It is past nine o’clock in the evening and I have just returned from another pilgrimage. Though I am tired and a little hungry, I want to chronicle the day’s events while they are still fresh in my mind.
Today marked the 137th birthday of Joseph P. Kennedy Sr., the patriarch of the Kennedy family.
In his honor, I set out to visit two sites in Brookline, Massachusetts tied to his life and legacy. The day before, a friend of mine from Oregon, whom I first met through Instagram, was married. She shares my interest in Joseph P. Kennedy Sr., often sending me drawings and archival photos of him. To celebrate both her marriage and our friendship, I decided to dedicate my pilgrimage to her as well.
I woke at dawn after only four hours of sleep but fell back asleep again. By the time I rose for the final time it was after eleven. I did not want to leave the comfort of my air-conditioned room, especially with the temperature outside already in the mid-eighties. But I knew I would regret letting the day pass. I ate a large brunch, printed out directions to avoid getting lost on public transportation, and gathered what I would bring: a rain jacket, an umbrella, and three books placed carefully in a tote bag. They were The Ambassador: Joseph P. Kennedy at the Court of St. James’s 1938–1940 by Susan Ronald, Times to Remember by Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy, and The Sins of the Father: Joseph P. Kennedy and the Dynasty He Founded by Ronald Kessler.
The last of these had been a gift from my Instagram friend, so it felt important to carry it. With my books and a bottle of ice water packed, I set out for Brookline.
My new shoes, which had arrived only the day before, rubbed uncomfortably against my feet as I walked to the bus stop. Still, I pressed on. The bus came a few minutes late, and as we passed a parish where a wedding was about to begin, I thought again of my friend married only yesterday. From there I rode to the subway. It was crowded, and I had to stand until Boston, then transfer to the green line, which was even more crowded.
For a moment I nearly gave up, tempted to turn back. But I could not let down my friend or the purpose of the day. By the time I reached Kenmore Square, I was weary but determined. I boarded another bus, opened Susan Ronald’s The Ambassador, and read until I nearly missed my stop.
At last, I arrived at Holyhood Cemetery.
Following a familiar path that I had walked twice before, I came to the Kennedy family plot. Here rest Joseph P. Kennedy, his wife Rose, and several of their grandchildren.
I photographed each grave carefully.
Then I placed the books I had brought beside them and took more photos, two on Joseph and Rose, and two in memory of them together.
On Joseph’s grave I placed two pennies for my Instagram friend and her new husband.
Before leaving, I made a point to visit another grave: that of Kenneth P. O’Donnell, special assistant and appointment secretary to President Kennedy.
I had visited his grave once before, but I did not want him to be forgotten. Next time, I hope to return with Helen O’Donnell’s book A Common Good: The Friendship of Robert F. Kennedy and Kenneth P. O’Donnell and place it there in tribute. After photographing his stone and offering a small salute, I hurried to catch the bus.
Rain clouds gathered as I made my way toward my second destination, the John F. Kennedy National Historic Site at 83 Beals Street.
From the bus stop I walked quickly, feeling the air grow heavy. I managed to photograph the books in front of the house where Joseph and Rose had lived until 1920, then took several more pictures of the house itself.
When the first drops began to fall, I pulled out my rain jacket and umbrella, relieved I had prepared.
By evening I found myself at Harvard Square with time to spare before my next bus home. I wandered into the Harvard Coop and discovered J. Randy Taraborrelli’s JFK: Public, Private, Secret.
I longed to add it to my Kennedy library alongside the five other Taraborrelli books I already own, but I decided to wait until Christmas. Later I stopped briefly at the Harvard Book Store, then returned to the station in time for the bus home.
It was then, as I walked the last few blocks in the rain, that I stumbled on something unexpected: a dollar bill, then a five, a ten, and a twenty, all damp from the storm and scattered on the sidewalk. I hesitated but finally gathered them up. I decided I would use the money to refill my Charlie Card for future travels.
During the day I had thought more than once about turning back. At those moments I asked myself: What did Joe Kennedy Sr. ever do for me? I never knew him. He was not an inspirational figure to me in the way his son, President Kennedy, has been. And yet, indirectly, he gave me something. He gave the nation his children, who became public servants. I have met his last surviving daughter, Jean Kennedy Smith, as well as his grandson Mark Shriver and his great grandson Joseph P. Kennedy III. Meeting them inspired me. And through his legacy, I have found a new friend on Instagram whose encouragement I deeply value. Susan Ronald ends page 350 of The Ambassador with a line from President Kennedy about his father: “He made it all possible.”
Looking back now, I think the pilgrimage was worth the effort. It honored the memory of Joseph P. Kennedy Sr., celebrated a friend’s marriage, and reminded me that sometimes the act of going itself matters more than the destination. And perhaps, in small ways, the day even offered me a gift in return.
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