ambassador Kennedy was asked two questions that would have resonance in the future. The first, “Will you be a candidate for the Presidency of the United States in 1940?” went unanswered. When asked whether the rest of the Kennedy children would visit Ireland, the Ambassador smiled and said “by instalments”.16
JFK’s first visit to Ireland, 1945
The Kennedys were a competitive family. On the sports field, at war or in the political arena, they were in it to win it. In what was a traditionally patriarchal set–up, the first–born son was the Chosen One and so it was that from a young age, Joe Jr was groomed to be America’s first Catholic president. He made no secret of his ambitions, and in 1940 he took the first steps by attending the Democratic Convention as a delegate. But then America entered World War II and like so many young men of their generation, the Kennedy brothers volunteered to fight.
John F. Kennedy took to the seas of the South Pacific, and earned himself a reputation as a war hero after he saved his crew members on a patrol boat, PT–109, which was rammed and sunk by a Japanese destroyer. Joe Jr took the fateful decision to fight in the skies over Europe and in 1944, his plane exploded in the air over Southern England. After the shocking news had been absorbed at the Kennedy homestead, all eyes and expectations turned to the slight twenty–seven–year–old with his head stuck in books. Joe Sr explained: “I told him [John F. Kennedy] Joe was dead and that it was therefore his responsibility to run for Congress.”17 The baton was being handed on.
At college, John F. Kennedy’s thesis, “Why England Slept”, had explored the reasons behind Britain’s lack of preparedness for World War II. Thanks to the help and influence of his father this was published as a book, giving an academic lustre to the man on whom Joe Sr now placed such great expectations. Within a year, John F. Kennedy went from being the second son with a potential career in academia to war hero, author and the first son in a fiercely ambitious family.
In the summer of 1945, when John Kennedy was twenty–eight years old, he was keen to see more of the world before embarking on his political career. A history fanatic, he secured a job as a cub reporter with the Hearst newspaper group, which saw him head for post–war Europe. The trip took the young reporter to England, France, Germany and, most intriguingly, Ireland, where he arrived on 24 July 1945. He had a clear interest in the country of his ancestors and a curiosity to see what it was like, so he persuaded his bosses to let him go over and write an article about it.
In a brief but busy visit, Kennedy found time to visit the American Minister to Ireland at the United States Legation, Mr David Gray, and, more interestingly, he called on and interviewed then Taoiseach Éamon de Valera. Gray, a first cousin of Franklin D. Roosevelt, wasn’t a fan of de Valera, whom he referred to as a “paranoiac and a lunatic”. Gray ascribed the cause of the Irish Civil War to the “pride of de Valera”, because of his role as one of the leaders of the Easter Rising, for which he was imprisoned and very nearly executed.
Three generations: JFK with father Joseph P. Kennedy Sr. (standing) and grandfather John F. “Honey Fitz” Fitzgerald.
De Valera had commanded the 3rd Battalion of Irish Volunteers during the rising, launched on 24 April 1916, Easter Monday, and had gone into captivity following its collapse on 29 April with much of central Dublin in flames. The leaders of the rising were tried by British military courts martial under military law, sentenced to death and executed with indecent haste. De Valera was only spared because of ths issues arising out of his American birth.
Gray’s opinion reflected an Anglocentric view, the cub reporter with the Hibernian background was much more impressed.
On 25 July, John Kennedy and de Valera talked about the state of the Irish nation in 1945. Ireland had remained neutral during World War II, which the Irish government referred to as “The Emergency”, and when the two men got down to business, the Taoiseach defended neutrality “at some length” according to Kennedy’s diary at the time.
Reflecting on de Valera’s career, Kennedy wrote that “as a Parliament and political boss he is unique”. The young Irish–American was also impressed by de Valera’s “mystic hold on the hearts of the people”.
Incorrectly referring to “The” Fianna Fáil as the Soldiers of Ireland (they were and are the Soldiers of Destiny), the rookie hack also slipped up when he reported in his diary that Fianna Fáil came to power in 1930 (rather than 1932). He referred to W.T. Cosgrave, the man who had led the Irish Free State of the 1920s, as “President Cosgrave” (he was no such thing) and called James Dillon, a future minister for agriculture and leader of the Fine Gael party, “Michael Dillon”. Perhaps it was as well that Kennedy’s career in journalism was short–lived.18
The primary upshot of his 1945 visit was a first–hand encounter with Ireland, in which it is obvious that his feeling of affection for the country was sparked. Some reports suggest he spoke with other political leaders such as Richard Mulcahy of Fine Gael and Frank Gallagher, ex–director of the Government Information Bureau,19 and that he may have sat in on a session of the Dáil (a joint sitting of which he would address eighteen years later). What we do have are his diary entries and a full article written on the subject of Partition for the New York Journal American, part of the Hearst newspaper group.
The article shows a keen, if prosaic, grasp of the Irish situation in July 1945. A straightforward take on the political parties of the time is peppered with a romanticised Irish–American vocabulary. On the subject of de Valera’s response in the Dáil to James Dillon’s question on the subject of Ireland’s status within the British Commonwealth, Kennedy writes sentimentally: “De Valera’s elaboration of his remarks left the situation to many observers as misty as the island on an early winter’s morning.” Later within the same article, he talks about the military background of some Government members, saying they “have been in both English and Irish prisons, and many have wounds which still ache when the cold rains come in from the west.” He tries to take a balanced, neutral line on Partition, but his respect for de Valera and his comrades shines through: “The only