Mulvaney Jay - Jackie: the clothes of Camelot

JACKIE

The Clothes of Camelot

JAY MULVANEY

With a Foreword by

DOMINICK DUNNE

St. Martins Press New York

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To Tommy Lynch

A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of Nature.
Emerson

JACKIE: THE CLOTHES OF CAMELOT . Copyright 2001 by Jay Mulvaney. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

Foreword copyright by Dominick Dunne. All rights reserved. Originally appeared in Vanity Fair.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Mulvaney, Jay.

Jackie : the clothes of Camelot/Jay Mulvaney.1st U.S. ed.

p. cm.

eISBN 978-1-4299-7844-6

1. Onassis, Jaqueline Kennedy, 1929Clothing. 2. Onassis, Jaqueline Kennedy, 1929Pictorial works. 3. CelebritiesUnited StatesPictorial works. 4. Presidents spousesUnited StatesPictorial works. 5. FashionUnited StatesHistory20th century. I. Title.

CT275.0552 .M85 2001

973.922092dc21

[B]

2001018565

First Edition: May 2001

1098765432 1

Thanks first to my friend Bill Bonecutter. A short conversation on an August afternoon sparked the idea for this book. He is a good friend and a good man.

Jim Hill and Alan Goodrich from the John F. Kennedy Library were of invaluable help. Their knowledge of the collections housed under their care is as complete as their patience is indefatigable. This is absolutely the last thing Ill ask for seems to be my continuing mantra with them. Thanks also to Barbara Quigley and Catja Burkhardt in the librarys AV department.

Thanks to Oleg Cassini for sharing some memories of his magical partnership with Jacqueline Kennedy and for putting those times into perspective, and to Jim Wagner of the JFK Library for sharing his knowledge and expertise.

Ron Brenne and Norman Currie from Corbis/Bettmann, Jorge Jaramillo from AP/Worldwide, and especially John Cronin from the Boston Herald were all gracious and helpful, especially so since I was working under an intense deadline. Special thanks to my fellow Vassar alumna Lori OLeary of the Franklin Mint for coming through in a pinch.

Heartfelt thanks to Dick Duane and Bob Thixton, who make everything work so smoothly; to Jim Spada for his advocacy; to Dominick Dunne for his generosity; to Sally Kilbridge for her early help; to Caroline Gervase and Kathrin Seitz for their unconditional support; and to Paula and Bob Cashin for their hospitality and love.

At St. Martins, my thanks begin with my editor, Charles Spicer, and his team, Dorsey Mills, Joe Cleeman, and Anderson Bailey, and include Amelie Littell, Karen Gillis, Susan Joseph, Henry Sene Yee, Patty Rosati, and especially Meg Drislane for her patience and quick humor, James Sinclair for his elegant design and for treking to the Garment District for that swatch of pink douppioni silk, and Sally Richardson.

And lastly, special thanks to my favorite people in the world: Meghan Cashin, Colleen Cashin, and Kevin Cashin.

T he public easily tires of icons, but Americas fascination with Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis never burned out; it remained as constant as the eternal flame she designated for her husbands grave. Her fame was free of the resentment that fame sometimes produces, because she didnt work at it, and she never grabbed for the perks that accompany it. No publicists plotted her course. No perfume company paid for her name to advertise its product. She was simply who she was, part of the fabric of American culture. In grand circles, the word class is considered a bad-taste word, but class is really the key word to describe her. Style, chic, and other such attributes are acquirable; class is not. Either you have it or you dont. Jackie had it in spades.

If she enjoyed privilege, her privilege was never resented because she earned it with her courage. In New York she could be seen doing the things that all New Yorkers dohailing cabs, going to work, walking in Central Park, taking in a movie in her neighborhood. Apart from the pesky paparazzi, people did not intrude on her privacy, except maybe to call out, Hi, Jackie, when they passed her, and some of them received a smile back, or a wave, as she kept on walking her fast walk, in the celebrity manner of seeing but not seeing called blindsight.

She belonged to us for more than thirty years. We watched her react and then act with magnificence at the most horrible moment in her life, and we would never forget it. With the instinctive knowledge of the great, knowing when their moment is at hand, she in effect picked up the flag dropped by her fallen husband. She was far too young for the life of perpetual widowhood and sainthood that the public demanded of her. She went through a period of disfavor when she married Aristotle Onassis, whose penchant for gross extravagance and unfortunate public behavior sullied and stained her goddesslike stature for the few years they were together.

Following her second widowhood, she did not retreat into the social life of New York that was so available to her and that so longed for her presence. On the rare occasionsseveral times a yearwhen she appeared at social functions, she always caused a hush when she entered a room. Even the most sophisticated people turned and stared at her; no one was ever so used to her that her arrival or departure went unnoticed. She stood for the requisite moment of picture taking, always understanding the exigencies of fame. She moved in; the crowd gave way to her. She was what royals used to be but so seldom are any longer. People never rushed up to talk to her. She would recognize a face and speak to that person. In conversation, her eyes rarely wandered from the eyes of the person to whom she was speaking.

Although Jackie conformed to the principles of her husbands extraordinary family, she was never assimilated into it as one of them. She held herself separate, refusing to lose her identity. Her Bouvier roots and Auchincloss ties remained very much a part of her. In the annals of society, it was Jack, not Jackie, who had married up. The close friends of her life were not from society, however, but from the arts.

The only time I ever actually had a conversation with her was at a lunch party at Mortimers to celebrate the publication of a book she had edited about Fred Astaire, a compilation of pictures and quotes about the great star from friends and coworkers whom my friend Sarah Giles had interviewed. I had always longed to meet her, but when the moment came, I couldnt think of a single thing to say. Oh, God, dont let me go mute, I prayed. The slight smile on her face indicated that she knew that people sometimes had that feeling in her presence. Of course, she saved the day. She mentioned a quote of mine in the book and asked me something about Fred Astaire, whom I had known because his daughter was a friend of mine, and suddenly I was off and running. Only later did I realize that I had done all the talking. She had just given me the subject.