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    John F. Kennedy
    John F. Kennedy
    John F. Kennedy
    Ebook127 pages1 hour

    John F. Kennedy

    By Lucy Post Frisbee and Al Fiorentino

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    About this ebook

    When young Jack Kennedy's little sister gets tired of playing, Jack suggests a a sail. Within moments Jack is steering the small chip toward Osterville to say hello to Captain Manley. Under darkening clouds the two children head back home -- but they do not make it before a storm hits, threatening their lives. Is young Jack a good enough sailor to bring his sister home to safety?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAladdin
    Release dateJan 13, 2015
    ISBN9781481430777
    John F. Kennedy
    Author

    Lucy Post Frisbee

    Lucy Post Frisbee is the author of John F. Kennedy, a Simon & Schuster book.

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      Book preview

      John F. Kennedy - Lucy Post Frisbee

      JOHN F. KENNEDY

      Name: John Fitzgerald Kennedy

      Born: May 29, 1917

      Died: November 22, 1963

      Position: 35th U.S. President

      Career Highlights:

      • Earned the Navy and Marine Corps Medal and a Purple Heart for injuries sustained in World War II

      • After eight years in the Senate, ran for President in 1960 and won

      • Started the Space Race by calling for a project to land a man on the moon

      Interesting Facts:

      • His book Profiles in Courage won the Pulitzer Prize for Biography in 1957

      • Became president at the age of 43, making him the second youngest after Theodore Roosevelt

      CONTENTS

      Illustrations

      Fireworks on the Fourth

      Midnight Ride of Paul Revere

      This Way to Christmas

      Irish Eyes Are Smiling

      Touch and Go

      Tenderfoot at West Point

      Sailing Against the Storm

      Canterbury Tales

      Turkey Talk

      Choate Charts the Course

      A Skipper for Uncle Sam

      Peace, Politics, and Power

      Let Us Begin

      Beyond the New Frontier

      Hail to the Chief!

      About Lucy Post Frisbee

      To Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy, who instilled in her son John Fitzgerald Kennedy the love and loyalty to God and Country, which made him a great and good American, the president of these United States

      ILLUSTRATIONS

      Jack almost expected it to speak.

      On the steps stood the Bell Ringers.

      Let me show you how to snag a pass.

      He watched the Cadets march off.

      They took the boat to Osterville.

      He reached for another slice.

      Ship at two o’clock!

      Grandpa Fitzgerald danced a jig.

      John-John and Caroline said good-bye.

      Behind followed a riderless horse.

      Numerous smaller illustrations

      The author is deeply grateful to the following: the members of the family of President Kennedy, particularly Mrs. Joseph P. Kennedy, Mrs. R. Sargent Shriver, Mrs. John B. Value III, and Thomas A. Fitzgerald; to his lifelong friend, K. LeMoyne Billings; his Latin master at Canterbury, Philip Brodie; the Headmaster of the Choate School, Seymour St. John, and members of the Choate faculty who knew JFK as boy and man—Earl A. Leinbach, Owen H. Morgan, Mr. and Mrs. Courtenay Hemenway, and Hubert S. Packard; Wilton B. Crosby Jr. of Wianno fame; Colonel George A. Lincoln, USMA; Erwin D. Canham, Editor of The Christian Science Monitor; Harry Harcher, Editor of Boys’ Life; White House Press Secretary George E. Reedy, and President Lyndon B. Johnson. Permission granted to quote from: Boys’ Life and The Christian Science Monitor.

      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

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