by Clint Hill
I always thought she looked so beautiful in her riding clothes—natural, no makeup, and after an exhilarating ride, her face was flushed from the exercise. But despite how much she seemed to have enjoyed being back on Sardar, I could tell something was wrong.
As we started walking, she said, “You know I told you I was going to go with the president to Texas . . .”
“Yes . . .” I had a feeling I knew what this was about.
“Well,” she said, “I’m having second thoughts, after this incident with Adlai Stevenson.”
Adlai Stevenson, the ambassador to the United Nations, was one of Mrs. Kennedy’s friends. The day before, he had been heckled while giving a speech on world peace in Dallas. Then, when he emerged from the auditorium, a group of anti–United Nations protesters attacked him with placards, and someone reportedly spat on him. The police had to force back the protesters, and by all accounts, it was an ugly scene.
“Yes, I did hear about that,” I answered.
“I had dinner with the Roosevelts last night, and they tried to talk me out of going—especially to Dallas. What do you think?”
She had been so excited about the trip just a couple of days earlier, and now it seemed she was rethinking everything. I wondered whether it really had to do with the Stevenson incident.
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to get out of going to Johnson’s ranch?” I asked with a smile.
The details of the trip were still being worked out by the political staff, but the word was that Vice President Johnson and his wife had extended an invitation for an overnight visit at their ranch near Austin.
She looked at me and laughed.
“Well, that is rather frightening in and of itself . . . but really,” she said, turning serious, “I would like to know your opinion. Do you think the climate in Dallas is so . . . so hostile to the president that the people could mistreat us like they did Adlai?”
“Anything’s possible, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said. “But as far as I know, there are no more threats in Dallas or Houston or anywhere else in Texas than there would be in any other part of the South right now.”
“I suppose it seems rather silly to be worried about going somewhere in your own country, when I’ve gone to places like India and Pakistan and Morocco, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not silly, Mrs. Kennedy. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable for any reason. But right now, if you’re asking my opinion, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t feel perfectly safe going to Texas with the president.”
“Well, that makes me feel a lot better.” She grabbed my hand and said, “Thank you, Mr. Hill. You always know exactly the right thing to say.”
Over the next few days, I had a feeling she was still wavering, but on November 7, White House Press Secretary Pierre Salinger made the announcement to the press:
Mrs. Kennedy will accompany the president on the entire Texas trip. The trip is expected to include Houston and Austin and perhaps San Antonio, Fort Worth, and Dallas.
It was official. We were going to Texas.
CAROLINE HAD BECOME quite the equestrienne after her lessons during the summer in Hyannis Port, and it became almost a daily activity for Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline to go riding together. Meanwhile, John, who was nearly three years old, would tramp around the woods in cowboy boots and an army helmet. The agents had set up an army tent near the edge of the woods, and John would play for hours with his toy swords and guns, marching around, giving orders to his “army nurse,” Miss Shaw.
Like clockwork, on Saturday, John would hear the telltale sound of the helicopter coming in—the impressive Army or Marine helicopter with the white top denoting the president was aboard—and he could hardly contain himself. There was nothing that boy loved more than helicopters. And he knew that when the chopper came in, that meant Daddy was coming.
We all got such a kick out of John and everybody would play along, saluting “General John” when he was in his military getup. He would salute back, giggling like crazy. The only problem was, he always saluted with his left hand. No matter how many times we told him to use his right hand, his instinct always seemed to be to use his left hand.
The weekend before Veterans Day, Mrs. Kennedy told John that Daddy was going to take him to a special ceremony on Monday, where he would get to see real soldiers, marching and saluting. She tried to explain that Daddy was the commander in chief of all the soldiers, and they would all salute him.
“Now John,” she said, “when you see the other soldiers salute Daddy, you can salute him, too.”
Agent Bob Foster was by little John’s side when the president silently placed a floral wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, at Arlington National Cemetery, and “wouldn’t you know it,” Bob told me later, “as soon as the uniformed military color guard saluted, John raised his hand—his right hand—and saluted his father, right on cue. I was proud of the little guy.”
TWO DAYS LATER, on Wednesday, November 13, John got to see another military spectacle, when the Scottish Black Watch Regiment’s Pipers and Band performed on the south grounds of the White House. Noteworthy because they were Britain’s first kilted regiment, the famous military troupe was on tour in the United States and Mrs. Kennedy had invited them to perform on the White House lawn. Wanting to ensure an appreciative audience, she arranged for 1,700 underprivileged schoolchildren, along with the families of White House staff, to attend the four o’clock performance. Throngs of press people had come to the event as well—not so much because of their interest in the marching bagpipe band, but more for the opportunity to photograph the president, Mrs. Kennedy, and the children together.
It was a cold and dreary November afternoon, and while the Scotsmen in the regiment were wearing their traditional plaid kilts, everyone in the audience was bundled in winter coats, hats, and gloves. The president and Mrs. Kennedy walked onto the lawn, and after shaking hands with the commander, the president made a short speech acknowledging the brave and proud history of the Black Watch Royal Highlanders, and the fact that the colonel in chief of the regiment was the Queen Mother of Great Britain. Quipping that in one war—the War of Independence—they fought against us, he solemnly added that more important are the wars in which they have fought alongside us: World War I, World War II, and Korea.
“Personally,” President Kennedy said, “the history of Scotland captured me at a very young age. The U.S., in fact all of us, love, I suppose in a sense, lost causes. And on occasion the history of Scotland has been a lost cause, but perhaps in some ways they have triumphed. Perhaps more today than ever before. We regard it as a great honor to have representatives of a great country to have as our guests here at the White House.”
The audience cheered as the president and Mrs. Kennedy walked back across the lawn, then walked up the steps to the South Portico porch, where John and Caroline were patiently watching and waiting.
All eyes were on the balcony as President and Mrs. Kennedy took their seats, and when Caroline jumped into the lap of her father, cameras were snapping like crazy. It was rare for the public to see the family like this together in such a relaxed setting—something I witnessed regularly—and they loved it.
As soon as they were situated, the performance began. And what a performance it was. Dressed in the dark navy, green, and black plaid kilts for which they are noted, with white boots, and magnificent headdresses made of black ostrich feathers, the regiment put on a spectacle like nothing that had ever been performed on the grounds of the White House. Trumpets, trombones, tubas, and drums harmonized together as a backdrop for the haunting sounds of the bagpipes. And as they played, the performers high-stepped and sword-danced in intricate maneuvers flawlessly timed to the tempo of the traditional Scottish tunes. For those of us who had the privilege of being there, it was something we will never forget. And in return, it was obvious that the Black Watch were incredibly honored to be able to perform in this prestigious setting, as the young American president sat on the balco
ny of the White House, surrounded by his family, tapping his hands on his knees to the rhythm of the drum.
ON WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 20, Mrs. Kennedy and I returned to the White House after another long weekend at Atoka. We were leaving the next morning for Texas, and while she was concerned with packing the proper wardrobe, I needed to get an update on the logistics and security arrangements.
I walked from my office in the Map Room, down the hall to the Secret Service office, and found Floyd Boring and Roy Kellerman, the two Assistants to the Special Agent in Charge of the White House Detail. Both of these men reported to Jerry Behn, the SAIC, and while Behn was taking a few well-deserved days off, they were the top men in charge.
“Hey, Clint,” Floyd said as soon as I walked in the door. “We were just discussing the Texas trip.”
“Great,” I said. “That’s what I wanted to talk about, too.” I held up my copy of the schedule. “Looks ambitious.”
They looked at each other and then Floyd said, “Clint, shut the door.”
It wasn’t unusual to close the door to the Secret Service room—there were lots of times our conversations needed to be confidential—but I wondered what was up.
“Listen, Clint,” Floyd said. “You know we just came back from Florida, right?”
“Yeah. The president was in Cape Canaveral, Tampa, and Miami, is what I recall.”
“That’s right,” Floyd said. “And something happened in Tampa you need to know about. I presume that since you’ve been at Atoka, you hadn’t heard.”
I shook my head. All I had heard was what had been transmitted over the radio. I didn’t recall anything out of the ordinary.
Floyd continued. “We had a long motorcade in Tampa, and it was decided that we should keep two guys on the back of the car for the entire route—just for added precaution.”
I nodded. That wasn’t all that unusual. There were steps and handholds built onto the back of the presidential limousine—the one we called “100X”—specifically for that purpose. Whenever there were heavy crowds, you wanted to have agents as close to the president as possible.
“So, we had Chuck Zboril and Don Lawton on the back of the car the entire way,” Floyd said. “But partway through the motorcade, in an area where the crowds had thinned, the president requested we remove the agents from the back of the car.”
“Really?” I asked. I had never heard the president ever question procedural recommendations by his Secret Service detail. “What was the reason?”
“He said now that we’re heading into the campaign, he doesn’t want it to look like we’re crowding him. And the word is, from now on, you don’t get on the back of the car unless the situation absolutely warrants it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Understood.”
We then moved on to discussing the logistics for the trip ahead, how Mrs. Kennedy was feeling, and how I thought she would cope with the trip. We were all surprised that she was going, but Boring and Kellerman agreed that the president and Mrs. Kennedy seemed so much closer since Patrick died, and we thought it might actually be beneficial for her to get out in public. There was no doubt it would benefit the president—his poll numbers had dropped considerably in key southern states, and he needed all the help he could get if he were going to get reelected.
I returned to my office and sat down at my desk. I picked up the schedule and read through it again.
We were to depart the White House at 10:45 A.M. and arrive at San Antonio International Airport at 1:30 P.M. local time. Motorcade through the city to Brooks Air Force Base. President dedicates a new Aerospace Medical Center. Motorcade to Kelly Field. Fly to Houston. Arrive Houston at 5:00 P.M. Motorcade through Houston to the Rice Hotel downtown. Brief appearance by President and Mrs. Kennedy. Back in the cars. Motorcade to Sam Houston Coliseum for a banquet in honor of Texas congressman Albert Thomas. Depart the Coliseum 9:45 P.M. Cars to airport. Fly to Fort Worth. Arrive Fort Worth 10:45 P.M. Motorcade from Carswell Air Force Base into downtown Fort Worth. Arrive Texas Hotel 11:05 P.M.
Nine and a half hours on the ground. Five motorcades in three major cities. If the weather permitted, the president and Mrs. Kennedy would be in an open-top car. That was the norm. It was going to be a high-adrenaline day for everybody—the president, Mrs. Kennedy, and the agents. And that was just day one. The next day, we flew to Dallas and Austin for more of the same.
I suddenly wondered if I should have tried to talk Mrs. Kennedy out of the trip. She had such high expectations, and sincerely wanted to be involved in the campaign, but it was going to be exhausting. The last thing I wanted was for something like this to set her back. She had only just started laughing again.
23
That Day in Dallas
Clint Hill walks beside car as President and Mrs. Kennedy depart Love Field
The White House was alive with activity when I arrived at 8:00 A.M. November 21. The fact that Mrs. Kennedy was going with the president added a whole different dimension to the trip. This would be her first domestic political trip since her husband had become president, and everybody wanted it to go well.
I immediately went to the lower level of the West Wing, where the White House Transportation Office was gathering baggage, and dropped off my suitcase. From this point on I wouldn’t have to worry about my bags. When I arrived at my hotel room that night, all of my stuff would be there, waiting for me. There was no such thing as lost or misplaced luggage when you traveled on Air Force One.
At about 10:40 I heard the unmistakable sound of the helicopter landing on the South Lawn. I put out my cigarette, gathered the portfolio with all the details of the trip, and headed to the Diplomatic Reception Room to prepare to board the presidential helicopter.
It was always an impressive sight to see the Marine helicopter land right there on the lawn at the White House. And no one loved it more than John. As if on cue, the tousle-haired little boy came running in with Agent Bob Foster, as the president and Mrs. Kennedy followed closely behind.
“Hey John,” I said. “Are you coming on the chopper?”
He looked up at me with the biggest grin you can imagine and said, “Yeah! Look!” He pointed out the French doors. “There it is!”
His enthusiasm was contagious, and everybody laughed.
It had become habit now—almost every time the president left the White House, he would ask one of the children’s agents to bring John for the short ride to Andrews Air Force Base. President Kennedy got such a kick out of seeing John’s enthusiasm on the helicopter. I don’t know who enjoyed it more—the president or his son.
As soon as the chopper touched down, the pilot powered down the rotors. When the Navy aide standing at the portico gave us the “okay” sign, we filed into the helicopter, which, as soon as the president boarded, became Marine One.
It was a short six-minute ride to Andrews, where pilot Colonel Jim Swindal had the presidential aircraft ready to go, engines running. It certainly was an impressive plane—with the blue, silver, and white theme that Mrs. Kennedy had had a hand in designing—and the proud UNITED STATES OF AMERICA boldly painted on the side. At times I still had to pinch myself that I was one of the privileged few who got to ride on Air Force One—on a regular basis. Only the presidential party and the shift agents assigned to the president and first lady would ride on Air Force One. Paul Landis was assigned to the backup plane with the afternoon shift agents. The president’s midnight shift agents were already headed to Fort Worth to set up security for our arrival there later in the evening.
The entire day’s itinerary was timed to the minute, and we had left the White House a few minutes late, so there was no time to delay.
“Okay, good-bye, John,” the president said as he leaned over and gave his son a hug.
“I want to come,” John whined. Tears welled in his eyes.
Mrs. Kennedy kissed him on the cheek and said, “It’s just a few days, darling. And when we come back, it will be your birthday.”
Wiping away
a tear, she added brightly, “Maybe we’ll have a surprise or two.”
This didn’t appease John in the slightest. He was really crying now. Oh, how he wanted to go on the big plane with Mummy and Daddy.
President Kennedy leaned over and gently patted his son on the leg. “John, like Mummy said, we’ll be back in a few days.”
Then the president stood up and looked at Agent Bob Foster, who had slid into the seat next to John.
“Take care of John for me, won’t you, Mr. Foster?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Foster replied. “I’ll be glad to do that.”
John continued to cry as the president and Mrs. Kennedy exited the helicopter. Before I got off, I gave a quick look around to make sure nobody had left anything.
“Bye-bye, John,” I said. “You have fun with Mr. Foster now, okay? We’ll be back in a few days.”
We’ll be back in a few days . . .
ON THE FLIGHT to San Antonio, I sat in the aft cabin next to Roy Kellerman, the Assistant Special Agent in Charge (ASAIC) of the White House Detail. Forty-eight-year-old Kellerman was the supervising Secret Service agent on the trip, and just as I would be with Mrs. Kennedy the entire time, so would Kellerman be with the president. Kellerman was in his twenty-third year with the Secret Service and was one of the agents we all really looked up to. Extremely detail-oriented and methodical, he had started as a shift agent with President Franklin D. Roosevelt, and had risen through the ranks while serving under presidents Truman, Eisenhower, and now Kennedy. At six foot four, with gray-streaked black hair, a leathered complexion, and steely eyes, he was an imposing figure—of all the agents, he probably had the most intimidating appearance of any of us. President Kennedy trusted him completely.
The Air Force One stewards served a light lunch to all on board. It was good to get something to eat because once the activity of the day began, we agents never knew when we’d get our next meal. When the opportunity presents itself, take advantage because it may be a long time until you have that chance again.