Although Navy LTJG James McKay had graduated from college and moved to Washington two years before, he still hadn’t gotten over the electrifying feeling of living in the capital of the mightiest country in the world. To him, the political power and excitement were so palpable he could almost reach out and touch them. He felt close to the world-shakers. Just how close he really was, he would soon find out.
It was a hot, humid, late Friday afternoon in August 1959. Drained after a grueling week of work pouring over blueprints of submarine nuclear power plants, the young naval officer stumbled out of the temporary “Main Navy” office building on the north side of the Reflecting Pool. The ramshackle structure was a relic of the frenzied construction of World War I and, although upgraded from time to time, the only air conditioning consisted of window units which operated poorly at best. Still, he appreciated their paltry output when he stepped outside the building. The muggy heat blasted up at him from the sidewalk as he trudged east on Constitution Avenue.
He barely noticed how fast his summer khaki uniform soaked with sweat and plastered to his body. His mind was on other things. He dreaded the weekend ahead, always a zoo as he and his five housemates, all junior naval officers like himself, scrambled to get their laundry done, their rooms in the rental house more or less cleaned, and grocery shopping accomplished for the upcoming week. He thought too of the Saturday night bar scene when he rationed out his meager officer’s pay and hoped he could hit on a chick and get laid before his money ran out.
Deep in thought, he crossed Constitution and bounced northward on 17th Street, passing alongside the grounds of the White House where, for all he knew, the president and his cabinet might be deciding some world-pressing issue that would change history.
When he reached H Street, he headed east again toward 16th Street and his bus stop. He didn’t notice the big black sedan that sped toward him along H Street. When his light changed to green, he started across the street, not realizing the car was not slowing down for its red light. The screech of tires galvanized him into action. He plunged toward the sidewalk and flung himself on the curb as the car veered to miss him and careened around the corner onto 16th Street.
His briefcase smashed against a light post and sprang open, spewing files of his weekend paperwork across the sidewalk. He cursed the driver as he stuffed everything back into the briefcase. In the roar of the rush hour traffic, he didn’t hear the car jam on its brakes and back up. As he stood up, the car stopped opposite him and the rear window slid down. A man in sunglasses peered out. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”
McKay, facing into the setting sun, squinted at the car. “Yeah, I guess. You going to a fire or something?”
The man flashed him a bright smile and laughed. “Not exactly. But we did have our emergency light flashing.”
Then McKay noticed it for the first time. A bright blue light spinning around above the dashboard in front of the uniformed driver. He felt sheepish. “I guess my mind was on something else.”
“That’s okay. Where are you going?”
McKay pointed. “To catch the bus over there.”
“Where to?”
“Home, the northern end of 16th Street.”
“Do you want a lift? It’s the least we can do after scaring the daylights out of you. We’re going that way, to Silver Spring.”
Without hesitation, he opened the door and slid into the air conditioned, cavernous, leather interior. Inside, it felt like a refrigerator after the muggy, oppressive heat outside. There was another man, with slightly buck teeth, in the car. He was scribbling on a notepad and the occupant introduced him as his brother.
When McKay got settled, the first man, who he thought looked vaguely familiar, smiled and gestured toward his brother. “Don’t mind him. He’s the intellectual one. He’ll probably be writing the entire trip. But we can talk. What are you doing in Washington?"
“I’m in the Navy, but I’m assigned to the Atomic Energy Commission. It’s kind of an odd arrangement. I’m in a small group that’s … ”
The man interrupted. “Say no more. You work for Admiral Rickover building nuclear subs, right?”
The young man looked at him in surprise. “That’s right, but how . . . ?”
Again the man cut in. “Oh, we know all about him. And we’re both great admirers. Anybody who can work through that bureaucracy and get something really important done. . .” He shook his head.
McKay felt a little defensive. “Oh, I don’t know if the Navy’s that bad.”
“Well, it is, young man. Oh, don’t feel put out. I was in the Navy, too. I know all about military bureaucracy.”
The more they talked, the more the young officer found himself telling this disarming, friendly stranger many of his innermost feelings. President Eisenhower's second term was drawing to a close and the media were filled with the upcoming election. Vice-President Nixon would almost certainly be the Republican nominee but there was no consensus on who would be his Democratic opponent.
McKay blurted out. “I expect it will be a runaway election for the Republicans. Nixon will bask in the halo effect of Eisenhower. And he’s sure been a popular president.”
The man flashed his disarming smile. "Perhaps we should wait until the Democrats have chosen their nominee."
They then spoke about the surge of idealism and interest in world affairs that were beginning to surface in the colleges. The man asked McKay, "What would you do to harness that energy and enthusiasm?”
McKay thought for a minute. “Well, there’s all sorts of military programs for students. For example, I was in the Navy ROTC when I was in college. Then there’s the Army ROTC and the Air Force ROTC. And also the Coast Guard and the National Guard. Lots of opportunities in the military. Why can’t we do something for peace instead of war for a change?”
The man shot him a quizzical look. His brother stopped scribbling on his note pad and looked up sharply. Panicked, the young officer thought, these men could be high ranking military officials. Me and my big mouth!
But the other man smiled. "How do you think it should work?"
“I dunno. Maybe people could sign up for a stint to help third world countries. Develop water supplies or show ’em how to grow crops better. If it’s an alternative to military duty, the guys I know would choose it in a minute.”
The man nodded. “But if that happened, how would you staff the military?”
McKay thought a minute. “You’ve got a point. Maybe you’d have to have both.”
“If you did, would people still volunteer for the peace program?”
McKay nodded energetically and rambled on enthusiastically about how many young people he knew who would join something like that. Even after military service.
Both men listened closely, asking questions from time to time. When they reached McKay’s house, he hopped out of the car and thanked the man for the ride. The man flashed his endearing smile again. "On the contrary, we are indebted to you, for sharing your interesting ideas. Good luck."
McKay watched as the big car sped away. Then his heart leaped to his throat as he glanced at the license plate and saw the official government insignia.
That night, he couldn’t get to sleep. He fretted over the car ride: he’d told those two men practically everything about himself and didn’t even know their names! He was nearly 24 and still let other people take the lead. All the time. That was understandable when he’d lived at home, or in the university where the professors and the administration were in the driver’s seat. Even in the navy, he was only a junior officer and had to take orders. But in his personal life, it was high time he took control. Will he ever do that? He wasn’t a kid any longer, for chrissake!
And the specter of that official license plate kept recurring: who were those men? It was a big, expensive car with a uniformed chauffer. Had he said anything that might come back to haunt him? He tried to remember all the details of their conversation. Had he said anything bad about the navy that might get him court-martialed, or at least transferred, if they were big shots in the military? Fatigue finally got the best of him and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, as McKay was eating breakfast, he opened the Washington Post and there staring back at him from the front page were the two men from the big car. When he could get his eyes to focus, he skimmed the article with his heart thudding. It said that last night, at a meeting in Maryland with bigwig Democrats, Sen. John F. Kennedy had thrown his hat into the ring in the race for President. The buck-toothed man in the picture with him, his brother Bobby, would be his campaign manager.
It took McKay a few weeks to simmer down from his brush with greatness. Then he forgot all about it until after the election, in which Kennedy upset Nixon in a very close race.
When Kennedy announced the establishment of the Peace Corps on March 1, 1961, McKay became excited again. A few days after the announcement, he arrived home from work to find a letter addressed to him with a simple return address: “The White House, Washington, D.C.” He assumed it was an appeal for money to help defray election costs for the Democrats. The one page letter on White House stationery read:
The White House
Washington, D.C.
March 2, 1961
Dear Lieutenant McKay,
I hope by now that you have had a chance to read in the newspaper about my proposal yesterday for a Peace Corps along the lines that we discussed in June 1959. I believe that I have not strayed too far from the ideas we kicked around. Perhaps you will consider a stint for peace after your U.S. Navy obligation. The Attorney General and I thank you again for your invaluable thoughts which have helped us to formulate our own.
Best wishes in your career.
Warmly,
John F. Kennedy