America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

Fifth Avenue, Manhattan, Ruben Restaurant Nightclub.

This nightclub is one of the most luxurious entertainment venues in New York and a favorite haunt of Jimmy Walker.

Since being elected mayor in 1926, Walker had come here almost every weekend to meet with colleagues from the Tammany Society, his mistress, and even to review municipal documents.

He liked the jazz music, the champagne, and especially the glitz and glamour of the place.

Inside the private room, smoke filled the air, and the champagne tower glittered under the lights.

Walker, with his arm around his new girlfriend, Hollywood actress Betty Compton, was boasting to a few business friends about his recent achievements.

Suddenly, the door to the private room was flung open, and Dila rushed in, covered in sweat.

"Jimmy! Something's happened!"

Walker frowned in displeasure. "Dila, don't you know the rules? Can't you see we're talking business?"

"Stop with all this nonsense."

Dila rushed over and immediately turned off the gramophone.

The private room fell silent instantly. Betty pouted in dissatisfaction, and the bankers exchanged bewildered glances.

Dila completely ignored the group, panting heavily as she said anxiously:

"Just now, news came from the Providence Theatre that Roosevelt has gone there."

Walker's hand trembled, and the wine spilled onto his expensive trousers.

"Who? Who did you say?"

"Franklin Roosevelt! Governor!" Dilla roared.

"Not only did he go, but he sat right in the middle, right next to George Bernard Shaw! All the reporters in New York are there now!"

With a "clang," Walker's wine glass fell to the floor and shattered.

Walker found it hard to believe.

Roosevelt went? That cripple went?

Although both are members of the Democratic Party, their political views are completely different.

In public, the two maintained a facade of harmony.

Privately, Roosevelt was looking for opportunities to weaken the influence of the Tammany Society behind Walker, while Walker was working hard to maintain his own territory.

If it were just George Bernard Shaw, he could ignore it and dismiss it as the ramblings of a foreign writer.

But Roosevelt's personal attendance at the event changed the whole situation.

This is almost a political statement, announcing to all of New York and to the entire United States:

I, Franklin Roosevelt, support Kennedy, and I dislike Jimmy Walker.

What will tomorrow's newspapers say?

"The governor and the master enjoy a satirical play together, while the mayor is absent?"

"Roosevelt sat in the theater, while Walker drank in a nightclub"?

No, he can't let that happen.

In politics, absence is often more fatal than embarrassment.

His absence from such an occasion sends a message to society that he is no longer capable.

But if he went, he would sit there and watch the whole show with a smile on his face.

Then he can prove to everyone that he, Jimmy Walker, is a magnanimous mayor who can accept criticism and is a pioneering mayor who supports artistic freedom.

This is the survival rule for politicians.

Walker gritted his teeth and stood up:

"Get the car ready! Get the car ready right now! To Greenwich Village!"

Walker grabbed his coat, draped it over his shoulders, and rushed out of the private room.

He couldn't wait any longer, mentally planning what to say, what expression to use, and how to appear composed in front of the reporters.

……

Fifteen minutes later, Walker's car pulled up in front of the Providencetown Theatre.

The streets were packed with people, and police were maintaining order.

Flashbulbs went off one after another, and reporters scurried around like sharks that had smelled blood.

Walker took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and put on the polite smile he had practiced countless times.

This smile is one of his political assets.

During his 1925 campaign, the New York World described him as "walking into City Hall with a Broadway star smile."

Not long ago, a New York Times editorial criticized his policies as hollow, but also acknowledged that "Mr. Walker's smile can still temporarily soothe anxious citizens."

This smile helped him win the election and helped him through countless crises.

Now, he is going to use this weapon again.

The car door opened, and Walker stepped onto the street.

Reporters immediately recognized him.

"It's the mayor! Mayor Walker is here!"

"Mr. Mayor! Are you here to see the performance?"

"Mr. Mayor! What are your thoughts on this satirical play?"

Walker maintained his smile, waved, and appeared relaxed and at ease.

"Of course, I have always been a supporter of artistic creation. Mr. Kennedy is a talented young man."

He pushed through the crowd and walked toward the theater doors.

But he was stopped at the door.

The theater owner, Williams Wright, stood there, holding a box of ticket stubs.

Williams said politely, "Good evening, Mr. Mayor. Please show me your ticket."

Walker's smile froze:

"ticket?"

Yes, admission to tonight's performance requires a ticket.

Walker paused for a moment, then laughed, thinking it was a joke:

"Mr. Williams, I am the mayor. I am here to support the arts."

Williams said neither humbly nor arrogantly:

"I know, Mr. Mayor, rules are rules. All audience members need tickets to enter, including you."

Walker's smile vanished.

He turned to look at Dila, and Dila quickly stepped forward:

"Mr. Williams, the mayor decided to come at the last minute and didn't have time to buy tickets. Could you please make an exception?"

Williams shook his head:

"Sorry, all tickets for tonight are sold out. The theater is also full, there's not even standing room left."

Reporters around were frantically taking notes, their flashes going off incessantly.

Walker's expression changed. He suddenly realized that he had made a fatal mistake.

He was too eager to act magnanimous and to show tolerance in front of the camera, so much so that he forgot the most basic preparations.

There are no tickets.

These three words shattered all his plans.

"Then let some people out. I'm the mayor; I need to go in."

Walker's voice already carried a hint of anger.

Williams looked at Walker coldly, showing no intention of making an exception for him.

"This is a private theater, not a city hall. No one here has special privileges."

These words were like a slap in the face to Walker.

Walker felt his face burning.

He had never been treated like this before, especially not by a small theater owner.

His original plan was:

He calmly walked into the theater, waved to the audience under the flashing lights, sat in a prominent seat, and watched the performance with a smile on his face.

Then, as the event ends, they'll say a few nice things like, "Art criticism is a manifestation of democracy."

But now, he can't even get through the door.

He tried to show magnanimity, but instead showed incompetence.

He tried to appear composed, but ended up looking rather disheveled.

"Do you know who you're talking to?"

Walker's voice became shrill.

"I can revoke your business license! I can get the health department to inspect your theater! I can..."