History is usually written by the winners, but the best parts are often whispered by the bodyguards. If you’ve spent any time falling down the rabbit hole of 1960s Camelot lore, you’ve probably stumbled across two names that sound more like cartoon characters or a brand of popcorn than high-stakes political players: Fiddle and Faddle.
They weren't spies. They weren't Soviet plants.
Actually, they were two young women—Priscilla Wear and Jill Cowen—who worked in the White House press office. But to the Secret Service, and eventually to the gossiping hallways of Washington D.C., they were the physical embodiment of John F. Kennedy’s complicated, reckless, and deeply hidden private life. Honestly, the story of Fiddle and Faddle JFK isn't just about infidelity; it’s a window into how much the world has changed since 1962. Back then, the "gentleman’s agreement" between the press and the presidency wasn't just a suggestion. It was a wall.
Who Were Fiddle and Faddle?
Priscilla Wear (Fiddle) and Jill Cowen (Faddle) weren't hired for their nicknames. They were legitimate staffers. Wear was a charming, somewhat older assistant to Evelyn Lincoln, JFK’s longtime personal secretary. Cowen was younger, working in the press pool. They were fixtures. You’d see them in the background of photos, or heading toward the pool for a mid-day dip.
The Secret Service gave them these rhyming mononyms because they were omnipresent. If the President was heading to the pool, Fiddle and Faddle were often already there. If he was taking a "nap" in the middle of a high-tension day during the Cuban Missile Crisis, these two were frequently the ones slipping through the side doors of the Oval Office.
It’s wild to think about now.
Imagine a modern president having two staffers whose primary unofficial duty was skinny-dipping in the White House pool while the leader of the free world took a break. It sounds like a bad political thriller, but for the Kennedy administration, it was just Tuesday. Reporters knew. The Secret Service definitely knew—they were the ones radioing the codes. Even Jackie Kennedy knew, which is perhaps the most stinging part of the whole saga.
The Secret Service and the Codename Culture
The men in the trench coats had a job to do, and that job was protection, not moral policing. To the agents on the detail, the President was "Lancer." Jackie was "Lace." The kids, Caroline and John Jr., were "Lyric" and "Lark." Everything was an L-word.
But Fiddle and Faddle were different. They didn't get "L" names because they weren't family. They were "baggage," in the parlance of the security detail—extra variables that had to be managed.
Agents like Larry Newman and Clint Hill have spoken over the years, sometimes in hushed tones and sometimes in candid memoirs, about the logistical nightmare of JFK's extracurriculars. They had to keep track of where the First Lady was at all times to ensure "Lace" didn't walk in on "Fiddle." It wasn't just about protecting a life; it was about protecting an image.
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The nickname "Fiddle and Faddle" itself feels almost dismissive. It captures the breezy, casual way the Kennedy circle treated these women. They were accessories to the vibe of the New Frontier.
Life in the "Fishbowl"
Working in the White House in the early sixties was basically living in a high-pressure aquarium. Everyone was watching, yet nobody was talking. Jill Cowen and Priscilla Wear were well-liked by their peers. They weren't seen as "femmes fatales" or dangerous manipulators. They were just... there.
There’s a famous story—documented in several biographies, including those by Barbara Leaming and Sally Bedell Smith—about Jackie Kennedy walking through the halls with a French reporter. They passed Priscilla Wear. Jackie, with that breathy, soft-spoken poise that defined her, allegedly whispered in French, "That’s the girl who's sleeping with my husband."
She said it like she was pointing out a piece of furniture.
That kind of stoicism is hard to wrap your head around today. You've got to wonder what Wear and Cowen thought. Did they feel powerful? Or were they just caught in the orbit of a man who was arguably the most charismatic person on the planet? Most accounts suggest they were fiercely loyal. They didn't run to the tabloids. They didn't write "tell-all" books in 1965. They stayed in the shadows, even as their nicknames became part of the permanent JFK lexicon.
Why the Fiddle and Faddle JFK Story Persists
We’re obsessed with this because it highlights the duality of the era. On one hand, you have the Space Race, the Cold War, and the Civil Rights movement. Serious business. On the other hand, you have the "Midday Pool Parties."
JFK suffered from debilitating back pain. We know this now. We’ve seen the medical records, the X-rays, the rocking chairs. He used the White House pool for therapy. It was heated to a specific temperature to soothe his muscles. But the pool wasn't just a clinic. It was a social hub.
According to several accounts from White House dogsbodies and security staff, the atmosphere was often surprisingly informal. The President would strip down, jump in, and Fiddle and Faddle would be right there with him. It was a weirdly intimate, semi-public display of infidelity that everyone simply agreed to ignore.
The Press Corps Silence
You have to ask: Why didn't the New York Times or the Washington Post run with this?
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Because the rules were different. Back then, a politician’s private life was considered off-limits unless it interfered with their ability to govern. And by all accounts, Kennedy was a workaholic who thrived on the chaos. The press liked him. He gave them access. He was funny. He was one of them.
If a modern reporter saw "Fiddle" sneaking into the private residence, it would be on X (formerly Twitter) in thirty seconds. In 1962, it didn't even make the morning notes.
The Logistics of a White House Affair
Managing the presence of Fiddle and Faddle required a level of synchronization that would make a Swiss watchmaker jealous. The Secret Service used their radio frequencies to coordinate movements.
"Lace is on the move."
That was the signal. If Jackie was returning from Glen Ora (their country estate) or coming back from a trip to New York, the "entertainment" had to be cleared out. Fast.
It’s been reported that Wear and Cowen were sometimes whisked out of side exits or hidden in offices until the coast was clear. It’s a bit pathetic when you step back and look at it. Two professional women, regardless of their choices, being treated like contraband because the leader of the Western world couldn't—or wouldn't—control his impulses.
Misconceptions About the Duo
A lot of people think Fiddle and Faddle were the only ones. Not even close.
The list is long: Judith Exner (the mob connection), Mimi Alford (the intern), Mary Pinchot Meyer (the artist), and of course, the rumors about Marilyn Monroe.
What makes Fiddle and Faddle different is their "ordinariness." They weren't stars. They weren't connected to the Chicago Outfit. They were office workers. They represented the "internal" nature of JFK’s habits. It wasn't always a grand, sweeping romance with a Hollywood starlet; often, it was just the people in the room.
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Were They Friends?
Interestingly, Jill Cowen and Priscilla Wear were actually friends with each other. They formed a sort of two-person club. They shared the secret, shared the nicknames, and shared the risk. In the hyper-competitive environment of the Kennedy White House, having a confidant who understood the specific weirdness of your situation was probably the only thing that kept them sane.
The Legacy of the Codename
After the tragedy in Dallas in 1963, the world of Fiddle and Faddle evaporated. The Johnson administration brought a very different vibe to the White House. The "Camelot" crowd dispersed.
Jill Cowen eventually moved on, rarely speaking about her time in the administration. Priscilla Wear similarly faded into private life. They didn't cash in. They didn't become professional "exes." In a way, they took the "gentleman’s agreement" to their graves.
But their names remain. They are the footnotes that remind us that JFK was a human being—flawed, reckless, and deeply complex. He wasn't the saint the media portrayed after his death, but he also wasn't a one-dimensional villain. He was a man who lived at a hundred miles per hour and expected the world to keep up.
Understanding the New Frontier
To truly understand the Fiddle and Faddle JFK connection, you have to look at the power dynamics of the era. It was a time of immense male privilege, especially in the halls of power.
Women in the 1960s workplace were often categorized by their proximity to powerful men. Wear and Cowen were smart, capable individuals, yet history remembers them by nicknames given to them by men who were watching them through binoculars. That’s a heavy legacy to carry.
It also tells us something about the Secret Service. Their loyalty was to the office and the man, not necessarily the truth. They saw the "fiddle" and the "faddle," and they kept their mouths shut for decades. It wasn't until the 1990s and 2000s, when the "greatest generation" started to pass away, that the full details of these arrangements began to leak into the mainstream.
Practical Insights: How to Research JFK History
If you're looking to dig deeper into the actual documentation of this era, don't just look for "conspiracy" websites. The real gold is in the memoirs.
- Read "Mrs. Kennedy and Me" by Clint Hill. He was Jackie’s primary protector and provides a nuanced, respectful, yet honest look at the family dynamics.
- Check out "Once Upon a Secret" by Mimi Alford. While she wasn't Fiddle or Faddle, her account of being a young staffer in that environment provides the best context for what life was like for the women in JFK's circle.
- Look into the JFK Library archives. While they don't have a folder labeled "Affairs," the daily logs show exactly who was in the White House and when. You can see the names of Jill Cowen and Priscilla Wear appearing in the guest lists and staff rosters.
- Study the Secret Service memoirs. Books by agents like Jerry Blaine and Larry Newman offer a look at the "code" culture that created these nicknames.
The story of Fiddle and Faddle isn't just a piece of gossip. It’s a piece of political history that explains the breakdown of trust between the presidency and the public that would eventually culminate in Watergate. Once the "gentleman's agreement" died, the era of the secret codename died with it.
Today, there are no Fiddles or Faddles. There are only leaks, subpoenas, and 24-hour news cycles. Whether that's an improvement is up for debate, but it certainly makes for a less colorful White House.
If you want to understand the Kennedy years, you have to look past the speeches and the space rockets. You have to look at the people standing just outside the frame of the photograph—the ones with the funny nicknames and the heavy secrets. That’s where the real history lives.