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On April 27, 1961, John F. Kennedy's plane touched down at LaGuardia Airport.

It was his first visit to New York since becoming president. He stepped off the aircraft and

slid into a black limousine, which whisked him to his suite at the Carlisle on Madison Avenue.

Hours later, a police motorcade accompanied Kennedy South to the Waldorf Astoria. Outside the hotel, more than

3,000 people jammed Park Avenue to greet the new leader of the free world. It was press

week in New York, an annual gathering of more than 1,200 editors, publishers, and newspaper executives.

President Kennedy had come to the Waldorf that evening to address the American Newspaper Publishers Association.

His appearance was especially newsworthy.

One week earlier, U.S.-backed forces had flown the white flag in Cuba.

The Bay of Pigs invasion may have failed to topple the communist government of Fidel Castro,

but it did succeed in escalating the Cold War, a major foreign policy blunder just months into Kennedy's term.

Dressed in white tie, Kennedy approached the lectern in the Waldorf's dazzling grand ballroom.

His speech was titled, The President and the Press. Some may suggest that this would

be more naturally worded, the president versus the press, but those are not my sentiments tonight.

Instead, Kennedy said he had a more sober topic to discuss. But I do ask every publisher, every editor, and every newsman in the nation to re-examine his own

standards and to recognize the nature of our country's peril. In time of war, the government

and the press have customarily joined in an effort, based largely

on self-discipline to prevent unauthorized disclosures to the enemy.

In times of clear and present danger, the courts have held that even the privileged rights

of the First Amendment must yield to the public's need for national security.

These were perilous times, as evidenced by the situation in Cuba.

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