Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

by Clint Hill

  I excused myself from Mr. Behn and ran from the East Wing to the mansion. General Godfrey McHugh, President Kennedy’s Air Force aide, led me to the East Room, where Mrs. Kennedy was standing by the door with Attorney General Robert Kennedy.

  She was dressed in a black suit, with a knee-length skirt, and had a black veil over her hair. I could tell she hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept. She looked so fragile.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Kennedy?”

  She looked at me with hollow eyes and said, “Bobby and I want to see the president.”

  The image of the white-coated doctor pointing out the wounds in the autopsy room flashed into my mind. She had not seen the president since the body was placed in the casket at Parkland Hospital, and I had no idea what her reaction might be. The last time Bobby had seen the president, his brother was alive.

  “All right, Mrs. Kennedy. Let me make sure everything is okay.”

  I motioned to General McHugh and we entered the East Room. He went to the officer in charge of the honor guard and said, “Please have your men do an about-face and leave the room so Mrs. Kennedy can have some privacy.”

  Before the officer could respond, Mrs. Kennedy said softly, “No, just have the men turn around, they can stay where they are. Just have them move away a little.”

  The officer gave the honor guard an about-face and had them take three steps away from the casket. General McHugh and I walked up to the casket, moved the flag down about midway, and opened the casket.

  The mortician had done a great job. The president looked so peaceful. I closed my eyes, swallowed hard, and stepped aside.

  Mrs. Kennedy and the attorney general walked up and looked into the casket. A few seconds went by and Mrs. Kennedy turned to me and said, “Mr. Hill, will you get me a scissor.”

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Kennedy.”

  I walked briskly to the usher’s office and got a pair of scissors and brought them to Mrs. Kennedy. I turned around, and took a few steps away to give her and the president’s brother some privacy.

  As I stood there, I could hear the sound of the scissors. I knew what she was doing.

  Bobby lowered the lid of the casket, and as they turned and began to walk away, the sight and sound of their agony is something I will never forget. Mrs. Kennedy handed me the scissors and they walked to the elevator and went to the living quarters.

  General McHugh and I checked the casket to make sure it was closed securely. I looked at my watch and noted the time: 12:46 P.M. That was the last time the casket was opened.

  I returned the scissors to the usher’s office, and as I placed them in the drawer, I noticed, at the very tip, a strand of chestnut-colored hair.

  As I was walking back to my office, there were several White House staff people standing together and I heard one of them say, “That bastard deserved to die.”

  What? I assumed they were talking about the president. I walked over to them and angrily said, “What the hell did you say?”

  They told me Lee Harvey Oswald, the person charged with killing the president, had just been shot. I was stunned.

  I didn’t have time to dwell on it. The procession to the U.S. Capitol was about to begin.

  The military honor guard carried the casket from the East Room of the White House out the North Portico and placed it on a caisson pulled by six white horses. Mrs. Kennedy followed behind, clutching John’s and Caroline’s hands—one child on each side. Members of the family walked behind the three of them, and Paul and I followed. Mrs. Kennedy got into the waiting limousine with her children and the attorney general, as President and Mrs. Johnson slid in with them.

  There was a long procession of cars, family members, members of Congress, and Secret Service agents. Pennsylvania Avenue had been closed off, and as we departed the White House, I was shocked by what I saw. As far as the eye could see, there were people. Standing in the cold, along Pennsylvania Avenue all the way to the Capitol, it was a mass of people. Hundreds of thousands. But as we slowly proceeded, following the horse-drawn carriage, the only sound you could hear was the clop-clop of the horses’ hooves hitting the pavement, and the steady beating of the military drums.

  I scanned the crowd, as I always did, but I’d never seen a crowd like this before. There were no screams, no shrieks, no requests to stop and shake hands. There was just dead silence, somber faces, and tears.

  When we got to the Capitol, Paul and I stayed in position on either side of Mrs. Kennedy. With the American flag high atop the Capitol at half-mast, the military band played the most moving version of “Hail to the Chief” I had ever heard.

  Mrs. Kennedy, wearing a sheer black veil over her face, tried to hold in the tears. But it was impossible. Standing next to her, with John and Caroline by her side, I too was struggling to keep my emotions in check.

  Nine military pallbearers removed the flag-draped casket from the caisson and began to carry it up the thirty-six steps at the east side of the Capitol. I could see the strain on the faces of the men, and I felt for them. I knew how heavy it was, and the pressure they felt to carry the president with dignity. We walked behind them—Robert Kennedy, Caroline and John, Paul Landis, Mrs. Kennedy, and me.

  The casket was placed in the center of the Rotunda, and as members of the Congress, family, and friends observed, the moving ceremony began.

  During one of the eulogies, John became rambunctious. He didn’t understand what was going on, why he wasn’t allowed to talk. He had been told, of course, that his father was gone, and not coming back, but he really didn’t understand at all. So two of the children’s detail agents took him to a nearby office to try to keep him occupied.

  Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield stepped up to the podium, just a few feet away from Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline, and began to speak.

  “There was a sound of laughter,” he began. “In a moment, it was no more. And so she took a ring from her finger and placed it in his hands.

  “There was a wit in a man neither young nor old,” Mansfield continued, “but a wit full of an old man’s wisdom and of a child’s wisdom, and then, in a moment it was no more. And so she took a ring from her finger and placed it in his hands.”

  His voice started to break, but he continued.

  “There was a husband who asked much and gave much, and out of the giving and the asking wove with a woman what could not be broken in life, and in a moment it was no more. And so she took a ring from her finger and placed it in his hands, and kissed him and closed the lid of a coffin.

  “A piece of each of us died at that moment.”

  Mansfield went on to speak of the things President Kennedy gave to all of us, the things he stood for. It was incredibly moving and emotional for all who were there.

  A large presidential wreath was brought out, and President Johnson, with his head bowed, placed it at the end of the casket.

  The room was silent as Mrs. Kennedy, holding hands with Caroline, walked up to the casket. Mrs. Kennedy touched the casket with her black-gloved hand and knelt, as Caroline, watching her mother, did the same with her own little white-gloved hand. They knelt together and kissed the flag that covered the casket, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room.

  The ceremony concluded, and we returned to the White House. Now the president’s body would lie in state, allowing the public to file past and pay their respects. The funeral and burial would take place the next day, Monday, November 25.

  I KNEW MRS. Kennedy wanted to walk some of the way in the funeral procession but I did not know the details. SAIC Behn called me and said, “Clint, are you aware of what Mrs. Kennedy intends to do during the funeral procession?”

  “Well, yes, she has mentioned that she intends to walk part of the way.”

  “That is really going to create a problem,” he said. “We have I don’t know how many heads of state coming from all over the world, not to mention every high-ranking official in the U.S. government, including President Johnson. And if she walks, they will fe
el compelled to walk.”

  “Believe me, I understand, Jerry. But, if that is her intent, rest assured that is what she will do.”

  “Listen, we really need your help. This funeral is going to stretch our security capabilities to the max as it is. Will you please try to talk her out of it? You are the only one who even has a chance.”

  “I’ll try Jerry, but when she makes up her mind to do something, there’s little chance of talking her out of it.”

  She was upstairs in the residence, so I called and told her I needed to speak with her.

  “Come on up. I’ll be in the Treaty Room,” she said.

  I took the elevator to the second floor and walked down the hall to the Treaty Room. She was waiting in there for me.

  “Hello, Mr. Hill. Come in,” she said. She was pale and drawn; her face looked incredibly sad. It was like she was there, but she wasn’t. She was cordial, and in control, and clearly capable of making decisions, but her spirit was gone.

  I suppose some people may have said the same thing about me.

  “Mrs. Kennedy, I’ve been told you intend to walk in the funeral procession tomorrow and I wanted to clarify what exactly it is that you intend to do.”

  “Oh Mr. Hill, you are always looking for the little details in everything. Are you concerned?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “Well, don’t worry, I’ve decided not to walk all the way, only from the White House to St. Matthew’s.”

  “Mrs. Kennedy, there is a lot of concern about other people who might decide to walk, if you walk. Heads of state, for example.”

  “Well, Mr. Hill, they can ride or do whatever they want to. I’m walking behind the president to St. Matthew’s.”

  I knew that determination in her voice. Oh how well I knew it. She had made up her mind, and nobody was going to be able to talk her out of it.

  “Okay, Mrs. Kennedy. Thank you for telling me your plans.”

  I left, returned to my office, and called SAIC Behn.

  “Jerry, I’ve talked to Mrs. Kennedy and she does intend to walk during the funeral procession tomorrow, but only from the White House to St. Matthew’s.”

  “No chance to talk her out of it, Clint?” he asked.

  “Believe me, Jerry. Nothing is going to change her mind. She is walking.”

  LATER THAT DAY, Prince Radziwill, Mrs. Kennedy’s brother-in-law, arrived from Europe. I was in my office the evening of Sunday, November 24, when the phone rang.

  “Clint Hill,” I answered.

  “Oh, Mr. Hill,” the familiar voice began—which meant to me, I was about to be asked to do something not in my job description—“Stash has just arrived from Europe and really wants to pay his respects to the president. Do you think you can arrange it?”

  “I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Kennedy,” I replied. “What exactly does he want to do?”

  “He wants to go to the Capitol and I’ve heard you can’t get in for hours. Can you help him?”

  “When does he want to go?”

  “He is ready now.”

  “Tell him to come down to the Diplomatic Reception Room and I’ll take him to the Capitol.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hill.”

  I called for a White House car, Stash came down, and we were driven to the Capitol. He and the president had been close. I too had gotten to know Stash well over the past three years, and we had shared some memorable experiences. Tonight we were sharing a deep and profound loss.

  Mrs. Kennedy had been right. The wait to get in to view the casket in the Rotunda was hours. Hundreds of thousands of people had lined up for the opportunity to circle around President Kennedy’s casket. People eight abreast in a line that stretched forty blocks.

  I escorted the prince past all the people, and took him right into the Rotunda where the president lay in state. I identified myself and explained to the officer in charge of the honor guard who Stash was, and he was permitted to approach the casket, pray, and pay his respects.

  On the way back to the White House, he said, “Thank you, Clint. I’ll never forget what you did for me.” He was very emotional, and it tore me apart.

  THE NEXT DAY, November 25, was John’s third birthday. Both President and Mrs. Kennedy had been planning on making it a special day for him. They had each mentioned it to John as we left for Texas four days earlier. Instead we were taking John, along with his mother and sister, to his father’s funeral.

  How sad, I thought. John will go through life remembering November twenty-fifth more for the day his father was buried than for it being his birthday.

  The number of people wanting to pay their respects to the president at the Capitol was so vast that the hours had been extended through the night. The doors finally closed at 9:00 A.M. There would barely be enough time to get everything ready for the ceremony, remove the president’s body from the Capitol, place it back on the caisson, and return to the White House, where the world leaders were gathering. The schedule called for Mrs. Kennedy and the children to leave the White House at 9:45 A.M. and drive to the Capitol. The ceremony would be brief, and by 10:00 A.M. the procession from the Capitol to the White House would begin.

  Mrs. Kennedy decided it would be best if Caroline and John did not go to the Capitol this morning for the short ceremony. She and the president’s brothers, Bobby and Ted, would go alone and the children would remain at the White House. Sergeant Watkins brought Mrs. Kennedy’s Chrysler limousine to the North Portico. I got in the front passenger seat, with the three of them in the back, and we drove out the Northeast Gate onto Pennsylvania Avenue and down to the Capitol.

  The avenue was lined with people the entire way. More than 250,000 of them had gone through the Rotunda since the president lay in state, and more would have, if time had permitted.

  We arrived at the Capitol, marched up the steps, and entered the Rotunda. I stood back as Mrs. Kennedy and the two brothers went directly to the casket, knelt, and prayed. They rose, and we all walked back out the same door, down the steps, and waited at the ground level as the casket was lifted off the bier and brought down the steps. Once again my thoughts were with the honor guard, carrying this very heavy casket down that long set of stairs. It was obviously very difficult, but they made it, and placed it back onto the caisson. The cortege was formed and the procession began to move from the Capitol to the White House.

  As we progressed slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue, the size of the crowd increased and the silence emanating from the teary-eyed people was deafening. We arrived at the White House to find a sea of people comprised of the diplomatic corps and two hundred foreign dignitaries from nearly one hundred countries around the world. They had traveled from Europe and Asia, from Africa and Australia, as well as North and South America. There were princes and princesses, kings and queens, presidents and vice presidents, prime ministers and foreign ministers. But the names really told the story. Charles de Gaulle, Haile Selassie, Prince Philip, Queen Frederika, King Baudouin of Belgium, Berlin mayor Willy Brandt, and Ireland’s president, Éamon de Valera to name a few. Included in this mass of humanity was Lyndon Johnson, the new president, and his wife, Lady Bird.

  All of these people had gathered to accompany Mrs. Kennedy as she walked behind the caisson that carried the president’s body, from the White House to St. Matthew’s Cathedral.

  The security was complex, to say the least. Many of the leaders had come with their own security personnel, and they were mixed in with people who had been brought in from all areas of the U.S. government to assist the State Department, which was responsible for protecting visiting heads of state. Nearly every Secret Service agent from around the country—more than 250 of them—had flown in to help.

  The procession left the White House led by a company of U.S. Marines. Next came nine pipers from the Scottish Black Watch, their bagpipes belting out the songs of Ireland the president so loved, as they marched ahead of the six gray-and-white horses pulling the caisson bearing the president’s body. Next c
ame the presidential flag, followed by Black Jack, the riderless horse.

  The walking procession came next, led by Mrs. Kennedy, Bobby and Ted Kennedy, flanked by Paul Landis on the left and me on the right. The various heads of state were to follow, but at the last minute Mrs. Kennedy decided she wanted Caroline and John, who were riding in the Chrysler limousine, to be close to her. They had been behind President Johnson and the mass of world leaders, so Agents Tom Wells and Bob Foster worked their way through the dignitaries to get the car up front. Now the procession could begin.

  The haunting bagpipes started to play, and we walked.

  Clint Hill (left) walks with Mrs. Kennedy and family during funeral procession. President Lyndon Johnson in background.

  Lining the one-and-a-quarter-mile route to the cathedral were thousands upon thousands of people, weeping. Step by step we walked, Mrs. Kennedy with her black-veiled head held high, as the people—black and white, children with parents, and elderly folks with canes—openly grieved.

  The Requiem Mass at St. Matthew’s was extremely emotional. Mrs. Kennedy sat with Caroline and John on either side of her, and I sat directly behind Mrs. Kennedy. Luigi Vena, a tenor from Boston, sang “Ave Maria,” just as he had at the Kennedys’ wedding in 1953. Cardinal Cushing, who officiated, was a friend of the Kennedy family and had performed the services for Patrick’s funeral, just three and a half months earlier. During the service, at one point he referred to the president as “Dear Jack.” When he said that, it was just too much for Mrs. Kennedy, and the stoic demeanor she had displayed to this point briefly faded.

  I had anticipated the need for handkerchiefs and had a couple handy. I reached from directly behind her and placed one in her hand. She used it the rest of the service.

  At one point, as had happened on Saturday in the Rotunda, John got fidgety. With Mrs. Kennedy’s nod of approval, Agent Foster picked him up and took him to an anteroom. In an effort to keep him occupied, Bob had him practice his salute.

  He wasn’t doing too well, still insisting once again on saluting with his left hand. It had been two weeks since his visit to Arlington Cemetery with his father on Veteran’s Day. But a Marine colonel happened to be watching, and he walked in and said, “John, you are doing it all wrong, this is the way you salute.” He demonstrated using the right hand with an emphatic gesture. Sure enough, John caught on. Six weeks of instruction by his agents with only minimal results, and just three minutes with the Marine colonel and he got it right.