It's September 12, 1953 in Newport, Rhode Island.

A crowd of over 1200 cram into the Aachenklaus mansion on a 300 acre ocean-fronted state to

celebrate the marriage of Jacqueline Bouvie et John F. Kennedy or Jack, as he was called.

The guest list includes hundreds of senators, members of the house, prominent businessmen,

and high-profile celebrities.

As the bride and groom make the first cut into the ceremonial cake, a crowd erupts in

a roar of applause and cheers.

Joe Kennedy Sr., the father of the newly married groom, looks on from across the ballroom,

with eyes full of pride and a smile stretching from ear to ear.

As he watches Jack and his new bride serve slices of cake in exchange pleasantries with

their guests, a police officer emerges suddenly from the sieve people.

Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy, sir.

I need a moment of your time.

The officer is disheveled, sweating.

His policeman's cap is missing and his hair is tossed about.

Joe looks at him with concern.

Oh, God, what is it?

It's your son, sir.

It's Bouvie.

I think you should come with me.

What did he do now?

Perhaps he should tell you himself, sir.

...