What Eisenhower Said When He Learned About the Kennedy Assassination 

November 22nd, 1963, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Former President Dwight David Eisenhower sat in his study at his retirement farm, enjoying what should have been an ordinary Friday afternoon. The man who had commanded the Allied forces in World War II and led America for 8 years was now 73 years old, spending his days painting, playing golf, and writing his memoirs.

But in less than an hour, a phone call would shatter his peaceful retirement and reveal something profound about leadership, regret, and the burden of democratic governance. Shortly after news broke that President Kennedy had been shot, Eisenhower’s military aid and longtime assistant, Brigadier General Robert Schultz, informed him of the unfolding crisis.

According to Schultz’s later oral history testimony, the television networks had interrupted regular programming with emergency bulletins. Eisenhower immediately turned on his television set. Like millions of Americans, he waited in agonizing suspense for more information. The images coming through were chaotic, fragments of a nightmare unfolding in real time.

 What happened in the hours that followed would remain largely unknown for decades, hidden in the private papers and oral histories that have only recently come to light. This is the story of how Eisenhower reacted when he learned that his successor, a man he had complex feelings about, had been murdered. What those close to him witnessed reveals something deeper about the American presidency than almost any other moment in our history.

The relationship between Eisenhower and Kennedy had never been simple. When Kennedy took office in January 1961, Eisenhower was only 70 years old, one of the youngest men ever to leave the presidency. He had not wanted to retire. constitutional term limits forced him out. Kennedy at 43 was the youngest man ever elected president, a full generation younger than Eisenhower.

The contrast could not have been starker. Eisenhower represented the World War II generation, careful, deliberate, experienced in the machinery of global power. Kennedy represented something new, youth, vigor, what he called the new frontier. Their final meeting in the Oval Office on inauguration day had been professional but cold.

 Eisenhower briefed Kennedy on the most pressing national security issues, Laos, Cuba, Berlin, the nuclear standoff with the Soviet Union. According to White House records, the meeting lasted less than an hour. When Eisenhower left the White House that day, he believed Kennedy was unprepared for the challenges ahead. He had expressed these concerns to his staff.

The criticisms went both ways. During the 1960 campaign, Kennedy had attacked Eisenhower’s record, claiming America had fallen behind the Soviets in missile production, the so-called missile gap that would later prove to be fiction. Kennedy criticized Eisenhower’s handling of Cuba where Fidel Castro had taken power.

 He painted Eisenhower as out of touch, a man whose time had passed. These attacks troubled Eisenhower deeply. He had given his entire adult life to serving his country, and now he was being dismissed as obsolete. After Kennedy took office, the tensions only grew. In April 1961 came the Bay of Pigs invasion, the failed attempt to overthrow Castro using Cuban exiles trained by the CIA.

 Eisenhower had approved the initial planning for this operation during his presidency, but Kennedy inherited it and made the final decision to proceed. When it failed spectacularly, Kennedy publicly took responsibility. But privately, members of his administration suggested Eisenhower had left them with a flawed plan.

 Eisenhower believed Kennedy had compromised the operation by refusing to provide adequate air support at the critical moment. [snorts] Yet, something had shifted in the months before November 1963. Kennedy had called Eisenhower several times that year, seeking advice on nuclear test ban negotiations with the Soviets.

 The conversations were respectful, even warm. Eisenhower found himself impressed by Kennedy’s handling of the Cuban missile crisis in October 1962. Kennedy had shown steadiness under extreme pressure. The world brought to the brink of nuclear war and then pulled back through a combination of firmness and diplomacy.

 Eisenhower recognized something familiar in that moment. Perhaps he admitted to friends he had underestimated the young president. The two men had been scheduled to meet later that month. Kennedy wanted Eisenhower’s council on Vietnam, where American involvement was deepening. The meeting would never happen. Now sitting in his study, watching the television reports from Dallas, Eisenhower understood immediately the gravity of what was unfolding.

 He had commanded armies in war, understood crisis, knew how quickly order could collapse into chaos. If Kennedy had been shot, if there was a conspiracy, if this was the opening move in something larger, the entire constitutional order could be at risk. At 2:38 p.m. Easterntime, Walter Kankite appeared on CBS News.

 He removed his glasses, checked the clock on the wall, and announced that President Kennedy had died at 100 p.m. Central time. According to General Schultz later testimony, Eisenhower sat in silence for nearly a full minute. He simply stared at the television screen. Then he stood up, walked to the window overlooking his farm, and those present later recalled him expressing that what had been attacked was not just a man, but the presidency itself.

This distinction would prove important in understanding Eisenhower’s reaction. He immediately grasped that this was not merely a personal tragedy, but an assault on the institution itself. The office he had held, the office Washington and Lincoln had held, had been violated in the most fundamental way possible.

 The continuity of American democracy, which had survived wars, depressions, and civil conflict, now faced a test unlike any in the modern era. Eisenhower’s first instinct drew on his military training. He needed to know the defense posture, whether this was part of a larger attack, whether Soviet forces were mobilizing. He sought reassurances from Washington that the nation’s defenses were secure.

 The responses confirmed that all military commands were on high alert, but there were no signs of external attack. Early reports soon identified a suspect in Dallas, though much remained unclear in those first chaotic hours. But Eisenhower was not easily satisfied. He knew too much about how the world worked, about intelligence operations and geopolitics.

He had approved sensitive operations during his presidency, understood that the surface narrative was not always the complete story. He wanted more information. What had happened? How had security failed so catastrophically? Who was responsible? Then came the second wave of calls. Eisenhower’s phone began ringing constantly.

 Former cabinet members, military commanders, political leaders, all seeking guidance from the old general. What should they do? What did this mean? Eisenhower’s answers were consistent. Support Lynden Johnson. Maintain calm. trust the institutions. But in private, with only his closest aids present, he expressed deeper concerns about what this moment meant for American democracy.

According to John Eisenhower, the former president’s son, who arrived at the farm that evening, his father reflected on Kennedy’s development as president. The younger Eisenhower later recounted his father saying that Kennedy had been learning the job, growing into the immense responsibilities, and now that growth had been cut short.

 The words carried multiple layers of meaning. Regret that he had not been more supportive. Recognition that Kennedy’s potential would never be fully realized and something more personal. An acknowledgment that he Eisenhower bore some responsibility for the political climate that had led to this moment. What Eisenhower meant by that last point became clearer in conversations over the following days.

 He had watched the rise of extremism in American politics during the late 1950s and early 1960s. Radical groups had accused him of being a communist agent. Right-wing movements in Texas and other southern states viewed Kennedy as a traitor for his positions on civil rights and Soviet relations. Eisenhower had largely remained silent about these groups, believing they represented a fringe that would fade away.

 Now he questioned whether his silence had been appropriate had he underestimated the danger of political hatred left unchecked. The historical record shows that extremist rhetoric had intensified in the years leading up to 1963. Political discourse had become increasingly venomous. Presidents had been criticized before, but the language used against Kennedy, particularly in certain regions, went beyond normal political opposition.

 Eisenhower, reviewing this climate in the wake of the assassination, recognized that leaders of his generation had failed to adequately condemn such extremism. On November 23rd, Eisenhower wrote a personal letter to Jacqueline Kennedy. The letter, now housed in the Eisenhower Presidential Library, is remarkable for its emotion.

 Eisenhower was known as a reserved man, uncomfortable with displays of sentiment, but his words to Mrs. Kennedy were heartfelt. He wrote of his shock and grief, described Kennedy as a man of courage, and expressed regret that he had not made clearer during Kennedy’s lifetime his admiration for his leadership. He added something particularly significant.

 In recent months, he had come to value Kennedy’s judgment and to respect his dedication to peace. This was as close as Eisenhower would come to acknowledging publicly that his earlier criticisms might have been too harsh. He recognized that history would remember him as Kennedy’s critic, and he wanted the record to show that his views had evolved.

 But the letter also revealed Eisenhower’s concern about national stability. He urged Mrs. Kennedy totrust in the strength of American institutions, a message clearly intended for the broader public that would eventually read these words. Behind the scenes, Eisenhower played a crucial role in those first chaotic days after the assassination.

 Lynden Johnson, suddenly president, desperately needed the support of the Republican party to maintain national unity. Johnson called Eisenhower on November 23rd in a conversation that lasted approximately 20 minutes. According to presidential records and aid Jack Valente’s later recollections, Johnson emerged from the call visibly relieved.

 Eisenhower had pledged his complete support and had agreed to make public statements emphasizing continuity and stability. The transition of power, though sudden and tragic, proceeded smoothly. This was in large part because senior leaders like Eisenhower immediately rallied around the new president. Eisenhower understood that in moments of crisis, partisanship must give way to patriotism.

 He had learned this lesson during World War II when military success required subordinating personal and political differences to the larger mission. Now he applied that same principle to the preservation of democratic governance. More significantly, Eisenhower supported the creation of the Warren Commission, the body established to investigate Kennedy’s assassination.

 Though he was not a member of the commission itself, Eisenhower advised its members privately and lent his credibility to its work. His military background and experience with intelligence matters made him a valuable resource. Chief Justice Earl Warren and other commissioners consulted with him on questions of security and investigative procedure.

 What Eisenhower learned during these consultations troubled him. The security failures that had allowed the assassination to happen were egregious. The protective measures surrounding the presidential motorcade in Dallas had been inadequate. Intelligence agencies had information about threats that was not properly communicated.

 The breakdown in coordination suggested either massive incompetence or systemic dysfunction. Privately, Eisenhower acknowledged to commission members that absolute certainty in such cases is rare, but he believed national stability required a clear conclusion based on the available evidence. This was a delicate balance. Eisenhower understood the need for thorough investigation, but he also recognized that prolonged uncertainty could undermine public confidence in government.

 The tension between these imperatives, between finding complete truth and maintaining social order, would haunt the Warren Commission’s work and the historical debate that followed. In the days after the funeral, Eisenhower reflected more deeply on his relationship with Kennedy. In conversations with close friends and family members documented in their later memoirs and oral histories, he returned repeatedly to themes of missed opportunity and generational responsibility.

He had represented one era of American leadership. Kennedy had represented the next. The transition should have been collaborative, a passing of wisdom and experience. Instead, it had been marked by criticism and distance. Eisenhower began to see Kennedy’s assassination not just as a political tragedy, but as a failure of his own generation.

 The World War II generation had defeated fascism abroad, but had not adequately prepared the ground for their successors at home. They had not sufficiently condemned extremism. They had not built bridges across political divides. They had not modeled the kind of constructive opposition that democracy requires. These were harsh self-judgments, but they reflected Eisenhower’s character.

 He held himself to exacting standards. The funeral on November 25th, 1963 brought these emotions into sharp focus. The weather was cold and gray. Eisenhower stood among world leaders, including Charles de Gaulle, watching as Kennedy was laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetery. Witnesses later reported that Eisenhower was visibly moved during the ceremony, showing emotion rarely seen in public from the reserved former general.

 When asked about this later, according to his grandson, David Eisenhower’s memoir, the former president said he was grieving for the country itself. That phrase captures something essential about Eisenhower’s reaction. This was not primarily personal grief, though he felt that too. It was civic grief. Grief for what the assassination represented.

About America’s capacity for political violence, about the fragility of democratic institutions, about the loss of potential that Kennedy’s death represented. In the weeks and months that followed, Eisenhower took on a more public role in addressing political extremism. He gave speeches warning against the kind of hatred that had poisoned political discourse.

 He wrote op-eds calling for respect for democratic institutions and civil debate. He urged Americans to supportPresident Johnson regardless of their political affiliation. Some observers saw this as Eisenhower’s way of atoning for his earlier silence. Others saw it as the natural wisdom of age.

 But those closest to him believed it was something more specific, a recognition that he could have done more to support Kennedy when he was alive and a determination not to repeat that mistake. Eisenhower also became more vocal in his support for Kennedy’s major policy initiatives. He publicly endorsed the limited nuclear test ban treaty signed in 1963 which prohibited nuclear weapons tests in the atmosphere, outer space, and underwater.

 This was a cause Kennedy had championed, and Eisenhower saw supporting it as a way of honoring Kennedy’s legacy. He also spoke more favorably about Kennedy’s handling of civil rights issues, recognizing that the young president had shown moral courage in confronting American racism. This evolution in Eisenhower’s public stance reflected genuine changes in his thinking.

 He had initially viewed Kennedy as too idealistic, too willing to promise more than could be delivered. But Kennedy’s death forced Eisenhower to reconsider. Perhaps idealism had its place. Perhaps the next generation’s approach, less cautious than his own, was what the moment required. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge. Years later, in oral history interviews conducted in 1967 and preserved at the Eisenhower Presidential Library, Eisenhower reflected more openly on Kennedy’s death and his own reaction.

 He admitted that his initial coolness toward Kennedy had been partly personal, a natural resentment when one leader is replaced by another. But he also offered a more philosophical observation. He said that hearing of Kennedy’s death had prompted him to think not just about an individual, but about what it means when a society turns to political violence.

What does it say about a nation’s character? What does it reveal about the health of its institutions? These questions had haunted Eisenhower throughout his life. He had lived through the aftermath of Lincoln’s assassination, studied it as a military historian, understood how it had poisoned American politics for a generation.

 He feared the Kennedy assassination would produce similar long-term damage, and in many ways, his fears proved precient. The conspiracy theories, the loss of faith in government institutions, the polarization that followed, all of it traced back to that moment in Dallas. But Eisenhower also saw something else in Kennedy’s death, a reminder of how precious and fragile Democratic leadership truly is.

 Leaders make mistakes. They deserve criticism, but they also deserve support in carrying out the impossible task of governing a free society. The office of the presidency, regardless of who holds it, represents something larger than any individual. It embodies the continuity of constitutional government, the peaceful transfer of power, the collective will of the people expressed through democratic institutions.

In his final memoir, At Ease: Stories I tell to friends, published in 1967, Eisenhower devoted several pages to reflecting on Kennedy. He wrote that whatever their political differences, he and Kennedy had shared a commitment to the survival of free government. Kennedy’s death, he observed, reminded him that this commitment requires constant vigilance, not just against foreign enemies, but against forces of hatred and extremism within American society itself.

 This was Eisenhower at his most candid. He acknowledged that he had not always lived up to this principle. He had sometimes allowed political differences to overshadow shared values. He had sometimes prioritized partisan criticism over national unity. These were not easy admissions for a proud man to make. But Eisenhower believed they needed to be said.

 The relationship between Eisenhower and Kennedy, complicated in life, became strangely clarified in death. Eisenhower had been given something many of Kennedy’s critics never received. Time to reconsider, time to acknowledge growth, time to express respect. He used that time well. His public statements after the assassination consistently praised Kennedy’s courage and dedication.

 His private letters, now available to historians, show genuine regret about opportunities missed for cooperation. What makes Eisenhower’s reaction so significant is what it reveals about the presidency itself. Only someone who has held that office can fully understand its burdens, its isolation, its impossibility.

Eisenhower had criticized Kennedy’s decisions. But when Kennedy fell, Eisenhower understood viscerally what had been lost. Not just a man, but everything that man carried. the secrets, the pressures, the knowledge of being ultimately responsible for the nation’s survival. In the years after Kennedy’s death, Eisenhower became increasingly concerned about the tone of American political discourse.

 He watched as the Vietnam War divided the nation as civil rightsstruggles turned violent as trust in government eroded. He worried that the assassination had been a turning point, a moment when Americans lost faith in the possibility of peaceful political change. He spoke often about the need to preserve democratic norms, to respect opposition, to remember that political opponents are not enemies.

 These concerns took on added urgency as Eisenhower’s own health declined. He suffered a series of heart attacks in the late 1960s and knew his time was limited. He wanted to leave a message for future generations about the importance of democratic citizenship. In interviews, in public appearances during his final years, he returned repeatedly to the lessons of Kennedy’s assassination.

Support your leaders even when you disagree with them. Condemn extremism wherever you find it. Remember that democratic institutions are fragile and require constant care. The final documented reflection on what Eisenhower said when he learned of Kennedy’s death comes from a conversation he had with his grandson David in 1968.

David Eisenhower, engaged to Julie Nixon at the time, was visiting his grandfather at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, where the former president was recovering from another heart attack. The families were discussing the 1968 presidential campaign and the political turbulence of that year. Someone mentioned Kennedy’s assassination and how it had changed American politics.

According to David Eisenhower’s memoir, Going Home to Glory, published in 2010, the elder Eisenhower was quiet for a moment, then said something revealing. He expressed regret that he had spent years being critical of a man who was doing his best to serve the country. He wished he had been more helpful, more supportive.

 This admission, simple and direct, cuts through all the complexity of their relationship. Eisenhower, the great military strategist, confessed that he had failed in a different kind of task, the task of supporting democratic leadership, even when you disagree with specific policies. It was a lesson learned painfully, but a lesson nonetheless, and it stands as a challenge to every generation of Americans.

 When leaders fall, we lose not just individuals but possibilities, paths not taken, wisdom never fully shared. The office of the presidency with all its power and symbolism ultimately depends on the support and respect of the citizens it serves. Without that support, democracy itself becomes vulnerable. November 22nd, 1963 marked a dividing line in American history.

 For Dwight Eisenhower, it was the day he learned that the presidency he had once held was more vulnerable than he had imagined, and that supporting that institution mattered more than any political disagreement. His reaction, his words, his visible grief, all testified to a fundamental truth about democratic governance. In attacking our leaders, even when we oppose their policies, we risk attacking the very institutions that make freedom possible.

 Eisenhower lived long enough to see some of the long-term consequences of Kennedy’s assassination. He watched as conspiracy theories proliferated, as trust in government declined, as political violence became more common. He died in March 1969, just over 5 years after Kennedy, carrying with him the weight of these observations.

 His final years were marked by a profound concern for American democracy’s future and a deep regret that his generation had not done more to prevent the climate that led to Dallas. The story of what Eisenhower said when he learned about Kennedy’s assassination is ultimately a story about the burden of leadership and the responsibility of citizenship.

It reminds us that presidents, whatever their flaws, carry weights we can barely imagine. It challenges us to consider how we speak about our leaders, how we conduct political opposition, how we balance criticism with support for democratic institutions. These questions remain as urgent today as they were in 1963.

This video presents historical events based on documented sources, including presidential libraries, oral histories, published memoirs, archived correspondents, and scholarly works. All statements are drawn from these credible historical records. Historical interpretations may vary among scholars and historians.

 Viewers are encouraged to consult multiple sources for study. This video is intended for educational purposes.