by Clint Hill
She went to an école de puériculture, a child care and training center, visiting the children and raising awareness about problems associated with the health and well-being of children throughout the world. She accompanied the president to the Hôtel de Ville—Paris’s City Hall—and helped translate as her husband met with French officials. She met with female members of the press corps. Agent Jeffries accompanied Mrs. Kennedy to all of these events, while it was my job, as the advance man, to be at every venue ahead of time, making sure everything was secure and ready for her arrival. Everything went like clockwork, and it was satisfying for me to see how much Mrs. Kennedy was enjoying the trip.
She would see me standing in a doorway as she entered and even if she were in deep conversation with whomever she happened to be walking with, she would make eye contact with me. I had gotten to the point where I could read her mood by her eyes, and she was clearly having a wonderful time.
The event that captured her most was the spectacular white-tie dinner at Versailles. As is customary for Europeans, the evening event didn’t begin until 8:00 P.M. I was waiting at Versailles—about a thirty minute drive outside of Paris—to be there when the President and Mrs. Kennedy arrived. As she stepped out of the limousine, I thought she looked like a queen. She had on an ivory silk overcoat that she removed as soon as she entered the palace, revealing an exquisite sleeveless floor-length dress that had been hand embroidered with pastel flowers on the bodice. She had arranged for a Parisian hairdresser to style her hair in a bouffant piled on top of her head, accented by a diamond hair clip. President de Gaulle couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and I daresay neither could any of the other guests—men or women. My job was not to watch her, but to watch what was going on around her.
A long rectangular dining table had been set up in the Hall of Mirrors, set with beautiful flower arrangements and huge candelabras that provided a magical ambience as the flickering flames of the candles were multiplied by the mirrors on either side of the room. President de Gaulle sat between President Kennedy and Mrs. Kennedy, but spent the majority of the evening conversing with Mrs. Kennedy. Even from a distance I could see that he was captivated by her. Not only was she fluent in the language, but she was also well educated in French art and history. There was no doubt that Mrs. Kennedy’s intelligence and charm, combined with her ability to converse in French throughout the previous two days, often acting as translator for her husband and the French president, made the notoriously difficult de Gaulle much more receptive to President Kennedy’s ideas. The evening concluded with a ballet performance in the Louis XV Theater, a perfect ending to a night that encapsulated so much of what Mrs. Kennedy loved—history, the arts, intelligent and witty conversation—in an exquisite environment. At the time, I don’t think Mrs. Kennedy realized the tremendous influence she had, but for those of us around her, it was impossible not to recognize. Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy had become a star.
Mrs. Kennedy and Charles DeGaulle at Versailles
President Kennedy certainly noticed. At a luncheon in which he spoke to four hundred journalists, President Kennedy began his short speech with: “I do not think it altogether inappropriate to introduce myself. I am the man who accompanied Jacqueline Kennedy to Paris. And I have enjoyed it.” The crowd roared with laughter. It was typical of JFK—to point out the obvious, and find the humor in it. He would use that line again, two and a half years later, when Mrs. Kennedy accompanied him to Texas.
ON JUNE 2, as President and Mrs. Kennedy were saying their good-byes at Orly Airport, preparing to board Air Force One for the flight from Paris to Vienna, Mrs. Kennedy reached out her hands to me and said, “Oh, Mr. Hill, it was all just magical. I couldn’t have imagined anything better. Thank you so much for making everything go so smoothly.”
“You’re very welcome, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
“I guess I’ll see you in Athens, then?” she asked.
“I’m on my way this afternoon,” I replied. “I’ll see you there in a few days.”
What Mrs. Kennedy didn’t know was that the president had made an unusual request of me regarding her trip to Greece.
Shortly before I left for Paris, I got word that President Kennedy wanted to see me in the Oval Office. I couldn’t imagine what this was about. I had never been summoned to the Oval Office before.
When I walked in, President Kennedy was standing there, with his brother Bobby, the attorney general.
“Clint,” the president said, “I understand you will be doing the advance for Mrs. Kennedy in Greece.”
“Yes, Mr. President, that’s what I have been advised.”
The president glanced at the attorney general and looked back at me.
“The attorney general and I want to make one thing clear . . . and that is, whatever you do in Greece, do not let Mrs. Kennedy cross paths with Aristotle Onassis.”
I had heard the name Onassis before, but I honestly didn’t understand the significance, or why the president would be telling me this.
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” I answered.
“Okay then,” he said. “Have a great trip.” And with that, I walked out of the Oval Office.
The Paris trip really had gone off marvelously, but as I watched the presidential plane take off for Vienna, all I could think about was what President Kennedy had said to me in the Oval Office.
Whatever you do, do not let Mrs. Kennedy cross paths with Aristotle Onassis.
6
Traveling with Mrs. Kennedy
Greece
Clint Hill (in sunglasses) with Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. Karamanlis at the Parthenon
It was cold and blustery, with slashing rain, when Air Force One touched down at Schwechat airport, outside Vienna. Despite the dismal weather, thousands of people stood huddled in their rain slickers under umbrellas all along the motorcade route just to see President and Mrs. Kennedy drive by on their way to the Hofburg Palace, where the president would pay his respects to the president of Austria, prior to his meeting with Khrushchev.
Meanwhile, Special Agent Ken Giannoules and I were seated aboard an Olympic Airlines Comet Jet aircraft, headed for Athens. I was dying to talk to Ken about what President Kennedy had said to me regarding Aristotle Onassis, and to find out if Ken might know the reasons behind the president’s instructions, but we had to be careful about what we discussed in public. You never knew who might overhear. I’d have to wait until he and I were alone to get the information.
Ken Giannoules was twenty-five years old, unmarried, had jet-black hair and an olive complexion, and judging from the way the stewardess was fawning over him, I guess it would be safe to say women found him attractive. We kept the conversation to small talk, and inquired about each other’s backgrounds. I liked Ken and could tell we would work well together. He seemed to have a strong work ethic and a great sense of humor, and the fact that he could speak Greek would be immensely helpful on the advance.
When we landed at Ellinikon International Airport in Athens a representative from the U.S. Embassy was there to pick us up and drive us to our hotel near the embassy. It was much warmer in Athens than it had been in Paris, and the sky was a brilliant cloudless blue. As we drove through the busy streets of Athens, I thought about what Mrs. Kennedy would think when she arrived. Compared to the order and elegance of Paris, Athens was like the unruly, sometimes chaotic, unpredictable cousin that tempted you with adventure. I didn’t know Mrs. Kennedy well enough yet to know how she would react to this environment in which she didn’t speak the language. She had been so comfortable in France, and I wanted to make sure her eight-day visit to Greece was just as memorable. Prior to my departure to Paris, Mrs. Kennedy had told me some of the things she wanted to do while in Greece—go to an outdoor Greek theater and watch a play, visit some of the islands, and of course see the ancient ruins in Athens.
This would be Mrs. Kennedy’s first foreign trip without her husband, and I was responsible for her protecti
on. Even though she was being hosted by the prime minister, the visit was considered unofficial, and there would be no elaborate arrival and departure ceremonies. But, having just witnessed in Paris the intense outpouring of interest and affection for Mrs. Kennedy, and the large crowds that appeared wherever she went, I had to assume the same thing would happen in Greece.
The driver turned onto a side street that had a row of shops selling produce, meat, and seafood. People were walking everywhere with their shopping bags, purchasing fresh food for the evening meal. Outside one vendor, a row of pig heads hung from hooks, their eyes staring at the passersby.
“Oh God, Ken,” I said, pointing to the heads. “That is one thing Mrs. Kennedy will not want to see,” I said. “She is such an animal lover. I’m afraid that would sicken her.”
Ken laughed and said, “It’s not too appealing to me, either. Kind of reminds me of the meat markets on the south side of Chicago.”
“Reminds me of Seoul, Korea,” I said. “God, that was a mess.” I shook my head as the memories flooded back. “I was there with Eisenhower in 1960 and you could not believe the crowds. Since he played a key role in ending the Korean War, the Koreans revered him as a hero.”
I knew that Ken was new to the White House Detail and while he had just witnessed the huge crowds around President Kennedy in Paris, he hadn’t yet experienced how a peaceful and enthusiastic gathering can turn to chaos in an instant.
“We got there and I swear, every damn person in the city of Seoul was in the streets trying to get a view of Eisenhower as he rode by in the motorcade. It was crazy—seemed like there were millions of them crawling all over each other. We had taken an official car to a palace prior to the president’s arrival, but he never got there. We ended up having to change his schedule because massive crowds had blocked the streets, and when we came out—I am telling you the God’s honest truth—that car had been crushed flat by people climbing over it to get a better vantage point.”
“Geez,” Ken said.
“I’ll never forget that. That’s when I learned how unpredictable a crowd can be. After seeing how the French reacted to Mrs. Kennedy, I assume there will be a similar response here. We have to make damn sure the Greek authorities are prepared to manage their people.”
“I understand,” Ken said, nodding in agreement.
“I know Mrs. Kennedy wants to be able to wander freely, to get a feel for Greece and the people here,” I added, “but we have to create as safe an environment as possible for her to do that. And, I gotta tell you, Ken . . . I’m counting on you because this language is Greek to me.”
Ken laughed at my feeble joke, but at least I felt like I’d gotten the point across to him. Protecting a public figure is a constant struggle because safety and exposure are conflicting goals. Even though Mrs. Kennedy didn’t seek out the public, people were going to find her and try to get as close as possible. You never knew when someone might attempt to harm her and we had to make sure nothing happened.
The driver delivered us to our hotel, and as soon as Ken and I checked in at the reception desk, I said, “Ken, let’s meet in my room in about fifteen minutes. There’s something I need to discuss with you before we head over to the embassy.”
“Sounds like a plan, Clint. See you in fifteen.”
As soon as I got into the room, I put the suitcase on the bed and began to unpack. Suits and shirts hung up in the small closet. Underwear and socks in the drawers. Toothbrush and shaving kit went in the bathroom. I liked to make sure everything was in its place.
I took my two-and-a-half-inch Detective Special handgun out of my briefcase, where I had stored it for the flight, and placed it firmly into the holster on my hip. Carrying the gun had become so much a part of me that when I was without it, I felt like something was missing. I had never pulled the gun on duty, but I, like all agents, was required to practice shooting at least twice a month at the underground Treasury range. We were required to be proficient with the weapon we carried and I had qualified as an expert marksman.
Just then there was a knock on the door.
I looked through the eyehole in the door to make sure it was Ken, before opening the door.
“How’s your room?” I asked.
“Great,” Ken said. “I see you’ve got a nice view of the Acropolis, too.”
“Yeah, not bad,” I said as I looked at the window. It was a magnificent sight.
“What’s up, Clint?” he asked.
“Listen, Ken, before I left for Paris, the president called me into the Oval Office.”
Ken raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Yes, exactly,” I said. “Not an everyday occurrence. The attorney general was there, too. So the president said, ‘Clint, when you’re in Greece, whatever you do, do not let Mrs. Kennedy cross paths with Aristotle Onassis.’”
Ken’s eyebrows rose even farther. “Really? That’s interesting. What’s the reason?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me. All I know is that Onassis owns a shipping company. Mrs. Kennedy has never mentioned him, but believe me, the message was very clear. Keep her away from the guy.”
“Well, let me see what I can find out from my contacts here,” Ken said. “We should probably head over to the embassy now anyway.”
“I’m ready,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Upon arrival at the U.S. Embassy, we were introduced to Nick Damigos, a Greek national, who handled investigations and protective security matters for the embassy. Nick understood the politics related to Greek-American relations, had a great rapport with the local and federal officials, and spoke perfect English, with just the slightest hint of an accent.
“All of Greece is very excited about the arrival of Mrs. Kennedy,” he said. “I am at your disposal to help in any way possible to ensure the visit is a success.”
“That’s wonderful, Nick. We sure are going to need your help.”
“As you know,” Nick said, “Prime Minister Karamanlis and his wife, Amalia, are the official hosts for Mrs. Kennedy’s visit, but they have given up some of their responsibilities as official government hosts to one of their friends, who is a member of the parliament, Markos Nomikos. Nomikos is quite wealthy—he owns a shipping company—and has far greater resources than the prime minister. Knowing Mrs. Kennedy’s desire for privacy, Nomikos has offered his villa in the seaside town of Kavouri, as well as the use of his one hundred-and-thirty-foot yacht, Northwind, which will allow Mrs. Kennedy to visit some of the islands.”
Giannoules and I would have to check everything out, and the fact that Nomikos was involved in shipping—as was Onassis—caused me some concern, but otherwise it sounded like an ideal arrangement, both from a security standpoint and for Mrs. Kennedy to experience as much of Greece as possible.
Nick had already arranged a meeting for us with the Greek minister of the interior, who controlled the police agencies, so we headed straight to his office. After the introductions, the rest of the conversation was conducted entirely in Greek. There was a lot of laughter mixed in with serious discussions, and while I tried to remain attentive, I could not understand a single word.
Just as I had in Paris, I felt at a disadvantage because I didn’t understand the language, but once we were back in the car, both Ken and Nick assured me the meeting had gone well and the minister had guaranteed the full support and cooperation of the Greek police and military agencies. You couldn’t buy better publicity than having Jacqueline Kennedy visiting your country, and it was evident that all of Greece, from the prime minister at the top, to the worker cleaning the street, was going to make sure this was a successful visit.
When we were back at the hotel, Ken informed me that he had discussed Onassis with Nick Damigos, and without divulging the reasons behind his inquiry, hadn’t been able to learn too much. Onassis had amassed an enormous fortune in the shipping industry, and a few years earlier had founded Olympic Airlines. He had been under investigation for some time by the Federal Burea
u of Investigation and, in 1955, Onassis had been fined $7 million by the United States government for the illegal operation of U.S. war surplus ships. A criminal indictment that charged Onassis with eight counts of conspiring to defraud the United States through false statements made when buying the war surplus ships had been dropped.
We decided we’d keep our ears open for more information, but thus far, it didn’t appear as if Mrs. Kennedy would have any reason or opportunity to see Aristotle Onassis, and I still didn’t understand why the president was so concerned about him.
Over the next few days, as Ken Giannoules, Nick Damigos, and I worked with Greek authorities to make all the necessary preparations, Onassis became less of an issue than the language barrier. It turned out that all the official meetings were held in catharevousa—the formal Greek—as opposed to the everyday Greek language that had been used in the Giannoules household. At times, Ken had to rely on the body language of the Greek officials and quickly learned that an upward flick of the head meant “no” to our requests, while a roll of the head with raised eyebrows meant “but of course, you morons.” As it turned out Greek was Greek to the Greek.
While we were preparing every little detail for Mrs. Kennedy’s upcoming trip to Greece, she was creating as much of a stir in Vienna as she had in Paris. The news stories contrasted her young, chic, fashionable appearance with that of the dowdy Mrs. Khrushchev, and to prove the point there was a photo of Mrs. Kennedy leaning in close to Premier Khrushchev splashed on the front page of newspapers all over the world. Taken at a formal evening event at the Schönbrunn Palace, in which Mrs. Kennedy looked as glamorous as could be in a sleek white sleeveless gown, she appeared to be whispering into Khrushchev’s ear, and he had the biggest, leering, smile on his face—you could practically read what was going through his mind. By all accounts the official talks between Kennedy and Khrushchev had gone from congenial to heated, but the Soviet Premier was so taken with Mrs. Kennedy that she became the lead story.