The lobotomy may have subdued Rosemary, but it had destroyed her life. She was transferred to a care facility by her father, and for the next 20 years, her family claimed they had no idea where she was. During John F. Kennedy’s presidential campaign, they claimed she was simply reclusive. Only after JFK’s election did they reveal that Rosemary was institutionalized—and they didn’t admit it was because of a lobotomy.
Rosemary’s ordeal “was the fuel that powered the engine that was Eunice Kennedy Shriver,” historian Eileen McNamara told the PBS News Hour. “I think there was some guilt that she was complicit in some way in letting Rosemary languish far from home.” When Joe had a stroke in 1961, Eunice brought Rosemary back into the family and began to pressure her brother to include intellectual disabilities in his policy platforms.
She also became increasingly aware of the impact of intellectual disabilities on other families. In the early 1960s, a woman who was aware of Eunice’s advocacy work for people with intellectual disabilities asked her what to do about her child, who had been rejected from summer camp because he had mental retardation.
“I said, ‘You don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Eunice later recalled. “You come here a month from today. I’ll start my own camp. No charge to go into the camp, but you have to get your kid here, and you have to come and pick your kid up.’” She set up the camp at Timberlawn, a Kennedy property in Maryland, and called it Camp Shriver.
For four years, she invited children with intellectual and other disabilities to her house, free of charge, recruited local high school students to act as counselors, and provided lessons and recreational activities. Children who had always been excluded from group activities thrived in the accepting environment, and Eunice was encouraged by their progress. “I suppose the fact that I had seen my sister swim like a deer—in swimming races—and do very, very well just always made me think that [people with disabilities] could do everything.”
Meanwhile, Eunice went public with her sister’s struggle. “We are just coming out of the dark ages in our handling of this serious national problem,” shewrote in the Saturday Evening Post in 1962. “Twenty years ago, when my sister entered an institution, it was most unusual for anyone to discuss this problem in terms of hope. But the weary fatalism of those days is no longer justified.” Though Eunice did not mention the lobotomy in the article, it is widely considered to have been a watershed for public awareness of the largely dismissed lives of people with disabilities.