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As JFK once quipped on a visit to Paris (and then in Dallas), he was merely the man accompanying Mrs Kennedy.

There was the deliberate cultivation of the pageantry of glamour swirling around America’s first royal family – for example, through Jackie’s White House dinners attended by writers, artists and entertainers. One immediately thinks of the photo of Kennedy as President-elect arriving for Christmas mass with prayer book in hand at Palm Beach.

Most of all paterfamilias Joseph Kennedy whose money was made as a Wall Street and Hollywood mogul, the twin idols of the American dream (or twin Mammons, as the Tea Party would have it).

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If ever there was a man for whom the phrase “women wanted him and men wanted to be him” had been designed, it was JFK.

Complementing him in equal measure was the elegant thoroughbred stock of Jacqueline Bouvier, whose contribution to burnishing the image cannot be underestimated.

It was as if JFK had been born to be a statesman on the world stage.

He appeared becalmed at the height of the Cuban missile crisis as the world teetered on the brink of nuclear war, his unflappability complemented by the unruffled quiff, the unperturbed features, the insouciant charm of a Cary Grant, all mirroring the smooth unassailable trajectory from war hero to Senator to President.

His staff created the impression of warm, sweet and nice to people, reads a lot of books, a philosopher, and all that sort of thing.