Doris Kearns Goodwin recalls 1960s idealism in ‘An Unfinished Love Story’

Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Doris Kearns Goodwin worked for Lyndon B. Johnson early in her career. First, as a 24-year-old graduate student at Harvard, she won a spot in the prestigious White House Fellows program. Then, after Johnson’s presidency, she helped him draft his memoirs. 

Ms. Goodwin’s husband, Dick Goodwin, worked for President Johnson as an aide and speechwriter; he coined the term “Great Society” to describe LBJ’s domestic agenda. But Mr. Goodwin had worked for John F. Kennedy first, and he always considered himself a Kennedy man. 

Their divided loyalties were “a recurring irritant in our marriage,” Ms. Goodwin writes in “An Unfinished Love Story: A Personal History of the 1960s.” The book describes the project that consumed the couple in the years before Mr. Goodwin’s death in 2018. They combed through a vast trove of letters, diaries, and documents that he’d saved from his time working for JFK, LBJ, and Robert F. Kennedy. Ms. Goodwin recently spoke with Monitor about what she called “the great adventure of our lives.”

How did the book come about?

After he turned 80, Dick announced that it was time to open the 300 boxes that had traveled with us for almost 50 years. He’d been reluctant to explore them because of the way the ’60s had ended so sadly in terms of Martin Luther King’s and Bobby’s assassinations, the riots, the anti-war violence. But he said, “If I have any wisdom to dispense, I’d better start dispensing now.”

What was your husband most proud of?

Dick’s proudest moments were working on voting rights with LBJ. I loved hearing about what it was like for him to help write the [March 15, 1965, speech to Congress on voting rights]. I was listening to that speech when I was in graduate school. I could never have imagined that three years later I’d be working for the man who delivered the speech and 10 years later I’d marry the man who helped write it.

You had remarkable experiences as a young person. What stands out to you?

One would be the March on Washington. That was the first time I felt that sense of being part of something larger than myself. I was going to be studying international relations, and I got a Fulbright [scholarship] to go to Paris and Brussels. But there was too much happening in America. I decided to stay here and go to graduate school. Then, in the summer of ’65, I was an intern in my congressman’s office when all the Great Society legislation was passing. It was so exciting – we’d go out and celebrate every time one of the bills passed. After that, the experience of going to work for Johnson, helping him on his memoirs, is what made me a presidential historian. Only when you look back do you see that those are the turning points. At the time you don’t know exactly where you’re going.

President Johnson wanted you to live on his ranch full time after his presidency to help with his memoirs. Why did you insist on only being there half time? 

Unlike a lot of presidents, with LBJ you’re part of his family when you work for him, so it’s more than just leaving a boss – it’s leaving someone you’ve been intertwined with, who has enormous charisma and hold on you. I would say to myself, “Why am I not going [full time]?” Here’s a man who’s president, and I’m going to be studying the presidency. I had an extraordinary sense of comfort at the ranch. But I had a feeling, and I think Dick did too, that you need to have some independence from [LBJ]. 

How did your time at LBJ’s ranch affect your career?

I’m so glad I went. To be part of the daily activities ... it was pretty exciting. It became a foundational part of my career because my first book [“Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream” in 1976] was based in large part on our conversations. It led to my wanting to feel empathetic toward the people I wrote about, not judging them from the outside in. 

The Johnson administration’s deceptions over Vietnam led to a loss of trust not only in the president but also in government itself, which was tragic considering the early accomplishments of his administration. Do you see a connection between that period and today’s distrust of government?

The credibility problem that developed over the war in Vietnam was one of those markers when trust started diminishing, followed by [President Richard] Nixon and Watergate and all the things that happened after that. But the government is us, so it means the lack of trust in our own collective action as well. Maybe even more important than trusting the current people in government is trusting that you as the people have the capacity to change things. 

The ’60s are often remembered for violence and social turmoil. What else should we recall about the era?

It was a time when young people in particular felt they could make a difference. The Freedom Rides, the sit-ins, the marches – they changed the public sentiment of the country. People are saying now that we shouldn’t be looking at dark times, it’s not good for our young people, but the dark times also contain, as the ’60s did, extraordinary light. The country changed enormously for the better.