by Clint Hill
PART FOUR
1963
17
Mona Lisa and New York City
On January 8, 1963, we returned to Washington on Air Force One, and arrived back at the White House by helicopter just a few hours before President and Mrs. Kennedy were due at the French Embassy for an eight o’clock dinner in honor of the unveiling of the Mona Lisa at the National Gallery. I barely had time to go home, shower, and change into my tuxedo before returning to the White House.
When Mrs. Kennedy came out of the elevator from the residence on the arm of the president, she looked more stunning than I had ever seen her before. She wore a flowing, pale pink gown and no jewelry but for a pair of exquisite diamond earrings that hung like sparkling raindrops from her ear to her jaw. The dinner at the French Embassy was an elegant affair for about one hundred people, hosted by Ambassador Herve Alphand and his wife. The guests included France’s minister of culture, André Malraux, and his wife, as well as many members of the Kennedy family, among them the president’s mother, Rose. After the dinner, the schedule called for everyone to be transported to the National Gallery of Art, where more than one thousand other invited guests were waiting to see the unveiling of the most famous smile in the world.
Everything was going like clockwork until we got into the elevator at the gallery. The poor elevator operator took one glance at Mrs. Kennedy, and I could tell he was really flustered. He pushed the wrong button and then got even more flustered and somehow the elevator wouldn’t budge. We were on a tight time schedule, and the president said, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to walk up the stairs.”
Mrs. Kennedy’s dress was designed so that it hung nearly touching the floor in the front, and actually had a short train in the back that dragged along the ground. She had on high heels, and I was worried that she was going to trip.
“Mrs. Kennedy,” I said as we approached the narrow stairwell, “I’m going to hold your dress up in the back to make sure you don’t step on it, okay?”
I could tell that she was a bit put out by having to climb the stairs, but as soon as I said this, she seemed to relax.
Smiling, she said, “Oh, thank you Mr. Hill,” and we proceeded up the stairs, with me behind her, uncomfortably holding her dress like an attendant at a wedding.
Mona Lisa’s visit to the United States was an enormous success, both politically and culturally. After three weeks in Washington, she was transferred to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, and by the time she returned to France, more than one and a half million Americans had personally viewed Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece. Mrs. Kennedy was absolutely delighted with the outpouring of interest in this important work of art. Her lobbying efforts with President de Gaulle and Minister Malraux had paid off, and the result was that there was a renewed appreciation of culture and fine arts in America.
A few weeks after the Mona Lisa’s arrival, I was walking with Mrs. Kennedy at Glen Ora when she shared some exciting news with me.
“Mr. Hill, I suppose you have noticed that I haven’t been horseback riding like I normally do.”
“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, I had noticed that.” I looked at her and smiled. “And also that you didn’t water-ski when we were in Palm Beach.”
She broke into a big grin and said, “I can’t keep any secrets from you, Mr. Hill, can I?”
“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Kennedy. I know you too well. I’m so happy for you. When will the blessed event occur?”
“Doctor Walsh says sometime in mid-September.”
“That’s wonderful news, Mrs. Kennedy.”
And that’s how I found out that the president and Mrs. Kennedy were expecting their third child.
Nineteen-sixty-two had been an amazing year—filled with wonderful memories and historic events which I had the privilege of witnessing. With the political successes of the previous months, and now the news of the impending birth of the Kennedys’ third child, it seemed that 1963 was only going to be even better.
Mrs. Kennedy had informed me that she wanted to keep the news of her pregnancy quiet for the time being, so few people outside the close family knew about it beyond Paul Landis and myself. She did make it clear, however, that she was planning to curtail her activities quite a bit.
“Sorry, Mr. Hill,” she told me one day, “but I don’t foresee any trips to Ravello or Greece in the near future.” Then, smiling, she added, “You’ll just have to suffer with me in Palm Beach and Hyannis Port.”
I laughed. “That will be just fine, Mrs. Kennedy.”
The trips we had taken over the past two years had been wonderful, but I was glad to hear that she planned to take it easier now that she was pregnant. What I did notice, however, was that she was walking more than she ever had before. Any time she could find an opportunity to walk, she would walk. I didn’t ask her directly, but I assumed that since she could no longer water-ski, ride horses, or play tennis, she was concerned about keeping fit, and not gaining excess weight. Thus, she walked. And when she walked, I walked.
Being physically fit was something that was important to President Kennedy as well. Shortly after he was elected, he published an article in Sports Illustrated titled “The Soft American,” in which he noted how the television set, the use of cars to travel everywhere, and a myriad of other modern conveniences had resulted in a generation of people who were not used to strenuous physical activity. He ended the article noting that parents must be responsible for instilling this in their children. “We do not want our children to become a generation of spectators. Rather, we want each of them to be a participant in the vigorous life.”
President Kennedy and Mrs. Kennedy, and indeed every member of the Kennedy family, lived by this philosophy. Whether it was swimming, playing tennis or touch football, horseback riding, waterskiing, or taking a vigorous walk, exercise was part of their daily lives.
In those early months of her pregnancy, when Mrs. Kennedy and I walked together, we talked about all sorts of things, and this was frequently when I found out about her upcoming plans. A few days after telling me she was going to curtail her activities, and that we weren’t going to travel much this year, she informed me that she planned to take Caroline to New York City the first week of February.
“We’ll just visit friends and do some shopping. I think Caroline is old enough now that she will really enjoy it,” she said. The one thing she insisted on, however, was that the trip be kept as quiet as possible. She had always been private, but now that she was pregnant, I sensed a vulnerability in her that I hadn’t seen in the past two years. It went unsaid, but I knew that there was always the underlying fear that she might lose the baby she now carried. And if God forbid it did happen, she certainly didn’t want to have to deal with it in the public eye.
The night before we were to leave for New York City, I was at home, packing for the trip, when I got a phone call from the agent on duty at the White House.
“Clint,” he said, “we just had some unusual activity here that I thought you should know about.”
Unusual activity?
“What happened?” I asked.
“Well, the President and Mrs. Kennedy decided to take a spur-of-the-moment walk outside the White House grounds.”
“Spur of the moment?”
“Yes, that’s right. It was completely unannounced. They just came down the elevator, and walked out the Southwest Gate. We had to scramble all the agents from their posts to provide protection.”
This was highly unusual. In the two years President and Mrs. Kennedy had been in the White House, I’d never known them to walk outside the White House grounds without informing the agent in charge—especially at night.
“Were there any incidents?” I asked.
“No. Everything was fine, and we got them covered by the time they left the Southwest Gate. They simply took a leisurely stroll around the perimeter fence to the Northwest Gate and came back inside. They were only gone about twenty minutes.”
“Tha
nks for letting me know,” I said. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but this little spontaneous walk proved to be a predecessor of things to come.
In New York, Mrs. Kennedy stayed at their suite at the Carlyle Hotel, while Caroline stayed at the Smith residence. The president’s sister Jean Kennedy Smith and her husband, Steve Smith, had two young sons, Stephen Jr. and William. Stephen, or “Stevie” as he was called, was about Caroline’s age, and the two were close. The Smiths’ luxurious apartment was located across the street from Central Park, just a couple of blocks from the Carlyle.
The week in New York City was filled with activity—Mrs. Kennedy met friends for lunches at Giovanni’s and Le Pavillon, and one evening at Le Club, the European style nightclub Oleg and Igor Cassini started—but she also spent a lot of time showing Caroline around the city, sharing with her daughter the things she loved about New York. Walks in Central Park, visits to museums, and even a visit to the United Nations. They were having such a wonderful time, and toward the end of the week Mrs. Kennedy informed me that the president would be joining them on the weekend.
“We want to keep it private,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “No police escorts, no motorcades, no official functions. We just want to enjoy the city like we used to.”
When it was just Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline, we were able to come and go without attracting too much attention. But when the president arrived, keeping a low profile was a much bigger challenge. There would always be at least five or six Secret Service agents around the president, and trailing closely behind the president’s limousine was the not so unobtrusive follow-up car.
As soon as the president arrived in New York, he came straight to the Carlyle to see Mrs. Kennedy, and then, surrounded by his Secret Service detail, walked the two blocks to his sister’s apartment to see Caroline. Of course he was instantly recognized, and while he made it to Jean’s place without incident, the word was out that the president was in town, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
That evening, the president and Mrs. Kennedy had dinner with friends at Le Pavillon, before going to the theater to see Beyond the Fringe, a satirical British comedy featuring Peter Cook and Dudley Moore. The night was capped off by an after-theater party at the Earl E. T. Smith’s residence, a friend from Palm Beach who had been U.S. ambassador to Cuba.
I could see that after two years in the White House, they were yearning for a sense of “normalcy.” It was a real challenge for the Secret Service agents to keep these presidential movements private yet still maintain an adequate amount of protection, without police escorts or the blocking of streets, but we managed. Both the president and Mrs. Kennedy appreciated the effort and they thanked each of the agents personally.
The next morning, the president wanted to take Caroline to Central Park before church. Once again he walked from the Carlyle to the Smith residence, and picked up Caroline and her cousin Stephen. Agents were posted outside the door of the apartment building, which caused some attention, and by the time the president came out with the two children, a crowd had gathered.
This was exactly what the president had hoped to avoid. Not wanting to ruin the children’s outing, he left Caroline and her cousin with Agents Bob Foster and Tommy Wells, and returned to the Carlyle, where he went in the main entrance at Seventy-sixth Street. He was really distraught about not being able to do something so simple as take a walk with his five-year-old daughter in Central Park, so the agents came up with an idea. We took him through the hotel and snuck him out a little-used back door on Seventy-seventh Street, where we had an unmarked car waiting. We drove the short distance to the park, and got the president out without anyone noticing, then met up with Caroline, Stephen, and the Kiddie Detail agents. The president walked around the park with the children for about twenty minutes in complete anonymity. No public interference and no press. President Kennedy loved it.
It was wonderful to see the president able to have this special time—just a father spending time with his daughter in Central Park.
The next item on the agenda was Mass, and the president got back to the Carlyle just in time to pick up Mrs. Kennedy and her sister, Princess Radziwill, to drive to St. Ignatius of Loyola Church. I took my place in a pew directly behind Mrs. Kennedy, while Agent Art Godfrey sat next to me, behind the president. The other agents were scattered around the church.
When it came time for the collection plate to be passed around, we all knew what to expect. The president would reach his hand behind him, holding it out, palm up. Neither he nor Mrs. Kennedy ever carried cash, so one of the agents would put a twenty-dollar bill in the president’s hand for the collection.
Sure enough, the president’s hand came back toward Art Godfrey. Godfrey looked at me, then rolled his eyes, and it was all I could do not to laugh. He pulled out his wallet and put a twenty in the president’s hand. The president took the bill, looked at it, and then, without saying anything, stuck his hand back again. Godfrey turned to me and opened his wallet to show me it was empty. So I pulled out my wallet, and placed another twenty-dollar bill in the president’s hand. Once again he looked at it and then stuck his hand back. Now Godfrey was cracking up. All I had left was a ten, so I placed that in the president’s hand and hoped he didn’t reach back again. Fortunately, fifty dollars was sufficient on this particular Sunday.
We would always get reimbursed by the president’s secretary, Evelyn Lincoln, but providing cash to the President of the United States for the collection plate was one of those things we all joked about.
After the services, the president, Mrs. Kennedy, and Mrs. Radziwill got into the unmarked Secret Service car we were using, and we proceeded to the restaurant Voisin, where they were going to meet Prince Radziwill and Chuck Spalding for lunch. I was in the follow-up car, and suddenly, at Sixty-seventh Street and Park Avenue, the president’s car stopped.
Agent Roy Kellerman jumped out of the front passenger seat of the president’s car and said, “The president and Mrs. Kennedy would like to walk the rest of the way to the restaurant.”
Walk? In New York City? In broad daylight?
I knew Kellerman didn’t think this was a good idea, either, but I guessed that this was at Mrs. Kennedy’s urging. It was a beautiful day in New York City, and I knew how she hated being driven anywhere when there was the possibility of walking. So we got out and walked with the president and Mrs. Kennedy to Voisin. It was just four and a half blocks, but it was rather unnerving to have the president and first lady so exposed, without any advance preparations.
I had a feeling the same thing would happen on the way back to the Carlyle after lunch, and sure enough it did. The president and Mrs. Kennedy walked partway back to the Carlyle, talking and laughing as they walked briskly down Park Avenue. It was challenging for the agents to cover this extemporaneous activity, but it was wonderful to see them thoroughly enjoying themselves—like they were just an ordinary couple—thrilled to be expecting a child, with so much to look forward to.
On the flight back to Washington later that afternoon, I thought about the spontaneous activity that had taken place in New York City and outside the grounds of the White House. This was inevitably going to be the new standard.
Our jobs just became a little more difficult.
18
The Sunshine Highway
Mrs. Kennedy, Chuck Spalding, Lee, Clint Hill, and Prince Radziwill
The next weekend it was back to Middleburg, where the new home was under construction on Rattlesnake Mountain, then back to Washington by helicopter for a couple of days. I had just enough time to get my laundry done, retrieve clothes from the cleaners, and repack. Now we were off to Palm Beach for a few days in the sun.
Once again, President and Mrs. Kennedy returned to the C. Michael Paul residence, which they had rented for the winter of 1962–63. By the time we got to the Paul residence it was after eleven o’clock, and when my head hit the pillow in my room at Woody’s Motel, it was after midnight.
Fortunately, Mrs. Ken
nedy took the next morning easy, while the president played with John on the beach and took Caroline and some friends out on the Honey Fitz. That evening they had a dinner invitation at the Wrightsman residence. Paul Landis had relieved me, and I was comfortable that Mrs. Kennedy was in a secure environment. I was looking forward to getting to bed early for once, and getting a full night’s sleep.
A White House phone had been installed in my room so that I had a direct line to the Palm Beach White House switchboard in case of an emergency. I had barely gotten out of my clothes, and was sitting on the bed in boxers and a T-shirt when the White House phone rang.
I picked up the phone.
“This is Clint.”
“Oh, Mr. Hill,” the breathy familiar voice said, “the president and I would like you to do something for us.”
I looked at my watch. It was eight o’clock. Paul Landis was there, as well as the President’s Detail agents. What could they possibly need me to do? I didn’t have a good feeling about this.
The previous month, President Kennedy had unwittingly started a fad that had by this time spread from coast to coast, and of which I was about to become a spontaneous participant. It all began when the president came upon a 1908 executive order in which President Theodore Roosevelt set forth rules for Marine officers to be able to complete a fifty-mile hike. President Kennedy sent a memo to Marine Corps commandant David Shoup suggesting that a similar fifty-mile challenge would be a good test to see how the present-day officers could perform the task.
Concerned that the average American was becoming more and more unfit, President Kennedy announced that he would put his White House staff to the fifty-mile test as well. It was meant to be a publicity stunt to kick-start a national fitness campaign, and the press ate it up. Poor Pierre Salinger, who was himself a poster child for the “soft American,” declined the challenge but publicly vowed to increase his daily dose of exercise. Meanwhile, the president’s brother, Attorney General Robert Kennedy, readily accepted the challenge and completed his own fifty-mile hike in just seventeen hours.