by Clint Hill
One day—it must have been at the end of August or the beginning of September—Mrs. Kennedy called me at the command post to say she wanted to go for a walk. When she came out of the house, she seemed to have a brighter look on her face than I had seen in weeks.
We began walking, and she turned to me, with a glint in her eye.
“How would you like to go back to Greece, Mr. Hill?”
I looked at her with surprise. “I would love to go back to Greece.”
She smiled and said, “Well, I have arranged to join Lee and Stash on a cruise through the Greek islands on a private yacht.”
“That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Kennedy. When will you be leaving?”
“We haven’t decided for sure, but we’re hoping to go in a few weeks.”
A few weeks? I tried to be nonchalant, but I needed to find out as much information as possible. Mrs. Kennedy still didn’t truly understand how much effort it required for us to ensure her security outside the country.
“Do you know the name of the yacht?” I asked.
“Yes, actually I do. It’s called the Christina. It’s Mr. Onassis’s yacht.”
I lost my breath and was unable to speak for a few seconds. President Kennedy’s words—the request he had made before Mrs. Kennedy’s first trip to Greece back in 1961—came rushing into my mind: Whatever you do in Greece, do not let Mrs. Kennedy cross paths with Aristotle Onassis.
I was stunned to think that now, for some reason, it was all right for Mrs. Kennedy to associate with this man.
This trip to Greece had apparently been a topic of conversation between Mrs. Kennedy and her sister, Lee, when Lee came to be with her immediately after Patrick’s death. Lee and her husband, Prince Radziwill, were friends of Onassis and had been on his yacht. It seemed that Lee had contacted Onassis and the invitation had been extended. A trip to the Greek isles, on what was reputed to be the most luxurious private yacht in the world, was too good of an opportunity to turn down.
I knew Mrs. Kennedy would not go on a trip like this without her husband’s concurrence. But why now, after the loss of their son, would the president be willing to let her go on Onassis’s yacht, where, I assumed, the owner himself would be aboard? I could only surmise that it was because she had been so depressed, and perhaps the president thought a trip might give her something to look forward to.
“I don’t want a lot of publicity,” she said, “but I suppose everyone will find out.”
“Yes, I’m sure the word will get out, and,” I added, “there will be a great deal of interest.”
I asked her a few questions about who else would be aboard, any other stops she might make, but it seemed the trip was still in the planning stages.
“Please let me know as soon as possible of any additional details, okay?” I requested.
“Oh, Mr. Hill, you always want to have so much information about these little trips I take.”
Mrs. Kennedy’s “little trip” was going to involve the ambassadors of two countries, a contingent of Secret Service agents and State Department personnel, and the navies of Greece, Turkey, and the United States. My job was to make sure she didn’t have to worry about any of that.
As soon as we returned from the walk, I called my supervisor, Jerry Behn, the SAIC of the White House Detail, to let him know Mrs. Kennedy’s plans. We had to notify the Paris Secret Service Field Office, which handled operations in Europe, and get Agent Ken Giannoules—our Greek-speaking agent—to start setting things up as soon as I received the schedule.
A few days later, Mrs. Kennedy informed me that the dates were set. We were leaving October 1 and would be gone two weeks. Mrs. Kennedy was only bringing Provi with her—no other staff—and it was to be kept as private as possible.
As we began to make the plans for the trip, information was flowing back to me that a great many people were very upset about Mrs. Kennedy going to Greece. Members of Mrs. Kennedy’s staff as well as the president’s were expressing concern about this proposed trip and how it would appear to the public—not just that she was choosing to vacation abroad, but specifically that she would be associating with Aristotle Onassis. Not only did he have some long-standing legal issues with the United States government, but his reputation was that of a womanizer and opportunist. There had always been concern about Mrs. Kennedy’s sister Lee’s friendship with Onassis, but to have Mrs. Kennedy herself spending time on his private yacht? This took on a whole new set of problems. There was grave concern that once Onassis got his foot in the door, he would take advantage of the situation to the detriment of everyone but himself. The general theme was that he could not be trusted.
The president had been made aware of the potential political fallout, but he insisted that Mrs. Kennedy would be permitted to go as planned. That was the end of that.
We remained at Squaw Island for the seventy-fifth birthday party for the president’s father on September 6, and then it was on to Hammersmith Farm in Newport, for most of the rest of September. On September 12, the president flew in from Washington to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. Good friends Ben and Tony Bradlee came as weekend guests, and the next few days were spent swimming at Bailey’s Beach, cruising on the Honey Fitz, and playing golf at the Newport Country Club. Mrs. Kennedy seemed to be slowly coming out of the depressed state she had been in and began enjoying activities again. It was wonderful to see her renewed spirit and happy expression return.
Mrs. Kennedy and the children finally returned to the White House with the president on Monday, September 23. It was the beginning of the school year for Caroline in the school established by Mrs. Kennedy within the White House. To get the school year off to a rousing start, Mrs. Kennedy had arranged a surprise for all the children on Wednesday, September 25. Mrs. Kennedy, Caroline, and John met the students at the entrance to the White House and announced they were going on a field trip. To Dulles Airport. For a ride on the Goodyear blimp.
You’ve never seen a group of students more excited in your life.
I was up to my eyeballs trying to make arrangements for the trip to Greece, so I sent Paul Landis and the Kiddie Detail agents with Mrs. Kennedy and the twenty youngsters for the adventure of a lifetime.
Later, Mrs. Kennedy told me what a wonderful time they all had, especially John.
“You know how much John loves airplanes and flying, Mr. Hill. I think someday he is going to be a pilot.”
We were scheduled to take a commercial flight from New York City to Rome, and then on to Athens, the evening of October 1. It so happened that the Imperial Majesty Haile Selassie, Emperor of Ethiopa, was arriving in Washington the same day. In her first public appearance since the death of Patrick, Mrs. Kennedy joined the president for the welcoming ceremonies at Union Station, and rode in the short motorcade to the Blair House, where the emperor was staying. The seventy-one-year-old Selassie was small in physical stature, but he was held in high regard around the world, having been the respected leader of his country for more than four decades. He came bearing personal gifts—an exotic leopard-skin coat for Mrs. Kennedy, a carved ivory doll for Caroline, and a carved ivory soldier with sword for John—and Mrs. Kennedy found him charming. They spoke in French together, and I could tell she wished she could have spent more time with him, but because of our departure that evening, she wasn’t able to attend the state dinner that was planned in his honor.
EVER SINCE MRS. Kennedy’s trip to Greece had been announced, I kept waiting for the president to call me into his office to give me some sort of instructions concerning Mr. Onassis. But I never got the call. Nothing was ever said.
There were quick good-byes to the children and the president and then we were off—Provi, Paul Landis, Mrs. Kennedy, and me—on our way to National Airport, where the Caroline was waiting to take us to New York for the scheduled TWA flight.
The New York Secret Service Field Office had arranged for the Caroline to taxi and be nose-to-nose with the big 707 to facilitate our transfer from one plan
e to the other. No press, and no crowds. Just the way she liked it.
We boarded the aircraft and settled into the first-class section. All except Agent Landis, that is. We had reserved a seat in the section behind first class next to the bulkhead for one agent to occupy. Poor Paul was given that assignment. His job was to preclude anyone from the rear coming into the first-class section. We had reserved six seats for Mrs. Kennedy—four in the center to be made into a bed, with an additional two seats by the window for her to sit in. Two additional seats in first class were for Provi and myself. It would be a long, sleepless night for Paul and me as we crossed the Atlantic.
Mrs. Kennedy slept almost the entire way, and after graciously signing photographs for the crew—I always kept a stash of her photos in my briefcase for such occasions—we transferred to the plane that would take us to Athens.
The weather was hot and sunny when we arrived in Athens, under a beautiful clear blue sky. As we were about to deplane, Mrs. Kennedy turned to me with a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye.
“Mr. Hill, are you ready to have some fun? I sure am.”
It was so nice to see her smiling again. It was obvious she was looking forward to the next two weeks.
“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, returning the smile. “I think all of us will have a good time.”
But, believe me, I thought, I am going to know everything that is going on.
Prince “Stash” Radziwill and Mrs. Kennedy’s sister, Lee, were there to greet us, along with U.S. ambassador Henry Labouisse. Agent Giannoules had done a great job of handling everything for our arrival, assisted once again by Nick Damigos from the State Department, who knew all the local officials and was keyed into anything that might affect Mrs. Kennedy’s visit.
We spent the first few days of the trip in Athens, where once again the beautiful seaside villa owned by Markos Nomikos had been made available for Mrs. Kennedy and her guests. There was a courtesy visit to King Paul and Queen Frederika at the Tatoi Palace one afternoon, and as we drove down the long driveway, Mrs. Kennedy got a big grin on her face.
“Mr. Hill, you look so worried,” she said.
“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, I’m thinking about the last time we were here.”
She laughed and said, “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t sneak off for a high-speed ride with Prince Constantine again. And remember? You did catch us.”
“Oh, I remember only too well,” I said with a smile. “I’ll be paying very close attention to your every move this time.”
“I thought you always did that, Mr. Hill,” she said, laughing.
Her teasing and playfulness was back, it was good to see, and true to her word, she didn’t try to pull a fast one on me. At least not at the Tatoi Palace. The next day, we were to begin our cruise on the Christina.
IN THE NEARLY three years that I had been with Mrs. Kennedy, I had had the opportunity to sail aboard some fabulous yachts. Nomikos’s Northwind, Gianni Agnelli’s Agneta, and of course the yachts in the presidential fleet—the Honey Fitz, the Manitou, the Sequoia. But nothing could have prepared me for the Christina.
Anchored in the bay at Glyfada, the 325-foot Christina made the other yachts in the harbor look like bathtub toys. We were met at the dock by a few members of the crew, and two sleek mahogany-hulled Hacker speedboats—the tenders for the Christina. Our bags were loaded, and off we sped to the massive white yacht in the distance.
There were a great many staff to greet us and yes, Aristotle Onassis himself was standing on deck as we boarded. Gray-haired, with black bushy eyebrows, he was shorter than I had expected, and had a stocky frame. He had a very large nose, an oily, olive complexion, and dark circles surrounding rather small eyes.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said. “Welcome aboard the Christina.” He greeted Lee with a kiss on each cheek—as Europeans do—and then proceeded to do the same to Mrs. Kennedy. I cringed as I watched him place his hands on her arms and lean in to graze her cheek with his lips.
This is the man President Kennedy had told me—in no uncertain terms—to make sure Mrs. Kennedy did not meet in 1961. Now, here she is being greeted by him on his yacht as his guest. Did I misunderstand something?
All these thoughts ran through my mind as the other guests appeared on deck. There was Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr. and his wife, Suzanne; Onassis’s sisters Artemis Garofalides and Mrs. Calliroë Patronicola; Greek actor Alexis Minotis; Silvio Medici De’ Menezes and his wife, Princess Irene Galitzine. Many of these people I had met previously—and of course Princess Irene and I had shopped and dined together in Capri—but under these conditions, I felt like an intruder, completely out of place.
A steward escorted Mrs. Kennedy to her cabin, as I followed along, with Provi not far behind to make sure all was well with her mistress. The stateroom Mrs. Kennedy had been assigned was furnished as royally as any palace she had stayed in, while the en suite bathroom had solid gold fixtures, with faucets in the shape of dolphins. I had no idea splendor of this extreme existed. It was only the tip of the iceberg.
As Paul and I explored the yacht we encountered extravagance upon extravagance. A spiral staircase with pillars of onyx soaring three levels above a mosaic floor bearing the image of the Greek letter omega. A lounge with a stunning lapis lazuli fireplace surrounded by bookshelves containing rare volumes. A seawater swimming pool on the aft deck inlaid with an exquisite mosaic copied from the Palace of Knossos in Crete. If you want to dance, push a button and the floor of the pool rises, the water drains, and the mosaic tile floor of the pool is now at room level, ready to accommodate your every move.
Want a drink? Go to Ari’s bar on the main deck. A wooden circular bar made from the timbers of a Spanish galleon with heavy sailing rope as the facing. You are sitting on bar stools covered in whale foreskin. Your arms and feet are resting on footrests and handholds of ornately carved whales’ teeth accented in gold. Under the glass top to the bar itself are tiny ship models, which, at the flick of a switch, move on a lighted relief of the sea.
There is a library, and more lounge area, complete with a grand piano. Need to leave in a hurry? Lower the helicopter to the proper position and have a pleasant flight. And just to make sure you have absolutely everything you need or want, a seaplane is available to act as a courier bringing the latest newspapers, mail, and any provisions needed for the cruise. It also acts as a taxi, ferrying people leaving or joining the cruise. But beware, the standard trick is to fly over the Christina upside down after taking off, leaving the passenger somewhat ill, as Prince Radziwill would find out upon his early departure.
Paul and I were led to the cabin he and I would share. Located in the bowels of the yacht, as part of the crew area, it was small and somewhat cramped, but we each had a bunk and our own head. Not bad for two government employees.
“What do you think, Paul?” I asked as we stood on deck looking back at the shore. “Think you can handle this for the next two weeks?”
“It is unreal,” he said. “I think you could live on this yacht and never have to get off.”
It was true. The Christina even had its own laundry and dry cleaning facility. I had been given a copy of the manifest, which listed the names, nationalities, and passport numbers for everybody aboard the ship. Thirteen passengers, and a crew of forty-eight, which included hairdressers, chefs, electricians, and engineers. From a security standpoint, it was ideal—a self-contained city with very few people to deal with.
The crew weighed anchor and the Christina began to move away from the Greek mainland toward the coast of Turkey, slicing through the water with hardly an indication on deck that we were moving. Paul remained in proximity to Mrs. Kennedy while I went to the bridge to check with the captain and obtain as much information as possible about the immediate itinerary.
We were on our way to Istanbul, Turkey. But the captain didn’t know what, if any, activities were planned upon arrival.
I found Mrs. Kennedy coming out of her stateroom. She had changed into a p
air of lightweight trousers and a thin blouse. Her hair was pulled back with a scarf, and she had a pair of oversized sunglasses propped on top of her head.
“So, Mr. Hill, what do you think of the Christina?”
“It’s a very nice yacht,” I said as my mouth curled into a smile. “Not bad.”
She laughed. It was wonderful to see her laughing again.
“Mrs. Kennedy, can you tell me what your plans are for the rest of the day, and what you think you might do tomorrow?”
“Oh Mr. Hill,” she said as she grabbed my hands. “Will you please stop worrying about me and just try to enjoy yourself? This is so pleasant.” She gave my hands a quick squeeze and added, “I want you and Mr. Landis to have a good time.”
“Thank you Mrs. Kennedy, I appreciate that, but I do need to know your plans. I know we are on the way to Istanbul, but can you give me some more specific information?”
“I want to see the Blue Mosque in Istanbul and one of the national museums. You’ll have to check with Mr. Onassis—he knows where I want to go.”
“Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Kennedy, I’ll do that.”
I guess Mr. Onassis and I are going to get to know each other.
I went back to the bridge and told the captain I needed to talk with Mr. Onassis. He used the intercom system to connect with Mr. Onassis.
“Tell Mr. Hill to come to my suite,” Onassis said over the intercom.