Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

by Clint Hill

  This intense interest by the public was also one of the biggest problems Agent Jeffries and I had to contend with in terms of protection. Whenever we took her anywhere, she’d immediately be recognized, and before we knew it there would be a swarm of people gawking, and often approaching her to shake her hand. She would smile graciously and offer a polite greeting, but as soon as we were alone, she’d quip, “You’d think I was somebody important, for heaven’s sake.”

  She didn’t enjoy being the center of attention in these situations, and I quickly realized that one of the best ways for me to protect her, and to gain her confidence in me, was to come up with creative ways for her to do the things she wanted, with as much privacy as possible.

  Getting exercise in some form—preferably outdoors—was something that was important to Mrs. Kennedy. She really enjoyed, and seemed to need, a certain amount of physical activity each day. She didn’t have a set schedule, but she would take walks in the various parks, and through the streets of Georgetown. I knew she had previously had one miscarriage and had also delivered a stillborn child, and it was obvious that she was cautious to not overexert herself. In those first days I tried to remain close, but unobtrusive, rarely initiating conversation, but allowing her to take the lead. I wasn’t there to be a friend—my job was to protect her.

  One day we walked down Thirty-fourth Street toward the Potomac River, just a couple of blocks from the Kennedys’ home, to the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal towpath. This gravel trail was situated down a steep set of stairs built into the bank alongside the canal, which parallels the Potomac. Heavily wooded and very secluded, the path was quiet and peaceful—a slice of nature hidden from the noise and bustle of the city—and it soon became our route of choice. Usually it would be just the two of us, unless Caroline and Maud Shaw came along, and it was on these walks that both of us began to let our guards down with each other.

  She set the pace and, although she was pregnant, she had excellent posture. She walked very erect, with a brisk yet cautious stride.

  “Mr. Hill,” she explained, “I have to take it somewhat easy because of my pregnancy, as my doctor has advised me. But I need to get as much exercise as possible to maintain my strength, and I do think that being in the fresh air is so good for one’s well-being.”

  Most of the time the path was wide enough for us to walk side by side, but at times it would narrow and I would allow her to walk ahead, while I walked behind, constantly scanning our surroundings. This allowed me to see what was happening in front of us yet also be in a position to protect her from behind.

  I never initiated conversation, but waited for her to take the lead. Sometimes we would walk for a while in silence and then she’d suddenly say something like, “My, the river is really flowing today. Isn’t that a lovely sound?”

  She was very aware of her surroundings and appreciative of nature—the sound of the birds, the changing colors of the leaves, the rush of the river. I, too, enjoyed being outdoors, but she made me more aware of the aesthetics of our surroundings. It was as if she were walking in a living painting, conscious of how the colors and textures worked together.

  She was also very curious as to how the Secret Service operated and how it would impact her life. She had endless questions about protocol and what kinds of things needed to be cleared by the Secret Service. This was all new to her and I got the feeling that, while she didn’t like the fact that she could no longer go anywhere alone, if she had to be with someone, I was acceptable company.

  There was a continuous flow of people in and out of the residence as decisions were made regarding the selection of the new White House staff. We as agents had to learn who these people were and for what position they were being considered. This was the first change of administration I had witnessed, and I found it very interesting to watch how various people jockeyed for the prime positions.

  The first two weeks went by quite rapidly as I settled into somewhat of a routine with my new assignment. The more time Mrs. Kennedy and I spent together, the more comfortable our relationship became. I sensed that she was slowly beginning to trust me and I was beginning to realize that she was not going to be a first lady who was going to merely stand in the shadows of her husband.

  The day after the election, President-elect Kennedy had flown directly to Palm Beach, Florida, where his father had an oceanfront estate, to focus on the transition and selection of his cabinet and staff. Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennedy, despite being eight months pregnant, was handling a myriad of decisions and new responsibilities, with the world watching, and she appeared to be fearless. I was impressed not only with her capabilities, but also the fact that she was dealing with all of this completely on her own.

  On Wednesday, November 23, the president-elect returned to Washington to spend Thanksgiving with his wife and daughter, and I met John F. Kennedy for the first time.

  “Jack,” Mrs. Kennedy said to her husband, “this is Mr. Hill.”

  He was slightly taller than me, but had a thin, somewhat lanky frame. He had clearly spent time in the sun, as his face was tanned. But the thing you noticed most were his eyes and his smile. He had captivating blue eyes, blue as the ocean, and when he looked at you, it was like he scooped you into his universe, paying attention to you and you alone in that moment. He immediately reached out his hand and gave me a firm, vigorous handshake.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Clint,” he said as an infectious grin spread across his cheeks. “Jackie tells me you are a devoted walker and that she has been well taken care of these past couple of weeks. I do appreciate it.”

  He spoke with enthusiasm and sincerity, his words rolling out in that unmistakable Boston accent so quickly that you really had to pay attention.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President-elect,” I said.

  Caroline would turn three years old on November 27 and he had brought some wrapped gifts, along with a rather unique present for his daughter, for an early birthday celebration. The nine-year-old daughter of a West Palm Beach city councilman had given him a cage containing two live white ducks to present to Caroline for her birthday, and he had brought them back to Washington, eager as could be to see his daughter’s reaction. Those ducks were just the beginning of what would be a never-ending flow of animals into the Kennedy household.

  Even in that brief meeting, I got a sense of John F. Kennedy, and it was easy to see how he had been able to connect with the voters. He was energetic, friendly, a people person. And charming as hell. But I also saw a man who really cared about his family as well as the people around them. I liked him, and I knew from that first meeting that this was going to be a very interesting administration to work with and observe.

  The next day, the family had their Thanksgiving dinner early in the afternoon. In addition to a traditional Thanksgiving menu of turkey, bread stuffing, creamed onions, string beans, and both apple and pumpkin pies for dessert, Pearl Nelson, the Kennedys’ cook, made homemade clam chowder, a family favorite. The smells coming from the kitchen made my stomach growl, but as an agent, that is something you get used to. You might dress up in a tuxedo to attend a black-tie dinner with the president, but you are there to do a job, not partake in the wining, dining, and socializing.

  I remained on the residence perimeter, along with the agents on the president-elect detail, guaranteeing a safe environment in which the Kennedy family could enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday in peace.

  I had thought the president-elect would stay in Washington to meet with various people about the transition, as well as be there for Mrs. Kennedy in her last few weeks before the birth of their child, so I was surprised to learn that he was actually returning to Palm Beach for another week or so. The plan was that he would come back in mid-December prior to Mrs. Kennedy’s due date, for which there was a planned Caesarean section. It seemed an odd arrangement, since most of the people he was interviewing for cabinet and staff positions were based in Washington. It wasn’t my business, but I felt empathy for
Mrs. Kennedy.

  At 8:25 P.M. Thanksgiving evening, the president left to return to Florida on the Kennedys’ family plane, the Caroline. The Caroline was a twin-engine Convair 240 that had originally been used as a commercial plane with seating for about forty-four passengers. Bought by Ambassador Joseph Kennedy in 1959, it had been customized so that it had living-room style seating, along with an actual bed, and could still accommodate fifteen to twenty passengers. The Caroline was the first private plane to ever be used by a candidate in a presidential election, and it had allowed Jack Kennedy great freedom to effectively campaign all around the country. It wasn’t nearly as fast as a jet aircraft, but the plane was a comfortable and convenient way for Kennedy to commute between Washington and Palm Beach.

  Once the president-elect had departed, Mrs. Kennedy advised me she was not planning to leave the house. With the field agents posted outside the residence, I went home to my two-bedroom apartment in Arlington, hoping my wife might have left me some turkey, stuffing, and gravy in the refrigerator.

  A couple of hours later, I had just got into bed when the phone rang.

  It was Jeffries. “Clint, Mrs. Kennedy was having labor pains and has been rushed to Georgetown Hospital in an ambulance. Get over there as fast as you can.”

  Oh God.

  The baby wasn’t due until December 15. The president was en route to Florida. Mrs. Kennedy had already lost two babies. I jumped in my car and raced to the hospital.

  When I arrived, Jeffries informed me that Mrs. Kennedy had been taken to a fourth-floor surgical room, where her personal obstetrician, Dr. John Walsh, was performing the Caesarean section—nearly three weeks early.

  “The president-elect is on his way back,” Jeffries said. “We got the word to him just as he landed in Palm Beach and it was decided he should come back on the press plane to get here faster.”

  The press had chartered a four-engine DC-6 to follow Kennedy to Palm Beach, and it could make the return trip at least thirty minutes quicker than the Caroline.

  While Jeffries made phone calls and helped coordinate the logistics for the president-elect’s arrival, I waited outside the door of the operating room as the procedure went on, pacing as if I were the father to be, anxious for the outcome.

  I had missed the birth of my firstborn son, Chris, because when I took my wife, Gwen, to the hospital when she went into labor, I was told it would be a number of hours yet before the baby would arrive. As it turned out, I got a call in the middle of the night that my wife had delivered a baby boy, and there were complications, requiring him to have a blood transfusion. I knew the anxiety President-elect Kennedy must have been feeling on that long flight back to Washington. Knowing the difficulty Mrs. Kennedy had had with her earlier pregnancies, I was concerned, and hoped to God that both she and the baby would be all right.

  I hadn’t been there too long when the door opened, and a nurse walked out.

  “Sir, I’m supervisory nurse Mrs. Robinson. I’m pleased to tell you that the delivery was successful. At 12:22 A.M., Mrs. Kennedy delivered a six-pound three-ounce baby boy and both mother and child are doing fine. Since he is premature, however, the baby is being placed in an incubator as a precautionary measure.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, just as Agent Jeffries walked toward us.

  “It’s a boy,” I said with a smile. “Nurse Robinson says that Mrs. Kennedy and the baby are both doing fine.”

  Just then another nurse came out of the operating room holding the baby, swaddled in a blanket.

  The nurse said, “I’m taking him to the incubator now.”

  As Agent Jeffries went with the nurse and the baby, I caught a glimpse of the new member of the Kennedy family, his perfectly shaped face, his eyes closed, completely oblivious that he was the son of the future president of the United States.

  Then the realization hit me: we had a new person to protect and to worry about. More responsibility, the need for more people. The baby was the first child to ever be born to a president-elect. Another new challenge for the Secret Service and me—an infant in the White House.

  President-elect Kennedy arrived about 4:30 in the morning. He first went in to see his wife, who was sleeping and still under sedation, and then to see his son for the first time. He was ecstatic—a father again, but this time of a son, born just two days before Caroline’s third birthday.

  The early birth announcement spread like wildfire as newspapers across the country rushed to post the news in the morning editions.

  IT’S A BABY BOY FOR THE JOHN KENNEDYS!

  STORK BEATS KENNEDY’S PLANE;

  NEW SON ARRIVES

  Over the next few days, Agent Jeffries and I rotated shifts outside Mrs. Kennedy’s room, carefully screening guests and inspecting the countless bouquets of flowers that arrived for Mrs. Kennedy. Most of the flowers were fairly modest and equal in size so when a particularly large one arrived, I was especially curious. Not only was the arrangement larger and more elaborate than the others, but the container was unique as well. The flowers sprung out of two receptacles on either side of the back of a ceramic donkey, being carried like cargo in baskets. The donkey itself was about the size of a full-grown cocker spaniel and was very authentic looking. The significance, of course, was that the donkey was the symbol of the Democratic Party. A card was attached and when I read whom it was from, I couldn’t have been more surprised. The arrangement had been sent by Frank Sinatra.

  The baby boy was named John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr. and despite being premature, he was thriving. The president-elect would visit Mrs. Kennedy and their newborn son each day, in between the never-ending meetings with staff and advisors in preparation for the start of his administration. Each time he came to the hospital, he was extremely cordial and always called me by name.

  “How are you doing today, Clint?” he’d ask.

  “I’m fine, Mr. President-elect. Thank you.”

  “And how did Mrs. Kennedy fare through the night?”

  I’d tell him whether she had slept well or had called for the nurses on occasion. He wanted to have as much information as possible before striding into her room. It was obvious he was sincerely concerned, and despite the endless decisions that needed to be made as he prepared for the presidency, the well-being of his wife and son was uppermost in his mind. The more I got to know him, the more I liked him, which made the fact that I was not on his protective detail all the more disappointing.

  A week after his son’s birth, on December 2, the president-elect flew back to Palm Beach, taking young Caroline and the nanny, Maud Shaw, with him, while Mrs. Kennedy and young John remained as patients in the hospital. Both Mrs. Kennedy and the baby were recovering well, but there wasn’t much activity other than the comings and goings of visitors. Mrs. Kennedy was largely confined to the bed in her room, and spent most of her time poring over reference materials about the White House. Frequently she would ask for me to come in to the room because she had some questions. Since Agent Jeffries had not worked on the White House Detail prior to this assignment, he had little knowledge of the type of information she wanted. So, she asked for me.

  I’d go into her room and she’d be sitting in bed, propped up with pillows. Dressed in her bedclothes, with no makeup on, she looked younger and more fragile than she had prior to John’s birth, and I could tell she was physically drained. Still, her thick eyebrows and eyelashes framed her big brown eyes against the pallor of her skin, and even in the drab hospital room, she exuded a natural, timeless beauty. With me, she had no need to impress. She had already become accustomed to my constant presence and realized I would see her at her best and her worst.

  She was focused on learning as much as possible about the White House—its history, its décor, and how everything worked on a daily basis. Who did the grocery shopping? Who handled the housekeeping? Where would the family eat their private meals? Was there any privacy? What about functions and dinner parties? What were the various rooms—the Red Room, the Green
Room, the Blue Room—used for?

  She would have a list of questions written out on a lined, yellow legal pad, and as I answered her, she would listen intently, taking voracious notes and interposing questions as they occurred to her. She was savvy and smart, and it was clear that she was eager to make a good impression and wanted to have as much information going into her new role as possible, to avoid making any blunders. I sensed her vulnerability and tried to be as detailed and informative as possible. Our conversations were relaxed and comfortable, and while I enjoyed spending time with Mrs. Kennedy, I missed the camaraderie with the other agents. During those long days at the hospital, I really envied my colleagues who were constantly on the go with the president-elect.

  One afternoon she called me in and asked, “Mr. Hill, do you ride horses?”

  “I have in the past, as a youngster,” I replied. “One of our neighbors in Washburn, North Dakota, had a Shetland pony.”

  She smiled slightly, as if trying to determine whether I was kidding or being serious.

  Quickly I added, “Some of my friends had horses on a ranch near my home and I was allowed to ride every so often. A local rodeo cowboy used to give me lessons.”

  There was a pause, and then she said, “The reason I ask is that we have arranged to have a place in Middleburg to spend weekends away from Washington, and I’ll have horses there. I love to ride.”

  I wondered why they would need a place in Middleburg, Virginia, when the Kennedys would have the use of Camp David—a magnificent property specifically retained as a weekend retreat for the sitting president and his family. I had been there many times with President Eisenhower.

  It certainly wasn’t my place to advise the future first lady, but the knowledge that the Kennedys had obtained their own weekend retreat was a surprise to me, and I was quite certain that no one else in the Secret Service knew about it, either. I thought I had better try to get as much information as possible so I could pass it along to my supervisors.