The president was left slack-jawed but regained his wit, taking the stage with one intent: acknowledge but minimize. “I can now retire from politics,” he told the crowd, “having had ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to me in such a sweet, wholesome way.” He laughed. The crowd roared. Later that night, at the private afterparty in a clubby Manhattan room filled with mahogany bookshelves and important men, the only known photo of Bobby, Marilyn, and Jack was taken.
