Inauguration of JFK and the son of Mayo

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You must watch the uninterrupted footage of the NBC coverage of the inauguration of President John F Kennedy on YouTube. After Vice President Lyndon Johnston is sworn in and immediately before the swearing of the President Elect, the master of ceremonies called Poet Robert Frost to the podium to give a recital. Frost was in fact the first poet to be part of the official swearing in of an American President. So inspired was he by his invite, he had composed a new work, titled Dedication. It contained the following lines:

The greatest vote a people ever cast

So close yet sure to be abided by

Sadly, the bard did not get to recite those lines. The words yet sure to be abided by surely a reference to the civility of the democratic process. The acceptance of defeat by the losing side taken as given. The luxury of a civilised society that we took for granted.

On the morning of his inauguration President Elect Kennedy woke to a Capital under a blanket of snow. Eight inches lay thick on the streets as workers toiled in freezing conditions to clear Pennsylvania Avenue. In keeping with the mood of the nation, the skies cleared and the sun dazzled the Washington morning as light bathed the brilliant white streets causing the eyes to strain.

As he took to the podium on the day of days Frost, white hair flopping in an icy breeze, began reciting the opening to Dedication.

Summoning artists to participate

In the august occasions of the state

Seems something artists ought to celebrate

The distinctive voice of the New Englander stalled as the Poet struggled to read the opening lines not committed to memory. The footage panned to the First Lady Elect then to Mr Kennedy. There were murmurs of nervous laughter from the thousands gathered. The combination of sun and snow had caused a glare. A gust of wind ruffled across his papers further mocking the great poet as he toiled. The President-to-be-sworn-in could have been forgiven for thinking his day was cursed. Moments earlier as Cardinal Cushing had been giving what a television commentator described as one of the longest invocations ever on record, smoke began to rise from beneath the lectern, followed by an audible fizz as television wiring shorted causing a minor fire. The head of the Secret Service later conceded that it was a moment of the most excruciating pain that almost led to the mass evacuation and abandonment of the inauguration ceremony.

As Frost struggled, Lyndon Baines Johnston, the Vice President-just-sworn-in stepped up. Mr Johnston with the assistance of another gentleman tried to hide the glare by using the cover of their hats to cloud the words of Dedication. It was an era when everyone wore a hat to the inauguration. Perhaps the last. Listen carefully to the audio. You can hear the other man, just a yard from the podium microphone kindly relieving the Vice President of his role as helper-in-chief to the poet.

“I…I will help him” said the other man in a soft whisper. A comforting voice. The bald man with the comforting voice moved to the side of the podium in front of the President-to-be-sworn-in to stand between the light of the sun and the freshly typed words of the poet.

By then the thousands gathered had settled as the Poet had moved on, beginning to recite the opening lines of A Gift Outright, the poem that Mr Kennedy had asked him to read on the occasion. The gentleman helper took the nod from President- to-be-sworn-in, returning to his seat behind the right shoulder of the Vice President as Frost was now on more fertile ground of poem from memory. The Gift Outright was perfectly received. Apparently, Frost had been embarrassed by the episode although The Washington Post later reported that he “Stole the hearts of the inaugural crowd.”

Before he left the Capital following the inauguration Frost called on the President and First Lady at the White House and presented them with a manuscript of the Dedication poem on which he wrote “Amended Copy. And now let us mend our ways.” He is reported to have advised the President “Be more Irish than Harvard. Poetry and power is the formula for another Augustan Age. Don’t be afraid of power.” Kennedy responded by inscribing the words “Its poetry and power all the way!” on his thank you note to Frost.

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To this young sports fan the summer of 1991 will be remembered for the Dublin v Meath football marathon and my first trip to the States. My flight to Boston was eventful. It was my maiden transatlantic flight. My only previous flight experience was Derry to Glasgow on Loganair’s twin engine stumpy minibus with wings. This was different. We touched down in Rhode Island first, the Jumbo Jet circled Boston for what seemed to be the best part of five or six Budweisers, before the pilot in that calm reassuring pilot-ay way announced that we were DANGEROUSLY LOW on fuel. The descent to Rhode Island was through a violent apocalyptical storm-cloud without a silver lining. I needed a cigarette on arrival, but rules are rules. You must not open the duty-free Benson and Hedges carton bought in Dublin and you are forbidden from smoking while the plane was on the Rhode Island apron. Something about thousands of litres of kerosene being pumped into the plane as it sat on the tarmac.

As spontaneous applause filled the plane on Boston’s Logan Airport runway some hours later my thoughts turned from surviving an air crash, to the more pressing matter of how I would get to see the third Dublin v Meath replay on Sunday.

My sister Deirdre met me at the gate with Ellen Salmon. Ellen’s husband Ray was circling the airport outside in his beautiful Loganair sized maroon Oldsmobile car, with the reddest leatheriest seats that I have had the privilege to ride on. We were in Cheers pub within the hour. I know. The inside looks nothing like the set of the TV show. But I was there.

Ray was charming and gregarious, with a childish impish cheek that belied his age. In his late 60’s. A lawyer and Magistrate, a house with a swimming pool and a Condo in Florida. Ellen, his younger wife, the gap widened by her youthful film star looks.

They were old family friends. My Glaswegian Grandmother and Ellen’s mother Annie were friends. Ellen’s mother was an emigrant from Malin Head originally. Ray’s parents were from Mayo. His mother was Margaret (Maggie) O’Malley. She settled in Clinton Massachusetts, as so many of the Louisburgh emigrants did. My own mother’s father, Martin O’Malley left Mayo for Glasgow around about the same time.

My sister Deirdre had been their guest that year. Ray and Ellen and their son Raymond. She was studying in Boston. Ray and Ellen were so kind and generous to her. On her arrival Ray had handed her the keys to her own car and a Credit Card. In a few short months she had been restaurant-cultured by them with talk of eating Chicken Parm-es-an and Filet Mignon (medium rare). Still in a Derry accent thank God. Deirdre had bought me the flight to join her for a stay with the Salmons.

On Sunday, fake USIT Card in hand I was being served Guinness by a dark-haired girl from Draperstown, whilst watching episode three of Dublin v Meath on Setanta. How very Irish. Then on Dorchester Bay I visited the JFK museum. That was a real treat for this politics geek. At the time I was studying American Politics for A-Level and being 20-years-of-age I clearly knew everything there was to know about politics. Not just American Politics. All politics.

The highlight of the museum was a full-sized reproduction of the Oval office as it was when Kennedy was president. On the wall of the Oval office in the corner hung a hand-written poem written by Robert Frost for President Kennedy on the occasion of his inauguration and titled Dedication. I don’t know why, but I was struck by it. I bought a copy of the handwritten Dedication in the Gift Shop. That and a full-sized KENNEDY FOR PRESIDENT election poster.

We drove from Boston to Florida to the condo in Sarasota. Deirdre, Ellen and me. Ray had stayed at home doling out justice to the people of Clinton Massachusetts. Ellen’s car had an automatic gearbox and cruise control. Air conditioning was a given, of course. We took it in shifts to drive for two hours each. I ended each shift with a can of Bud Light or Becks taken from the cool box that Ray had filled at home for me. Tolls and Turnpikes were the subject of conversation. And speed limits and Police checks. The objective to get to Sarasota as quickly as we could without a speeding ticket.

Ellen had printed off directions sent to her in work by a colleague over a thing called electronic mail. It was sent over the internet which apparently was a way of communicating between computers through phone lines. We wore out a tape of Les Miserables. As days go, those two on that road trip from Boston to Sarasota, stopping off in South Carolina at a Motel from the movies, were memorable. Everything, even the what should have been mundane long drive, dripped movie scene to this recent graduate of childhood. Ellen had mentioned that Ray was once friendly with JFK. He had been an aid to a Congressman and had worked closely with the Kennedy’s.

Almost 11 years to the day of my return flight from my transatlantic adventure, on Tuesday the 30th July 2002 our friend Ray Salmon died, aged 79. Two months later my own father died in just his 62nd year. Dad was very fond of Ray. He and mum had visited Clinton Massachusetts in the summer of 1993. They were taken by Ray and Ellen to a reception with the Irish Ambassador. There they met An Taoiseach Albert Reynolds. I drove dad’s metallic blue Ford Escort to Dublin to meet them on their return in Dublin. I was staying down on business. Football business. It was the day before Derry won the All-Ireland football final on our day of days.

From that time Albert was their friend. Mum and Dad’s own Taoiseach. Not that Albert knew it. More in the sense of his appearance on the telly would prompt the line “There’s your friend Albert”, from mum to dad or vice versa. The reception in Boston was a real highlight for both of them. Thanks to Ray’s kindness and generosity. His and Ellen’s. One year later I saw Ray and Ellen again, this time in Derry at my brother’s wedding. He was full of life, an exotic creature to the domestic audience, the distinct soft American voice heard around the room as he shook hands with strangers uttering the words in his familiar kind way, “Ray Salmon-USA”. That was the last time I saw him in the flesh. I have seen him since of course on old footage.

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On Saint Valentine’s day 2006 Democratic Congressman Jim McGovern of Massachusetts 2nd Congressional District rose to his feet on the floor of the House of Representatives.

“I rise today in strong support of H.R. 4152, which would designate the United States Postal Facility at 320 High Street in Clinton, Massachusetts as the Raymond J. Salmon Post Office.

Mr. Speaker, by designating this Federal post office today, we honor a great American. Raymond J. Salmon was born on April 16, 1923 in the small town of Clinton, MA. As a young man, Ray responded to the call of duty during World War II and became a member of the United States Army serving as a Technical Sergeant. Returning home from the war, Ray began work for Congressman Phillip Philbin of Clinton, Massachusetts, in 1950, and he remained in public service as the Congressman's Chief of Staff until 1970.

During his time as a Hill staffer, Ray completed law school, was admitted to the bar in 1952 and was a sole practitioner until 1977. While practicing law, Ray was appointed the Clerk Magistrate of Clinton District Court in 1976 and remained loyal to his position until his retirement in 2000. Ray brought honor and an enthusiasm to his position, and everyone in town knew and admired Ray for his character and love of public service. Actively engaged in the community, Ray was a member of many civic groups, including the Knights of Columbus, American Legion, Polish American Veterans, and the Clinton Elks Lodge.

Mr. Speaker, if you ever have the opportunity to travel to the town of Clinton, you will be hard-pressed to find someone who was not fond of Ray. Clearly, his spirit lives on throughout this small, tight-knit community. By designating this facility as the Raymond J. Salmon Post Office, we honor not only this truly great individual, but the community he served and the people who knew him so well.”

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You must watch the NBC footage of the inauguration of President John F Kennedy on YouTube. At 41 minutes in Robert Frost approaches the podium. He begins to read his poem Dedication. He falters. There is uncertainty. The vice President intervenes, followed by a second man who kindly says, “I….I will help him”.

The voice is kind. It is more than that though. It is familiar. The young man’s face, his bald head belying his youth. Standing briefly between John Fitzgerald Kennedy and Robert Frost on that inauguration day is Raymond J Salmon. Our friend. A son of Mayo.