From PEOPLE Magazine
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Joan Kennedy, the blond, beautiful, 37-year-old wife of Senator Edward M. Kennedy, has always been candid about her treatment by psychiatrists in both New York and Washington. But the long visit to Silver Hill—which treats patients with mild psychiatric disorders, victims of stress and alcoholics in need of drying out—put a new emphasis on her condition.
Certainly Joan has been under ceaseless strain since last November, when 12-year-old Teddy Jr. had his right leg amputated above the knee in an effort to arrest bone cancer. And, during the week-long trip to Russia in April with the senator and two of their children, Joan reportedly looked "tired and tense."
But one Massachusetts friend says he thinks Joan's real problem stems from fear of the future—that Ted may already have decided to run for President. Such a campaign would be a "pure nightmare" she has said. She knows Teddy receives more death threats than any other man in public life. When younger, their children used to ask, "Will they shoot Daddy like they did Uncle Bobby and Uncle Jack?"
Yet her friends feel that if Teddy decides to run, Joan will face up to his decision and do her best. She said recently: "I am not ambitious for my husband. I'm not that kind of woman. But I don't want to be a drag." A college chum, perhaps worrying too much, says: "I hate to think what might happen if she found herself in the role of President's wife. I pray for her every day." A close New York friend agrees that "she has been under an enormous strain. But she certainly is not freaked-out. She's worn-out!"
A few years ago a political wife might not have been offered much sympathy for letting such stress get to her. It used to be necessary for politicians and their families to try to keep hidden the skeletons of psychiatric treatment, electric shock therapy, nervous disorders and even the taking of mild tranquilizers. Indeed, Senator Kennedy didn't want his wife to see a psychiatrist in the first place and had to be convinced some years back that it was vital.
Joan Kennedy's experience supports a thesis currently being explored by Washington reporter Myra MacPherson for a book on the family life of politicians. "Politics is consummately antiwife—she (the wife) is to say little, to think less. And yet in no other profession are wives so used—at least so publicly." In Moscow, for example, Senator Kennedy kept pushing his wife center stage, making a point of telling onlookers she was a pianist and lover of classical music. He also let her sit in on meetings with Brezhnev and Tito but, as Joan says: "Of course, he didn't let me ask questions." Of course!
More and more, the demands on political wives are seen to be excessive. The marriages of Martha Mitchell, Mieke Tunney, Ellen Proxmire and Abigail McCarthy have buckled under the strain. The stresses on Joan Kennedy have been even more severe. One of her closest college pals says, "Joan's too good for the kind of role life gave her. She simply was not brought up to cope with what she's been asked to cope with. She has always been very fragile and no one's ever understood that. Her flashy good looks are ironic: she's basically a sweet, shy person."
Another friend insists Joan believes the publicity about her visit to Silver Hill may be beneficial. "She's very candid and understanding about herself and her limits as a human being. She hopes this will be a help for other political wives."
Silver Hill sanitarium looks like an expensive New England resort. It is the same place Joan's mother retreated during her divorce from Joan's businessman father. The sanitarium has 40 acres of trees and lawns, a swimming pool, a tennis court and a strong emphasis on outdoor activity. One psychiatric volunteer worker characterizes it as "a nice private place for people not too severely disturbed." A former patient calls it "a good place to go if you get unnerved and need sleep."
In the late '50s, Silver Hill began a program enabling business executives under great stress to take "emotional inventory." One observer says, "I'm amazed at just how the pressures on executives to perform parallel the pressures on Joan Kennedy." A close friend describes Joan as "a sensitive, artistic woman suffocated by some of her sisters-in-law and the whole Kennedy family mystique."
Silver Hill's much vaunted reputation for drying out rich alcoholics has added to the rumors about Mrs. Kennedy's drinking. Friends concede she does have a problem—chiefly one of low tolerance. "I've seen it take her over with one little glass of wine. She really doesn't drink much," says a close friend. A New York acquaintance snaps, "If she takes a few too many, it's because she's miserable. She's certainly not an alcoholic!" Another intimate insists that tranquilizers are the villains. One mild muscle relaxer and a single daiquiri may slur her speech.
Looking back, it seems clear that Joan Bennett's troubles began almost as soon as she met the dashing young University of Virginia law student in 1957. Even as they planned their wedding there was a conflict. Joan very much wanted the ceremony performed by her favorite priest, Rev. John Cavannaugh. The Kennedy family preferred Cardinal Spellman and, as Joan sometimes wistfully recalls, "That was that." In the high-powered Kennedy atmosphere, Joan Kennedy has always struggled with feelings of inadequacy, thinking she could never be "the superstar" Jackie was, nor the "super mommy" Ethel represents, nor the "super saint" Eunice is.
Joan's adult married life—while filled with triumph and adulation—has also been marred by a series of illnesses, three miscarriages and difficult pregnancies. Yet she always carried on under the theory that she had to be more of a Kennedy than the Kennedys themselves. She forced herself to forget how much she hates flying, even after Ted was almost killed in a 1964 plane crash. Unlike Jackie, who shrank from the political fray, Joan realized she was going to see very little of her husband unless she went along on his campaigns. She has gone along—gaining Rose Kennedy's respect as one of the best politicians in the family—even though it has often meant standing aside as Teddy was mauled by admiring women or flirted with every female in the room.
When the senator's car plunged off the bridge at Chappaquiddick in 1969, carrying a young secretary to her death and creating questions still being asked today, Joan began to see her adored young husband in ways many others saw him. She stood by him, declaring Chappaquiddick "a tragic accident, very unfortunate," and adding, "I believe everything he said." The accident was not merely tragedy, which can be ennobling, but also scandal, which was humbling.
After that Joan seemed to try to strike out on her own. She gave recitals of Peter and the Wolf, earned money as a television guest star and donated it to charity. She took heart that her work was praised and said, "Being paid for it did a lot for my ego." She seemed to brighten as she became more her own person. Then came young Teddy's illness. Though much has been made of the senator steeling himself to tell his son about the operation, there are those Kennedy intimates who say it was Joan who actually took on this heartbreaking job.
Though not so devout as her sisters-and-mother-in-law, Joan is a good Catholic. She has accepted the realities of her married life—the senator's frequent neglect ("Ted only pays attention to Joan when he needs her," says one jaundiced Washington source), his eye for a pretty girl, his early-to-late political working habits. Yet Teddy and the children remain Joan's unchanging focus and future.
Conceivably, she has not seen the last of Silver Hill. A family spokesman admitted: "She may go back. It's part of the treatment for strain and fatigue." Asked once to sum herself up in a single word, Joan answered: "vulnerable."
