The Saloonkeeper's Son
In the autumn of 1913, a twenty-five-year-old state bank examiner learned that the small bank his father had helped found in East Boston was about to be absorbed by a larger rival. Columbia Trust was not much of an institution by the standards of State Street. It served dockworkers, shopkeepers and Irish families who had been refused elsewhere. For Joseph Patrick Kennedy it was something more useful than a sentimental attachment. It was a platform. He went around to relatives and family friends, assembled roughly $45,000 in borrowed money, bought enough shares to block the takeover, and had himself elected president. He then told reporters he was the youngest bank president in the country, a claim nobody bothered to check and everybody repeated.
That episode contains most of what would follow over the next half-century. Kennedy saw an institution as a set of levers rather than a place of employment. He financed his moves with other people's capital. He understood that a claim printed in the newspaper becomes, for practical purposes, a fact. And he moved at the moment the incumbents least expected it, while they were still treating him as a clerk.
He would go on to make money in banking, shipbuilding, stock speculation, motion pictures, imported liquor and commercial real estate. He would serve as the first chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission, the first chairman of the reconstituted Maritime Commission, and ambassador to the Court of St. James's during the approach of the Second World War. He would wreck his own public career with a single newspaper interview. And he would spend the rest of his life, and much of his fortune, building the political careers of his sons. By the time he died in 1969, one son had been president, two had been senators, and two had been killed in office or in pursuit of it.
This is the story of a man who treated every arena he entered, including American democracy, as a market with inefficiencies to exploit. It is also the story of what that approach cost.
By the Numbers
The Kennedy Fortune
25Kennedy's age when he became president of Columbia Trust in 1914
~$8MPrice at which he sold Somerset Importers in 1946
$12.96MPrice he paid for Chicago's Merchandise Mart in 1945
$200–400MFortune's 1957 estimate of his net worth bracket
14 monthsLength of his tenure as first SEC chairman, 1934–35
9Children he had with Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy
East Boston and the Harvard Lesson
Kennedy was born on September 6, 1888, in a house on Meridian Street in East Boston, the first child of Patrick Joseph Kennedy and Mary Augusta Hickey. His grandfather had come from County Wexford during the famine migration and died young. His father, known as P.J., had built a modest prosperity out of saloons and a liquor-importing business and then converted it into political influence. P.J. served in the Massachusetts legislature and was one of the ward bosses who ran Irish Boston in the years when the city's Brahmin establishment still controlled its banks, clubs and universities.
The son grew up comfortable by the standards of East Boston and conspicuously outside the circles that mattered on Beacon Hill. His parents sent him across the harbor to Boston Latin School, the city's elite public academy, where he was elected class president and played baseball with more enthusiasm than distinction as a student. He graduated in 1908 and went on to Harvard, which admitted a trickle of Irish Catholics but did not pretend to welcome them.
Harvard gave Kennedy a degree in economics in 1912 and something he valued more: a precise map of where the doors were locked. He was accepted into the Hasty Pudding Club but not into the Porcellian or the other final clubs that sorted Boston's future bankers and lawyers. The rejection was quiet and social, and it left a durable mark. For the rest of his life, Kennedy described the Protestant establishment as a closed network, and he set about building a rival network of his own, first out of money and then out of family.
His first job out of college was as an assistant bank examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, at $1,500 a year. The salary was small; the education was not. Examiners saw the internal books of banks up and down the state. Kennedy learned how loans were made, how capital was counted and where weak institutions hid their problems. Within about eighteen months he had used that knowledge to take over Columbia Trust.
Marriage, Shipyards and a First Encounter with Power
On October 7, 1914, Kennedy married Rose Fitzgerald, the eldest daughter of John F. "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald, a former congressman and mayor of Boston and one of the most famous Irish politicians in the country. They married after a long courtship. The marriage joined the two most prominent political clans of Irish Boston and produced nine children over the next seventeen years: Joseph Jr., John, Rosemary, Kathleen, Eunice, Patricia, Robert, Jean and Edward.
Banking in East Boston did not hold Kennedy for long. When the United States entered the First World War, he took a position in October 1917 as assistant general manager of Bethlehem Steel's Fore River shipyard in Quincy, one of the largest naval yards on the East Coast. The job kept him out of uniform and put him at the center of wartime procurement. It also introduced him to the assistant secretary of the Navy, Franklin D. Roosevelt.
The encounter, as later reconstructed by Fortune, was not friendly. Fore River had built warships for Argentina, and Kennedy refused to release them until payment arrived. Roosevelt pushed him to hand them over; Kennedy held out. Roosevelt settled the matter by sending Navy tugs to tow the ships away, and Kennedy came away having measured the man across the table. Twenty years later, the two would need each other.
The shipyard also taught him about scale. Fore River employed thousands of workers, and Kennedy set up a cafeteria to feed them and ran it at a profit. It was a small thing, and it showed the habit that ran through all of his businesses: where there was a captive flow of customers, there was a margin to be taken.
Wall Street Before the Rules
In June 1919, Kennedy joined Hayden, Stone and Company, a Boston brokerage, as manager of its stock department. Galen Stone, one of the firm's founders, became a mentor and an introduction to the circles of Boston money that Harvard had kept closed. Kennedy learned the trade quickly and set up on his own in 1923.
The American stock market of the 1920s had almost no federal regulation. There was no requirement for regular, audited disclosure by listed companies, no prohibition on trading by insiders, and no law against what were politely called pools: groups of traders who pooled capital to buy a stock, traded it back and forth among themselves to create the appearance of activity, spread favorable rumors through friendly brokers and newspapers, and then sold into the buying they had stimulated. Kennedy was an active and skilled participant. Fortune later described his technique in detail, and he did not deny it. The practice was legal. It was also, by any modern standard, a way of profiting from
information asymmetry that the public could not see.
His best-known Wall Street engagement came in April 1924, when John Hertz, who controlled the Yellow Cab Company, asked him to defend the stock against a bear raid. Kennedy set up in a New York hotel room with a ticker and a telephone and, over several weeks, traded the stock up and down to break the short sellers' momentum. The stock was stabilized. Hertz later came to suspect that Kennedy had been trading against him as well, a charge Kennedy denied, and the relationship ended in bitterness. Whatever the truth, the episode established Kennedy's reputation as someone who understood the mechanics of market manipulation from the inside.
The 1929 crash is the source of the most famous Kennedy story, in which he decides to sell everything after a shoeshine boy offers him stock tips. The anecdote has never been sourced to a contemporaneous account, and a similar tale was told earlier about Bernard Baruch. What is documented is that Kennedy had pulled back from the market before the crash and emerged from it with his fortune intact at a time when many of his peers were ruined. By one estimate he was worth about $4 million in 1929, a large figure at the time, which he would multiply many times over during the Depression.
Even after the crash he kept trading. In 1933, with the repeal of Prohibition in sight, he joined a pool in the stock of Libbey-Owens-Ford, a glass company. The public assumed, wrongly, that the company would benefit from a boom in liquor bottles. The pool made about $395,000 in four months. When the Senate Banking Committee, led by its counsel Ferdinand Pecora, investigated such pools, the Libbey-Owens-Ford operation became one of the exhibits. Kennedy's participation would become awkward within a year, because he was about to be put in charge of regulating exactly this sort of trading.
The Hollywood Years
Kennedy's move into motion pictures began as an outsider's bet on an industry he regarded as badly run. In February 1926, with a group of Boston investors, he bought control of Film Booking Offices of America, a distributor and producer of low-budget westerns and melodramas, for about $1.5 million. FBO was not prestigious, but it was profitable, and it gave him a seat at the table in an industry that was consolidating fast.
He spent the next three years stacking positions. He took control of the Keith-Albee-Orpheum circuit, one of the largest vaudeville chains in the country, with more than 700 theaters that were being converted to show films. He served as chairman of Pathé and as a paid adviser to First National, collecting fees from several studios at once. When the arrival of sound pictures created a scramble for equipment and screens, he brokered the deal that became his most durable Hollywood legacy. In October 1928, working with David Sarnoff of the Radio Corporation of America, he combined FBO and Keith-Albee-Orpheum with RCA's Photophone sound system to form Radio-Keith-Orpheum, better known as RKO. RCA got an outlet for its technology; the theaters got sound; Kennedy got paid for assembling it. Two decades later, RKO would pass into the hands of
Howard Hughes, who bought control in 1948.
Hollywood also produced the most publicized episode of Kennedy's private life. Beginning in the late 1920s he took over the business affairs of Gloria Swanson, one of the biggest stars of the silent era, and the two began an affair that lasted about three years. Swanson later described it in her 1980 memoir. Kennedy financed her production of Queen Kelly, directed by Erich von Stroheim, which ran wildly over budget, cost close to a million dollars and was shut down before completion. Its successor, The Trespasser, a sound picture released in 1929, was a hit. The Queen Kelly disaster was the rare Kennedy venture that failed outright, and he was quick to separate himself from it and from Swanson.
He left the film business around 1930, having made, by most estimates, more than $5 million from it. His pattern there set a template. He entered a fragmented industry, rolled up assets while their owners were distracted by technological change, extracted fees from multiple sides, and got out before the next cycle. He never stayed in a business long enough to be identified with it.
Liquor, Roosevelt and the Price of Loyalty
Kennedy was one of the first wealthy businessmen to back Franklin Roosevelt's 1932 presidential campaign. He contributed his own money, raised more from others, and helped persuade William Randolph Hearst to release his delegates at the Democratic convention, a decisive moment in Roosevelt's nomination. Kennedy expected to be rewarded with a post in the new administration, and for more than a year he was not. He waited, conspicuously.
He did not wait idly. In the autumn of 1933, as Prohibition was ending, he travelled to London with James Roosevelt, the president's eldest son. He returned with the American import franchises for several major British brands, including Haig & Haig and Dewar's Scotch and Gordon's gin, and set up a company called Somerset Importers to hold them. When the Twenty-first Amendment was ratified in December 1933, Somerset already had a large stockpile of imports on hand and was ready to sell the moment sales became legal. Kennedy sold the business in 1946 to Renfield Importers for about $8 million, on an investment usually put at around $100,000.
The liquor franchises fed a persistent rumor that Kennedy had been a bootlegger during Prohibition. The story has been repeated for decades, often with lurid detail. His biographer David Nasaw, who had unrestricted access to the family papers for The Patriarch (2012), found no credible evidence for it. The more accurate version is less colorful: Kennedy used political connections and good timing to be first in line when a legal market reopened.
Gamekeeper
In June 1934, Congress passed the Securities Exchange Act, creating a new commission to police the stock markets that had collapsed in 1929. Roosevelt's choice to lead it astonished his own advisers. In July 1934, he appointed Kennedy to the commission, and its members elected him chairman. Critics pointed out that the new chief regulator of Wall Street had run pools only a year earlier. The proverb about setting a thief to catch a thief was widely applied to the appointment. Harold Ickes, the interior secretary, recorded his skepticism in his diary. Pecora, who had exposed Kennedy's Libbey-Owens-Ford pool, joined him as a fellow commissioner.
The appointment turned out to be one of Roosevelt's shrewder decisions, and the reason was the very history that alarmed his critics. Kennedy knew where the tricks were because he had used them. He also understood that the financial industry, which was then boycotting new securities issues in protest against the regulations, needed to be coaxed back into the market rather than beaten. He spent his first months meeting bankers and brokers, promising that the commission would be firm but not punitive, and getting capital flowing again.
He also built an institution. He hired talented lawyers, among them William O. Douglas, a Yale professor who would later chair the SEC himself and then sit on the Supreme Court, and Abe Fortas, another future justice. The commission under Kennedy wrote the first rules on registration, disclosure and trading, and established the principle that listed companies owed the public regular and honest financial information.
In a speech to the Boston Chamber of Commerce on November 15, 1934, he laid out the philosophy.
No law has ever been devised or administered which successfully eradicated crookedness.
— Joseph P. Kennedy, speech to the Boston Chamber of Commerce, 1934
The point was a practical one. The commission could not make every trader honest, but it could raise the cost of dishonesty and make it visible. Kennedy resigned in September 1935, after about fourteen months, with the agency established and his reputation transformed. Commentators who had denounced the appointment now praised the result. He had shown he could run a public institution as well as exploit a private one, and he had turned an embarrassing past into a credential. The episode remains the standard example of a poacher turned gamekeeper, and a reminder that
regulatory capture can also run in the opposite direction, when an insider applies his knowledge on behalf of the public.
He did not leave politics. In 1936 he published a campaign book, I'm for Roosevelt, with help from the New York Times columnist Arthur Krock, whom he paid for his assistance. The book was written to reassure business readers that the New Deal was not a threat to capitalism. He also took consulting engagements with major corporations, including RCA, advising on its recapitalization.
In 1937 Roosevelt asked him to chair the new Maritime Commission, which was charged with rebuilding the American merchant fleet and untangling a mess of subsidies, labor disputes and failing shipping lines. Kennedy later called it the toughest job he ever held. He stayed less than a year, long enough to negotiate new subsidy contracts and produce a report on the industry, and then asked Roosevelt for the job he wanted.
London
At the end of 1937, Roosevelt named Kennedy ambassador to the United Kingdom, and he arrived in London in March 1938. He was the first Irish Catholic to hold the post, the most prestigious in American diplomacy, and he knew exactly what it meant for a man whose father had been a saloonkeeper in East Boston. The British press was fascinated by the ambassador and his photogenic family of nine children. Kathleen and the elder sons moved easily through London society; Kennedy himself was a sought-after guest.
The substance went badly. Kennedy believed that Britain could not win a war with Germany and that the United States should stay out of any European conflict at almost any price. He became a close ally of Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain and a vocal supporter of the policy of appeasement that culminated in the Munich agreement in September 1938. He tried, without authorization from Washington, to arrange a meeting with Adolf Hitler. After Kristallnacht in November 1938, he promoted a scheme, which the press called the Kennedy Plan, to resettle German Jews in other countries; it came to nothing. His biographers, Nasaw among them, have also documented antisemitic remarks in his private conversations and correspondence, and his defeatism about Britain alarmed the State Department and eventually the president.
When war came in September 1939, Kennedy's view hardened. He predicted in private and increasingly in public that Britain would be defeated. Winston Churchill, who replaced Chamberlain in May 1940, regarded him with distrust. Roosevelt increasingly bypassed him, dealing with the British through personal envoys and direct correspondence with Churchill. Kennedy felt the snub and resented it.
In November 1940, just after Roosevelt won a third term, Kennedy gave an interview in Boston to Louis Lyons of the Boston Globe and two other journalists. He believed parts of the conversation were off the record. The Globe printed it.
Democracy is finished in England. It may be here.
— Joseph P. Kennedy, Boston Globe interview, 1940
The reaction was immediate and hostile, in Britain and in the United States. Kennedy submitted his resignation on December 1, 1940, and remained formally in the post until his successor was named in early 1941. He then campaigned against American entry into the war until Pearl Harbor made the question moot. The interview effectively ended his own ambitions for elected office. He had been mentioned as a possible presidential candidate; after 1940, nobody took the idea seriously.
Losses
The early 1940s brought the family its first catastrophes, and one of them was of Kennedy's making. His eldest daughter, Rosemary, had developmental disabilities from childhood and, by her early twenties, was suffering mood swings that her parents found hard to manage. In November 1941, Kennedy arranged for her to undergo a prefrontal lobotomy, performed by the neurologist Walter Freeman and the neurosurgeon James Watts. According to most accounts, Rose was not consulted beforehand. The operation left Rosemary permanently incapacitated. She was institutionalized immediately, and from 1949 she lived on the grounds of the St. Coletta School in Jefferson, Wisconsin, largely hidden from public view for decades.
In August 1944, Joseph Jr., the son on whom Kennedy had placed his political hopes, was killed when his bomber exploded over England during a secret mission. Four years later, Kathleen died in a plane crash in France. Kennedy's grief was reportedly severe. His response, in both cases, was to redirect his energy toward the children who remained.
In 1946 he established the Joseph P. Kennedy Jr. Foundation, in memory of his eldest son. Under the direction of his daughter Eunice Kennedy Shriver, it became a major funder of research and programs on intellectual disabilities and the source of the movement that became the Special Olympics. The foundation's focus reflected, without saying so, the family's hidden experience with Rosemary.
The Real Estate Fortune
While his political career ended, his financial career accelerated. Kennedy concluded during the war that real estate in the major American cities was underpriced and that postwar growth would reward the patient buyer. He began buying commercial property in Manhattan, often holding it only briefly and selling at a profit.
His great purchase came in 1945. The Merchandise Mart in Chicago, then the largest commercial building in the world by floor space, belonged to Marshall Field and Company, which was eager to be rid of it. Kennedy bought it for $12,956,516, financed largely with a $12.5 million mortgage from the Equitable Life Assurance Society. He put up very little of his own money. He then filled the building with tenants, raised rents as leases turned over, and in 1949 refinanced it with a $17 million loan from Prudential, pulling out more cash than he had put in. The Mart stayed in the family for more than half a century and became the foundation of the Kennedy fortune, generating the income that paid for political campaigns and trust funds for decades.
He also took a significant stake in Hialeah Park, the Florida racetrack, in 1943, and made smaller investments in oil and other businesses. By 1957, Fortune placed him in the $200 million to $400 million bracket of its list of the richest Americans, one of a small number of people at that level.
Kennedy had already arranged for much of that wealth to pass to his children. He set up trust funds for them in 1926, 1936 and 1949, with the explicit aim of making them financially independent. He told associates that he wanted them free to pursue public service without worrying about earning a living. The trusts were also a way of ensuring that the fortune would work for the family's political project long after he could no longer direct it himself.
Building a President
The political project was the main business of his last decades. With Joe Jr. dead, Kennedy transferred his ambitions to his second son, John, a decorated naval officer who had written a well-received book on British policy before the war and had shown little interest in electoral politics. In 1946, John ran for Congress from a Boston district that included his grandfather Honey Fitz's old territory. Kennedy financed the campaign, hired the professionals and arranged favorable coverage. John won.
In 1952, John challenged the Republican senator Henry Cabot Lodge Jr., a scion of exactly the Boston establishment that had shut the Kennedys out a generation earlier. Kennedy again provided the money and much of the strategy, and the campaign used the family itself as an organizing tool: the Kennedy sisters and their mother hosted receptions across Massachusetts, and Robert, the third son, managed the operation. John beat Lodge in a year when the Republican presidential candidate, Dwight Eisenhower, carried the state.
Kennedy's own politics had moved sharply to the right after the war. He was a strong anti-communist and a friend of Senator Joseph McCarthy, who visited the family and in 1953 hired Robert as a counsel on his investigations subcommittee. The association later embarrassed John, whose liberal supporters distrusted his father, and Kennedy learned to stay in the background.
He did the same during the 1960 presidential campaign. He was seldom seen in public, but he was heavily involved behind the scenes, funding the organization and using the network of political bosses, business leaders and Catholic officials he had built over forty years. When John won the presidency in November 1960, the father became the most influential private citizen in the country, the man who had turned a family of outsiders into the leading political dynasty in the United States. At his insistence, according to many accounts, the new president named Robert attorney general.
Silence at Hyannis Port
On December 19, 1961, less than a year into his son's presidency, Kennedy suffered a severe stroke while in Palm Beach. He was seventy-three. The stroke left him paralyzed on one side and largely unable to speak. For the remaining eight years of his life he watched events he could no longer influence.
He was alive when John was assassinated in Dallas in November 1963, and when Robert was assassinated in Los Angeles in June 1968 while campaigning for the Democratic presidential nomination. He was alive when Edward, his youngest son, was elected to the Senate in 1962. He died at the family compound in Hyannis Port on November 18, 1969, at the age of eighty-one.
His legacy is hard to separate into its parts. He was an exceptionally effective financier who operated at the boundary of what was legal and made himself rich during the worst economic collapse in American history. He was the founding head of a regulatory agency whose basic architecture still governs American markets. He was a diplomat whose judgment about the most important question of his time was wrong, and whose private views on Jews and democracy his biographers have found troubling. He was a father who invested extraordinary resources in his children's success and also made the decision that destroyed his daughter Rosemary's life. And he was the architect of a political family whose influence lasted into the twenty-first century.
The consistent thread is a view of the world as a set of closed systems, each with its gatekeepers, and a lifelong effort to get inside them. He was shut out of Harvard's clubs and Boston's banks, so he bought a bank. He was an outsider in Hollywood, so he assembled a studio. He was a speculator, so he became the regulator. He was refused the presidency, so he built a son who could win it. Each time he got in, he found that the system he had entered was not the one he had wanted, and he moved on to the next.