Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

by Clint Hill

  While Mrs. Kennedy typically spent September weekends at Hammersmith Farm, the president was particularly interested in being there in September 1962 because the America’s Cup yacht races were being held off the coast of Newport in Narragansett Bay. The America’s Cup is the oldest active trophy in international sport, a series of races between the defender—the yacht club that last won the title—and the challenger. This year, America’s team from the New York Yacht Club was defending its title against Australia—the first time the challenger was from a country other than Great Britain or Canada. There were plenty of social events surrounding the races, including a reception for crew members at Hammersmith Farm and a black-tie dinner in honor of the Australian and American competitors, which created plenty of work for the Secret Service.

  After spending so much time on the Agneta, Mrs. Kennedy appeared to take a real interest in the races, which seemed to please the president. It was an entirely new sport for me to watch and I found it interesting—especially the days we were aboard the USS Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr., a U.S. Navy destroyer named after the president’s older brother, who was killed during World War II. Some of the races were very close, and in the end the New York Yacht Club’s Weatherly defeated Australia’s Gretel 4–1 in the best-of-seven race series.

  Clint Hill’s favorite photo of JFK at the helm of the Manitou

  Also around this time, a new yacht joined the mix of boats the president had at his disposal. The USS Manitou was a beautiful sixty-two-foot yawl, a Coast Guard vessel, brought to Newport as an addition to the presidential fleet specifically because of the president’s love of the sea and sailing. The president was excited about the opportunity to have a large sailing yacht available, and the Manitou had everything he wanted. She was sleek, fast, and maneuverable, and capable of taking overnight trips with sleeping accommodations for nine people.

  The last two weeks of September were a blur as we traveled between Newport and Hyannis Port—to visit the president’s father and so the president and Mrs. Kennedy could vote for Teddy Kennedy in his first senatorial primary—and then back to Newport, followed by a one-night stop in New York City, where I accompanied Mrs. Kennedy to the brand-new Philharmonic Hall for a performance of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, led by Leonard Bernstein, then back to Newport again for the finish of the America’s Cup races. While the president returned to Washington during the weekdays, Mrs. Kennedy intended to stay at Hammersmith Farm with the children until October 9, 1962. We did have a brief return to Washington—to Middleburg, actually—because President Ayub Khan of Pakistan happened to be visiting the United States.

  Mrs. Kennedy and Ayub Khan riding together at Glen Ora

  Mrs. Kennedy was eager to show Ayub Khan how delighted she was with Sardar, and she insisted on him coming to Glen Ora, so that they could ride together. There was nothing romantic between Mrs. Kennedy and Ayub Khan but their mutual love of horses was the bond they shared, and Sardar was the emblem of that bond. President Kennedy also realized that the first lady’s trip to India and Pakistan earlier in the year had been immensely successful in the Cold War campaign to promote the interests and ideology of the United States around the world.

  The long summer and early fall away from Washington was about to come to an end, and I must admit I was a little bit sad about it. I thoroughly enjoyed being “on the road” where there was no routine, and while at times it was more challenging to protect Mrs. Kennedy, I thrived on the constant activity. The time spent in Hyannis Port, Ravello, Amalfi, Capri, New York City, and Newport had been wonderful. And because I had shared all these adventures with Mrs. Kennedy, she and I were closer than ever before. We enjoyed each other’s company, I knew how she liked to have things done, and we trusted each other implicitly.

  Finally, on October 9, 1962, we were headed back to the White House. The Caroline was unavailable, so Mrs. Kennedy, Caroline, John, and I, along with the Kiddie Detail agents and several staff members, boarded a U.S. Air Force plane and flew to National Airport in Washington, D.C.

  At one point during the flight Mrs. Kennedy came to me and asked, “Mr. Hill, will there be any press at the airport when we arrive in Washington?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, “but let me see what I can find out about the situation before we land.”

  “I really do not want any photos taken.”

  I understood her concern because this would be the first time in more than three months that she and the two children would be seen in public together. In all likelihood there would be a swarm of photographers waiting to get the shot of the three of them getting off the plane. It was also somewhat unusual for us to be flying on a military aircraft without the president aboard, and I certainly didn’t want that to stir up any controversy, either.

  “Okay. I understand. I’ll make the appropriate arrangements.”

  I contacted the U.S. Secret Service office at the White House and requested a restricted area be established for our arrival. Secret Service personnel would be there with a car for Mrs. Kennedy and the children, White House cars for staff, and a baggage truck. When we landed, the pilot taxied the plane to the spot we had agreed on, and I could see that all the necessary vehicles were standing by, just as I had arranged, behind a gate waiting for the all-clear to proceed toward the plane.

  I was standing behind Mrs. Kennedy as she began going down the steps to the tarmac, with Caroline and John in front of her, when I noticed a motorcycle following our vehicles through the gate and toward the plane. There were two people on the motorcycle—a courier driving and a photographer I recognized, holding his camera up and shooting one shot after another.

  Goddamnit.

  This particular photographer had been overly aggressive and intrusive in the past, and I had had it with him.

  As I got to the bottom of the steps, I ran toward him, grabbed hold of him, pulled the camera out of his hands, and ripped the film out of the camera.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” he screamed at me.

  “You’re in a restricted area and I’m confiscating your film,” I said.

  I saw two more canisters of film in his chest pocket, and without saying anything, I grabbed those and shoved them in my own jacket pocket.

  He was really putting up a fuss and by this time the airport police had come over.

  “He’s all yours,” I said.

  By this time Mrs. Kennedy, John, and Caroline were in the car, so I took my place in the front passenger seat. I turned around and said, “Sorry about that, Mrs. Kennedy. That was Roddy Mims from UPI. We’ve had trouble with him in the past.”

  I pulled out the canisters of film from my pocket and showed them to her. “But I got the film, which, as you could tell, he wasn’t happy about.”

  She smiled and said, “Well I’m happy about it. Thank you so much, Mr. Hill. I really appreciate the fact that you went after him.”

  I hated that the children had to see that confrontation, but it didn’t seem to faze them. The matter was forgotten, as Caroline chattered away to her mother on the ride back to the White House.

  Shortly after arriving at the White House, I was notified that the president wanted to see me in the Oval Office immediately.

  Geez. Word travels fast.

  When I walked into the Oval Office, President Kennedy and Press Secretary Pierre Salinger were standing there, waiting for me.

  The president had his arms folded and got right to the point.

  “What happened at National Airport, Clint?” he asked.

  I explained Mrs. Kennedy’s concerns, and what I had done to arrange a private arrival.

  “Then, Mr. President, photographer Roddy Mims came riding into the area we had restricted, on the back of a motorcycle driven by a courier. I stopped him, confiscated his film, and turned him over to the airport police.”

  “Look, Clint, I know your intentions were honorable, but the press are making an issue out of it and we have to make a decision as to how
to handle it.”

  “I know Roddy can be pushy and obnoxious,” Salinger interjected, “but we have to resolve the issue before it gets blown way out of proportion.”

  President Kennedy had unfolded his arms and had an apologetic look on his face.

  “Clint,” the president said, “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you are going to be the scapegoat in this case. You’ll have to take the blame.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem for you, Mr. President.”

  “It’s all right. Pierre will take care of it,” President Kennedy said. “And thank you for always looking after the best interests of Mrs. Kennedy and the children, Clint. I honestly do appreciate it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” I said.

  Pierre Salinger told the press that there had been a “misunderstanding.” The film would be returned to the company the photographer worked for, and the matter would be considered closed.

  I didn’t like the decision, but I accepted it knowing that the president knew my intentions were good, and that for public relations reasons, the finger had to be pointed somewhere. They didn’t want the Office of the President or the White House press office blamed for denying the press access.

  It was one of those situations in which I learned that my obligations and loyalty to Mrs. Kennedy would have to be weighed against how willing I was to risk being chastised for my actions by her husband.

  I also had to explain the situation to the assistant chief of the Secret Service and the Special Agent in Charge of the White House Detail, but the two of them agreed that I had acted appropriately, and I was advised to continue doing my job as I had in the past. My name appeared in the newspapers along with the story, and while the photographer claimed I told him he was under arrest, that simply wasn’t true. The furor died down after a couple of days and was never mentioned again.

  IT WAS AROUND this time that I felt I had finally found the right person to be my assistant—Paul “Debut” Landis from the Kiddie Detail. During our three weeks in Italy, I had had the chance to evaluate how he worked in a foreign environment and because Caroline was with us so much, I got to see how he and Mrs. Kennedy interacted as well.

  Nobody ever explained to me why Agent Jeffries was removed from Mrs. Kennedy’s detail, but I had a sense that personality conflict had something to do with it, and I wanted to make sure that I chose someone in whom Mrs. Kennedy had confidence. Even though he was the youngest agent on the detail, Paul was extremely conscientious, easily able to adapt to changing situations—a necessity if you were going to be protecting Mrs. Kennedy—and, perhaps just as important, we worked well together as a team. He happily accepted the position and it was like a breath of fresh air to have someone working with me after having only temporary assistance for the previous seven months. We brought in an agent named Tom Wells from the Miami office to replace Paul on the Kiddie Detail, and once we were back at full strength—two agents with Mrs. Kennedy and three with the children—I had a renewed sense of confidence in our ability to do the job properly and effectively.

  ON MONDAY, OCTOBER 15, Prime Minister Ahmed Ben Bella of Algeria came to the White House and was given an official arrival ceremony on the south grounds, complete with military review and herald trumpets. Mrs. Kennedy was not scheduled to participate, but she wanted John to witness the ceremony, and all the pageantry, with his father performing his duties as the President of the United States—and she wanted to do so in a very low-key, unobtrusive way. John, now nearly two years old, was fascinated by the military. He loved the uniforms, the marching, and the weapons. So Mrs. Kennedy called Miss Shaw and asked her to bring John down to the area of the Rose Garden near the president’s office.

  “Come, John,” she said as she lifted him up into her arms. “Let’s go watch the ceremony. You can see all the military men in their uniforms.”

  John’s eyes were wide as he saw the procession gathering, the row of colorful flags representing the various military units, and the two countries. I walked alongside Mrs. Kennedy as she carried him to a spot just behind a hedge. She was holding him up high enough so he could see, while keeping the two of them somewhat hidden from plain view, and John was filled with questions.

  Mrs. Kennedy, John, and Clint Hill watch ceremony from behind bushes

  “What’s that? Why are they doing that? What are all those flags? Put me down.”

  Mrs. Kennedy set him down and squatted next to him. When she couldn’t answer the questions, she turned to me and said, “Mr. Hill surely knows, don’t you Mr. Hill?”

  So I squatted down and tried to explain to young John what all the pageantry was about.

  Mrs. Kennedy understood that their time in the White House was a privilege, and even though John and Caroline were so young, she made every effort to include them in these types of historic events so they would have a better understanding of what their father did.

  ALSO AT THIS time, President Kennedy’s father came for a rare visit to the White House. Mrs. Kennedy had arranged for him to sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom and had set aside most of Tuesday, October 16, to spend with him, so I had anticipated a quiet day in which I could catch up on things in my office, a small corner of the Map Room on the ground floor of the White House, directly across from the elevator that went to the residence. On the morning of October 16, National Security Advisor McGeorge Bundy showed up before the president had come down from the residence. A Secret Service agent escorted Bundy to the elevator and up he went.

  Later, I would learn the reason for Bundy’s unusual early morning visit to the president’s bedroom: A U-2 spy plane had taken aerial photographs of Cuba’s military bases, which showed that nuclear missiles were installed on launchpads. The intermediate-range missiles were being brought to Cuba on Soviet ships, and now there was photographic evidence that Khrushchev’s claim of only having defensive weapons was nothing less than a lie. The Soviets had just turned up the heat in the Cold War, eighty miles from the coast of Florida, and the ramifications were terrifying.

  The Secret Service had well-established plans to protect the president, his family, and key members of the government in the event of an emergency or a major catastrophe. Whether we would go to the bomb shelter on-site at the White House or relocate to an undisclosed site outside the metropolitan area would be determined by the threat and the actual situation. This was not something I had ever discussed with Mrs. Kennedy, however. I decided I needed to have a frank talk with her about our procedures, in case the unthinkable were to happen. When Mrs. Kennedy emerged from the private residence on Wednesday, October 17, I asked her to come into my office, and shut the door behind us.

  “Mrs. Kennedy, I’m sure you are aware of the situation that has developed regarding the Soviet Union, Cuba, and the United States, right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hill. The president has discussed it with me.”

  “Well, I know this is a terrible thing to have to talk about, but I think it’s important that I let you know what the Secret Service plans are in the event of an emergency.”

  Standing there in front of me, she looked so beautiful—a young wife and mother with the world at her feet.

  I reached out my hand and touched her elbow.

  “You know about the bomb shelter here, under the White House. I know that J. B. West gave you a brief tour of the facility a few months ago . . .”

  I just had to state the facts.

  “In the event . . . a situation develops . . . where we don’t have time to leave the area, we would take you and the children into the shelter for protection.”

  Before I could explain any further, she pulled away from me, in what can only be described as defiance, and said, “Mr. Hill, if the situation develops that requires the children and me to go to the shelter, let me tell you what you can expect.”

  She was looking me straight in the eyes. She lowered her voice, into a deep whisper, and with complete and utter conviction said, “If the situation develop
s,” she repeated, “I will take Caroline and John, and we will walk hand in hand out onto the south grounds. We will stand there like brave soldiers, and face the fate of every other American.”

  I was not completely surprised by her response, but hearing her say it out loud made me realize what I would have to do, should we get to the point that moving her and the children into the bomb shelter was the directive.

  I knew then and there that, should that occasion arise, she may or may not have forgiven me, but I would have picked her up, wherever we were, and into the shelter we would have gone. As long as I was responsible for her protection, nothing else mattered.

  But instead I said, “Well, Mrs. Kennedy, let’s just pray to God that we will never be in that situation.”

  DURING THE NEXT few days the situation was very tense. The president and Mrs. Kennedy tried to maintain a regular schedule to make everything appear normal. The president traveled to Bridgeport, Waterbury, and New Haven, Connecticut, returning the same day. At the White House, he would pop in and out of the Cabinet Room, where the National Security Council’s Executive Committee, or ExComm, was secretly meeting, and at one point he had a meeting with Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko and Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin of the USSR.

  On Friday, October 19, I took Mrs. Kennedy, John, and Caroline to Glen Ora—as was our normal weekend routine when we were in Washington—while the president traveled to Cleveland; Springfield, Illinois; and Chicago.

  On Saturday morning, October 20, 1962, Mrs. Kennedy came to me and said, “Mr. Hill, the president just called and he is on his way back from Chicago. He wants the children and me to return to the White House. Will you arrange for a helicopter?”