The JFK presidential library and museum offers an exciting journey into his glorious days in the White House, but the absence of any personal memorabilia makes the place soulless

Ask anyone where he was the day Jack Kennedy was shot and most will remember. Why? Never before has an American entered our universe that completely. We were captivated. We were charmed. His words became epigraphs we crafted in our memories.

Jackie, his wife, inspired women of fashion to follow the cut of her shoulder high hair and the coats that circled her neck with just one big button to bewitch. When she went to Paris, France was conquered. When she came to Pakistan, Ayub Khan’s chivalry was challenged; he personally chaperoned her and her equally fetching sister, princess Lee Radizwill.

The images of Lahore in the sixties won’t leave. The Horse and Cattle Show with young Aitchisonians crowned in turquoise turbans handsomely holding lances, flags aflutter, bantered past the VIP stand on stallions, in step with gallant tunes the police band ricocheted. Jackie and Lee were seized by the pageantry Pakistan was so sophisticated at staging.

When darkness fell on Fortress Stadium, the First Lady and her company arrived to watch the fireworks and the daredevil bikers flying through rings of fire, masterly choreographed and executed. Jackie clapped gleefully when the Tattoo show ended. Pakistan’s past and present history intertwined with culture and tradition became headline news back in America through gushing dispatches telexed by the press horde accompanying Mrs Kennedy.

Those were ecstatic times, pride we showed in our heritage. Our lush culture, our exquisite art, our unique traditions, we knew how to showcase to foreigners.

And here, I begin my story. Last Saturday I went to John F. Kennedy presidential library and museum. Designed by I.M. Pei and built with private donations from (now hold your breath) “36 million people from around the world”, a free bus ferried me to Boston Bay.

More than the sheet of glass that punctuated a solid block of concrete rising from the shores of the Atlantic; my eyes sought the sea, calm and collected, very expansive. Once inside, I had to shell $10 to see what the labyrinth of caverns comprised. Watch the “vintage film footage”, our guide informed us: “President Kennedy gives the commentary himself”.

Taken along his journey of youth, Harvard days, naval expeditions, years in US Congress and finally his nomination for the president of the United States, I was struck with the freshness of his passion.

Exiting to my next piece de resistance (at least that’s what I anticipated) tanked with JFK’s lustrous life and times, I searched in vain for something to stop me in my tracks. It didn’t. I passed cubicle after cubicle of sparsely fitted furniture — chairs and tables; the odd American flag; some seen-before photos on the walls; and a TV rolling out videos of his speeches and debates. Out of sheer boredom, I entered a roomful of glass cases, huge ones.

Searching for a familiar face in the framed photographs sitting dateless on glass shelves, a scan from wall to wall didn’t find the object I desired. Perhaps ‘Pakistan’ will sneak upon me from nowhere. Wouldn’t that be thrilling? I asked myself.

Disheartened? Yes. Conspicuous by its absence was Pakistan among the ‘loot’ of gold, silver, diamonds, ivory, sepia, emeralds and rubies closeted in glass. Combing as closely as my burning eyes could, I counted 65 gifts, taking an inventory of gifts president Kennedy and first lady received from world leaders.

In the centre, caressed by red velvet, was a giant goblet cut in glass. It was a stand alone. The plaque informed it was a gift from British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan (wow! he must adore the Kennedys), as must Nehru who had signed his own portrait laced with sugar and honey for Jack and Jackie.

King Norodam Sihanouk’s gifts perhaps were the most extravagant. One is not surprised given his flamboyance. “An unashamed ladies man”, six-time married ruler, while watching happy scenes of gay and lesbian couples receiving marriage licenses in California in 2004, Sihanouk ordered Cambodia must recognize same-sex marriage as well! Two silver vases finely detailed and dramatically presented on pedestals carried Sihanouk’s signature behind the glass doors.

Another king not wanting to be lacking, made a back door entry into the White House through daughter Caroline. As birthday present to the little girl, Hussain of Jordon brought a mother-of-pearl nativity scene framed in a brilliant, over-sized, pearl-inlay star when he came calling.

A king living in our neighbourhood, Mohammad Zahir took along a rare 2nd century head of Buddha. He was perhaps the last VIP Kennedys received — for two months later White House lost its favourite inmate to a sniper’s bullet. But the Emperor, another next-door neighbour outdid all. Mohammed Reza Pahlavi gave a 10th century ceramic bowl, 8 inches in diameter, in off-white glaze decorated with birds of paradise. Even, surly-faced Khrushchev carried a silver humidor (leaving the cigars and his manners behind in Moscow) for Kennedy during their maiden meeting on June 4, 1961, in Vienna, Austria. It was a summit of the world’s two superpower adversaries.

The rulers of Middle East showed off their wealth with pompous presents for the American first family. King of Morocco, Hassan II, presented Jackie with matching trio of bracelet, purse, and belt dripping with diamonds, rubies and gold. Silver slippers with red-velvet lining adorned with brass crescent and star came for the first lady from Hasan al-Rida al Sanusi, Crown Prince of the United Kingdom of Libya.

President of Egypt, Gamal Abdel-Nasser transported an ivory model of an ancient Egyptian barge with a serpent motif and a Damascened vase with bands of Arabic inscriptions, medallions, and ornamental work done in repousse with fine chasing.

Good that these gifts were saved from being auctioned; Jackie Kennedy gave them to the JFK museum. I wish she had left some of the personal memorabilia to the library as well. I would have enjoyed seeing things that belonged to the couple. The museum has nothing. And this is what makes it woefully bland, without a soul. We are told in her will, Jackie did ask the Museum to take whatever it wanted from their personal effects.

Why didn’t it? JFK’s rocking chair deserved a home at this museum, not in some unidentified buyer’s home, who bid $453,500 over the phone and bagged it! After their mother’s death, the two Kennedy kids asked Sotheby’s to sell everything. Even pillowcases! The auction hauled in $34.5 million! Of more than 5,000 bits of memorabilia, not a single item went unsold. California governor and billionaire Arnold Schwarzenegger, married to JFK’s niece, Maria Shriver, bought JFK’s MacGregor Woods golf clubs for $772,500, a Norman Rockwell painting of the president for $134,500, and a leather desk set for $189,500.

Another anonymous bidder paid $170,000 for JFK Jr’s high chair and that famous rocking horse we saw Caroline mount in the White House nursery.

Why should it break my heart if the signed portrait that Jackie brought in a silver frame when she came to Pakistan, got sold to a kabariwalla by someone in our house because he thought the woman peering out of the picture holding her chin in her hand had outlived its use! Maybe, there were big bucks to be made had the black and white photograph with her scrawl, had instead, wound up at the auctioneer’s block in New York!

Why do heirs trash history left behind by parents?