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An overview of edward kleins just jackie her private years

Summary Summary In this journalistic tour de force, bestselling author Edward Klein, a friend of Jacqueline Onassis's for many years, takes us behind the public image to give us a story that has never been told before.

For this myth-shattering portrait, Klein has amassed a wealth of exclusive information from private documents and correspondence; FBI files; and hundreds of interviews with Jackie's friends, the associates of Aristotle Onassis, and people familiar with her longtime companion, the mysterious diamond merchant Maurice Tempelsman.

  • Jackie's flawless performance during the President's funeral had transformed her in the eyes of the public into a kind of paragon of virtue, practically a saint, and White half expected to find her here in Hyannis Port still dressed in mourning;
  • A talk with Mary Todd Lincoln a week after Lincoln's assassination wouldn't have been nearly as compelling as this;
  • Barack Obama in the White House, 2012;
  • He wondered whether his editors would try to pay him the lower rate for tonight's work;
  • They greeted him with a chorus of friendly hellos, followed by polite inquiries about his mother.

Many people break their silence here for the first time. Author Notes Edward Klein is a bestselling political figure author who has written about the Kennedys and Hillary Clinton.

  • From the Hardcover edition;
  • Without eyeliner or mascara, her eyes seemed to be set even wider apart than they appeared in photos;
  • White was forced to make a hard decision;
  • No one knew if the assassination had been part of a larger conspiracy, or whether a plot existed to murder Jackie and her young children, too.

Barack Obama in the White House, 2012. In 2014 his title, Blood Feud: Klein's 2015 title Unlikeable: The Problem with Hillary, has become a bestseller on several major lists. Bowker Author Biography Excerpts Excerpts A giant thunderbolt split open the night sky, and in the shuddering light a car emerged from a swirl of fog and raced on through the storm.

Slumped in the backseat was the journalist Theodore White, a stubby little man in his late forties with thinning hair and an owlish expression. He took a slug from a plastic bottle that contained a decanted pint of Scotch whisky--his self-imposed allotment of alcohol for the long hours that lay ahead. There was another huge flash of lightning, followed this time by a thumping crash of thunder. White peered out the window at the flooded stretch of highway.

It was coming down in solid sheets of water, just the way it had rained a week ago on the night President Kennedy's body was brought back from Dallas in a dark bronze coffin. White had covered the assassination and the three-day pageant of Kennedy's funeral for Life magazine. He was still physically exhausted and emotionally drained from the experience.

Now, however, he found himself in a rented limousine, with a strange chauffeur, driving at break-neck speed through an old-fashioned northeaster on his way to another assignment for Life. He was the author of The Making of the President 1960a book that had caught the mood and the strains of the election campaign, and that helped give birth to the myth of John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

Jackie had an overview of edward kleins just jackie her private years White because he was a storyteller with a talent for hero worship. The limousine slowed down as it approached the summer resort town of Hyannis on Nantucket Sound.

The board of selectmen of Barnstable Township had decked the facade of the town hall with black crepe in memory of the dead President, but the merchants had strung up colored Christmas lights along Main Street in an effort to dispel the gloom. White tossed down another stiff slug of Scotch and instructed the chauffeur to stop at a gas station. He got out, ducked into a telephone booth, and placed a call to New York City.

The thunder and pelting rain drowned out the reply. Harold Ritkin, his family physician, yelled back into the phone. White's mother was gravely ill. It was she who had answered the telephone at her son's East Side town house in Manhattan when Jackie called from the Cape, and in all the excitement, the old woman began having a heart attack.

White was forced to make a hard decision: On the phone, Jackie had not spoken to White in her tiny, whispery voice. She had used her other voice, the one rarely heard by strangers, the deep, expressive vibrato that she employed when she refused to take no for an answer.

You must do it, she had told White, and he felt compelled to heed her summons. He chose Jackie over his mother, and drove off into the raging storm. He was afflicted by pangs of guilt as his car pulled up to a checkpoint in front of the Kennedy compound in Hyannis Port.

It was not quite eight-thirty on Friday, November 29,1963. The presidential flag, illuminated by floodlights and tugged by the wind, was flying in the front yard of John and Jacqueline Kennedy's rented summer house on nearby Squaw Island.

The place was crawling with Secret Service men. No one knew if the assassination had been part of a larger conspiracy, or whether a plot existed to murder Jackie and her young children, too. Two agents, dressed in water-stained trench coats and dripping fedoras, shone flashlights into White's face, then waved him through an opening in the barricade.

The car crunched up the long driveway, past broad lawns that swept down to the gray, restless waters of Nantucket Sound. White took another snort of Scotch, cupped a hand over his mouth to check the smell on his breath, and climbed out of the limousine into the pouring rain.

  1. Author Notes Edward Klein is a bestselling political figure author who has written about the Kennedys and Hillary Clinton. White took another snort of Scotch, cupped a hand over his mouth to check the smell on his breath, and climbed out of the limousine into the pouring rain.
  2. Jackie had selected White because he was a storyteller with a talent for hero worship. Summary Summary In this journalistic tour de force, bestselling author Edward Klein, a friend of Jacqueline Onassis's for many years, takes us behind the public image to give us a story that has never been told before.
  3. It was not quite eight-thirty on Friday, November 29,1963. Many people break their silence here for the first time.
  4. He chose Jackie over his mother, and drove off into the raging storm. Also I felt he could have used a much better picture of her!

He dashed up the steps to the big veranda that wrapped around the white clapboard house belonging to Joseph P. He knocked on the door and a maid ushered him into the first-floor parlor, which was filled with comfortable stuffed furniture. They greeted him with a chorus of friendly hellos, followed by polite inquiries about his mother. He placed another call to New York City from the phone in the hallway, and while he waited for the long distance operator to connect him to Dr Rilkin, he snuck another nip from his plastic bottle.

He caught sight of himself in a mirror. His pale and frantic face was glistening with perspiration. His mind reeled with what seemed like a thousand thoughts. He wondered whether his editors would try to pay him the lower rate for tonight's work. Out of the dozens of hours of funeral coverage that White had watched on television and events he had witnessed in person, he retained a few indelible images of Jackie: Jackie's flawless performance during the President's funeral had transformed her in the eyes of the public into a kind of paragon of virtue, practically a saint, and White half expected to find her here in Hyannis Port still dressed in mourning.

  • Excerpted from Just Jackie;
  • Also, I really don't think a good friend of Jackie's would write about her kissing her dead husband's feet or caressing his penis.

Instead she was turned out in trim black slacks, tapered at the ankles, and a beige pullover sweater. Even in flat shoes, she looked taller than White remembered. This impression of height was enhanced by her long, graceful neck, broad shoulders, and slim hips. Everything about her, even her hands, seemed slightly out of proportion, yet somehow absolutely right. She had not bothered to fix her hair.

Just Jackie: Her Private Years

It was tucked casually behind her ears, exposing the broad contours of her face with its high cheekbones and full, voluptuous mouth. Without eyeliner or mascara, her eyes seemed to be set even wider apart than they appeared in photos.

But that was not what made them look different, White decided. It was their color. They were darker than before. Tragedy had both darkened and deepened her beauty. His fatigue, his anxiety over Life's idle presses, his concern over his fee--all these worries left him in an instant. Even the guilt about his mother evaporated without a trace. The storyteller in White took over, and he thought: A talk with Mary Todd Lincoln a week after Lincoln's assassination wouldn't have been nearly as compelling as this.

From the Hardcover edition. Excerpted from Just Jackie: Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.