Winter, 1935, Palm Beach, Florida
Jack lays in bed, looking out the window, surrounded by books. He sits up and picks up a George Washington biography, and he throws it against the wall. Then he picks up a book about King Arthur and throws it against the wall. Soon he's throwing books left and right, screaming. His younger sister Kathleen runs into the room.
"Jack! Jack!" She makes it to his bed and grabs a hold of his hands. Suddenly they're in a struggle to gain control of his hand. As they fight, Kathleen is saying:
"Stop, please stop, Jack."
If Jack had been stronger, he probably would have won the stand off, but he was still too weak. Finally, he lets go of the books. He and Kathleen stare at one another, and he begins to choke up.
"I hate this."
Kathleen ruffles his hair with her hand.
"I know, Jack, I know, but you can't let it beat you like this."
"I know, I just want to be alone."
"Ja—"
"Just for a little while. I promise that I won't wreck the room."
They laugh, but Jack stops and sighs.
"I'm not strong enough."
Kathleen looks at her, her eyes filled with sadness. But Jack is looking out the window, and she leaves him be. Jack watches her leave out of the corner of her eye, and he thinks back to a little over a year ago.
June 1934, Mayo Clinic, Rochester, Minnesota
This time Jack is in the best hospital in the country, waiting for a diagnosis. His parents wait in the corner of the room, his mother moving her fingers over a rosary like it's her second nature. The doctors think that he has leukemia. He was barely able to finish his year at Choate, and he had taken a turn for the worse the day before Joe Jr. had left for Germany, who when told that Jack was being sent to Minnesota he hadn't even thought about staying.
A doctor enters the room and Jack's parents stand. For the first time in a long time, Joe Sr. is worried.
"Well? What is it?" He asks like he doesn't want to know the answer.
"Well, it isn't leukemia."
The family takes a collective sigh of relief, but the doctor isn't finished.
"What it is is colitis."
Rose looks confused, "Colitis? What is that?"
"Colitis is an inflammation of the colon. Sometimes it's short-lived, other times it's chronic."
Fear rushes into Jack and thoughts flood his head: Not another illness, not more hospital rooms, not more days of lying in bed.
"Well, is it chronic?"
The doctor sighs, "We don't know."
Joe Sr. has grown angry and it's evident that he no longer has the patience to deal with doctors. He slams his hands down on a nearby table.
"For God's sake. Might I ask when you'll know?"
The doctor sighs, "I'm afraid only time will tell, sir."
The doctor leaves the room, leaving the family alone. Joe Sr. sighs, and Jack stares off into the distance, almost defeated. Rose approaches his bed, and reaches for his hand, but the moment her hand brushes against his he pulls away.
"I would like to be alone." Jack's voice breaks, and his parents know that he's trying not to cry.
"If that's what you want, Jack." Rose motions toward Joe Sr., and they leave the room. Jack begins to sob silently, and he makes sure that nobody can hear him, because like he had heard almost every day of his entire life, Kennedys don't cry.
Winter, 1935, Palm Beach, Florida
"How was he?"
Rose stands at the kitchen sink, washing dishes as Kathleen enters the room.
"Angry. Sad. He hasn't been the same since London."
"We should never have taken him. We raised his hopes up with the School of Economics, the hope that he might have put it all behind him."
"The problem was that Joe did it without having to come home because he was too ill. He so hates being in Joe's shadow."
"Your father suggested sending him to work as a ranch hand in Arizona."
Kathleen laughs, "A ranch hand? In Arizona? Papa can't be serious!
"He thinks it will help him regain his strength, and I rather agree."
Kathleen sighs, "Fine. But I wouldn't be the one to tell him for anything in the world."
Joe Sr. and Joe Jr. walk side by side along the beach.
"You really want to head the Maritime Commission? The SEC seems so much more promising." says Joe Jr., kicking sand up behind him.
"It's a promotion, son. A sign that Roosevelt is beginning to notice my good work."
"I still don't see the advantage in it, but if you think it's best—"
"I do!" Joe Sr. interrupts him, obviously irritated at Joe Jr.'s lack of faith.
The two are quiet for awhile, walking side by side, until Joe Jr. looks up towards the house and sees Jack's silhouette in his bedroom window, reading.
"How is he?" Joe Jr. asks, because despite the many times that he snaps and scolds Jack, he still loves him, and wants him to be safe.
"Better." says Joe Sr., his face seems to be showing a sign of relief that his eldest son cares, at times he had worried that he had raised him to be a bit too cold. "I'm sending him to Arizona."
"Arizona?" asks Joe Jr., perplexed.
"He's going to be a ranch hand."
Joe Jr. stares at him, astounded, Joe Sr. sees this and sighs, "He's already managed to get six weeks in at Princeton, but before he goes back he needs to build up strength. Hard, physical labor is the way to do that."
"Dad, he's too weak. I don't think he's be able to manage it."
"We have to push him, Joe or he'll be a sickly cripple all of his life."
"That won't halt the amount of success he may achieve. President Roosevelt is crippled, and—"
"And what?!" Joe Sr. snaps for the second time, he grabs Joe Jr. by his shirt collar, "You're the future president in this family, Joe, not Jack. And as for him being a cripple, I won't have him looking weak like Roosevelt."
Suddenly, it's as if Joe Sr. has realized that he's lost his temper and lets go. "No, Kennedy men are strong, they are not crippled."
Joe Jr. nods silently, and the two walk in silence, and Joe Sr. puts his arm around Joe Jr. as they walk. To them, it's a reconciliation, but for Jack, looking out at them from his window, it's another slice of evidence that he is not the important Kennedy son, and never will be.
Washington, D.C., 1938
"You want to make him ambassador to the Court of St. James's? Mr. President, with all due respect, have you gone insane?"
Harry collapses onto the chair as Franklin begins to speak: "He has traveled extensively, and it's not lie that anyone who meets his family fall in love with them as if they were royals. He's more than suited for the position."
"What have I been warning you about all these years? I try to get you to remove him from from the SEC, and you promote him to the Maritime Commission. I suggest you not to encourage him further, and you make him Ambassador to Great Britain!"
"I'm sorry, Harry, if you disagree with me, but quite frankly, it isn't your decision."
Harry storms out of the room, obviously irritated, but Franklin has grown to respect Joe Kennedy's work ethic, and he has the experience. He can readily acknowledge that Joe is power hungry, but Franklin also knows that Joe Kennedy hasn't come across a greater fighter than Franklin Roosevelt, crippled or not.