Mrs. Kennedy and Me

by McCubbin, Lisa;Hill, Clint

  We were up at the villa when a magnificent yacht sailed into the Bay of Salerno. The eighty-two-foot-long, two-masted yawl glided in like a prima ballerina making her grand entrance onstage, with its spinnaker flying. It was unlike any other sailboat I had ever seen. The mainsail, spinnaker, and smaller mizzen sail were all a deep red color, like a fine Chianti, and as the yacht cut through the water, its sails stood out against the blue sea like beautiful scarves, flying in the wind.

  I soon learned that this was the Agneta, and she belonged to the chairman of Fiat corporation, Gianni Agnelli. Agnelli and his wife, Marella, ran in the same circles as the Kennedys, and had known them for several years, but I had no previous knowledge that the Agnellis were meeting up with Mrs. Kennedy in Ravello. The yacht was anchored quite a ways from the shore, and it was then that Mrs. Kennedy came to tell me her plans.

  “My friends the Agnellis have arrived on their yacht, and Lee and Stash and I are going to go aboard. They’re sending a small boat to the dock to take us out to it.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said. “I’ll alert the police and let them know.” I tried to play it cool, but I was really looking forward to getting on that beautiful yacht.

  I had never met Gianni Agnelli before, but he had a reputation for being a man with great charisma and impeccable style, a trendsetter. The Agneta with her long, lean lines, teak decks, and magnificent, richly varnished mahogany hull was every bit as sleek and classy as her owner.

  Gianni Agnelli was standing on the deck of his yacht as we approached. Once we boarded, he gave Mrs. Kennedy and Lee each warm hugs. He was gracious and kind, and immediately introduced me to the three crew members, who gave me a tour of the yacht so that I could familiarize myself with the layout of the boat. They treated me like a guest as they showed me the master suite with a small marble fireplace, the two twin cabins and a Pullman berth, the main salon, galley, and several heads. The interior was as elegant as the exterior. When I returned to the deck, Mrs. Kennedy was so relaxed, laughing with her sister, Stash, Gianni, and his wife, Marella. It seemed her entire demeanor changed as soon as she boarded the yacht. It was so peaceful being out on the water, so far from the crowds and the constant flashes from the ever-present cameras. I had the feeling we were going to be spending considerable time aboard the Agneta.

  Mrs. Kennedy and Gianni Agnelli followed by Clint Hill

  As it turned out, Agnelli offered Mrs. Kennedy the use of the Agneta for the rest of her stay in Italy, and while he and his wife would join Mrs. Kennedy on occasion, much of the time he wasn’t there at all. The Italian police organizations—the Questura and Carabinieri—provided security coverage in addition to providing a chase boat and crew for our agents. To give Mrs. Kennedy and her guests as much privacy as possible, I was the only agent that stayed aboard the yacht.

  One day Mrs. Kennedy decided she wanted to go to Paestum, an ancient Greco-Roman city about forty miles down the coast from Ravello, so we sailed down the coast on the Agneta, her red sails flying, creating a dramatic sight for the people ashore. When we got to Paestum, the captain had to anchor the yacht a hundred yards or more from the rocky shore. The only way to get ashore was by rowboat. I was somewhat concerned because the boat they hauled into the water was not much bigger than a bathtub. I didn’t see how we were going to get Mrs. Kennedy, Lee, a female friend who had joined us, me, and the oarsman all into that tiny boat, but rather than make two trips, we all crowded in, and the crewman rowed us to shore.

  Founded in about 600 B.C., Paestum was originally called Poseidonia, in honor of Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea. In 273 B.C., the Romans, after taking control of the area from the Greeks, changed the name to Paestum. The area is known for its well-preserved temples, which rival the Parthenon in size and beauty, and this is what Mrs. Kennedy wanted to see and explore. She had read the history of the area and was regaling the rest of us with stories about the ancient civilizations as we walked through the temples and ruins. She took a deep interest in history and it never ceased to amaze me how much she knew about not only American history, but also the histories of so many other regions of the world.

  After walking around the large site, we headed back to the coast, where the crewman was waiting for us with the rowboat.

  There had been a few paparazzi following us around as we toured the ancient city, and they of course followed us as we made our way back to the shore. The sea was a little bit rougher than when we had arrived and in order to get into the boat, we had to take our shoes off, roll up our trousers, and wade into the water.

  The oarsman was seated in the middle of the boat and I tried to hold the boat steady so Mrs. Kennedy and the two other women could get in gracefully.

  “Do you need me to give you a hand, Mrs. Kennedy?” I asked. I was worried she might slip and the photographers would have a field day.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Hill. I can do it just fine,” she said as she hoisted herself into a seated position on the edge of the boat and then swung her legs around. She was laughing, completely ignoring the photographers, just having a great time. By the time we all got into the boat, it was sitting quite low in the water, and as the oarsman struggled to get the boat in motion against the surf, it felt like we were going to flip over. A few of the photographers had waded into the water, and were snapping away.

  “For Christsake!” I yelled. “Put down your goddamn cameras and somebody give us a push before we swamp!”

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennedy was laughing just as hard as she could. I don’t know if she was laughing at me or whether she thought it would be hilarious if we actually did flip over.

  Finally someone gave us a push and we got out beyond where the waves were breaking so we could get some momentum.

  “Oh, Mr. Hill,” she said. She was laughing so hard she could barely speak. “If you could have seen the look on your face when you thought we were going to tip over! I hope one of the photographers caught it. I would pay to have that shot!”

  As it turned out, one of the photographers did get a shot of that look on my face and he gave both Mrs. Kennedy and me a copy of the picture. It was such a great snapshot of a moment in time, a photo that captures the mischievous, adventure-loving woman I had come to know so well, to care for so very much. It was a moment when she was carefree, enjoying life to its fullest.

  WE USED THE Agneta more and more as a mode of transportation to get to the places Mrs. Kennedy wanted to see because it was a respite from the prying eyes of the press and the gawking public. On the yacht, her privacy could be maintained. Mrs. Kennedy would read, or write, or sketch at her leisure, and simply enjoy the company of her sister and friends. Most of the time Gianni Agnelli was not on the yacht, but on one of the first evenings that he was, he introduced everyone to a new drink.

  “What is that?” I asked Mr. Agnelli the first time he served the cherry-colored drink to Mrs. Kennedy.

  “It’s an aperitivo. We call it Negroni,” he said.

  “Here, try it,” he said as he handed me a glass.

  I took a sip and handed the glass back to him.

  “Not bad,” I said. It had a bitter, sort of sweet taste to it. “What’s in it?”

  “Campari—that’s what makes it red—then it’s mixed with sweet vermouth, and garnished with a slice of orange.” He took a sip from his glass and then added, “Oh yes, and just a dash of gin for a bit of an extra kick.”

  I laughed. There was definitely more than “just a dash” of gin in that drink.

  “It’s very refreshing,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “I rather like it. I’ll have to remember to have Campari on hand at the White House for our Italian guests.” She laughed.

  Aperitivo time was a way to wind down after a day out on the water, and as the sun went down, when the bottle of Campari came out, it signaled the evening’s activities were about to begin.

  ONE EVENING, WE took the Agneta to Capri, a stunning island that rises dramatically out of the Tyrrhenian Sea. It was a beautiful sail, and
after anchoring at the port, we transferred to the Riva motorboat, the Pretexte, because Mrs. Kennedy wanted to cruise along the shoreline. She had been invited to dinner at the villa of Silvio Medici De’ Menezes and his fashion designer wife, Princess Irene Galitzine, who were friends of the Agnellis. They had a lively al fresco dinner served at midnight, and it wasn’t until after two o’clock in the morning that we returned to the Agneta and sailed back to Ravello.

  A couple of days later, Mrs. Kennedy came to me and said, “Mr. Hill, I need you to do something for me like you did in Palm Beach. You know the problems we had with people when I wanted to go shopping on Worth Avenue? Well, I would really like to go shopping at the boutiques in Capri, but I’m sure the same thing would happen.”

  “Yes, you’re absolutely right, Mrs. Kennedy. I have no doubt you would be hounded by not only tourists, but also those damn paparazzi. I’m afraid it would be much worse than what we experienced in Palm Beach.”

  She sighed. “I agree. So, I came up with an idea.”

  As she said that, she looked at me and I could see the mischief in her eyes, like a little girl asking her daddy for something she knew Mummy wouldn’t approve of.

  “Would you go to Capri for me, Mr. Hill?”

  “What exactly is it you want me to do?” I asked.

  “Well, Irene Galitzine offered to go shopping for me. I’d like you to take the motorboat there and accompany her—you know the kinds of things I like—and then you can bring back the clothes to me here.”

  This is way outside my job description, and you know that, I thought to myself. But just like in Palm Beach, I would be keeping her out of exposure to large numbers of people. It seemed like a good protective move.

  “Oh, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, shaking my head. I tried to look serious but I couldn’t keep from smiling. “Yes, I will go to Capri for you. But don’t you dare tell anyone that I’ve done this.”

  She laughed and said, “Oh, I won’t tell anyone, Mr. Hill. It will be our secret.”

  I explained to Agent Paul Rundle, the advance agent, what I was about to do, and he assured me he would take care of everything until I returned. The bigger problem was trying to explain to the driver of the Pretexte what I needed, but somehow he seemed to understand, and the next day we took off for Capri.

  We hugged the coastline until reaching a point where we had to cross a considerable distance of open water in the Tyrrhenian Sea to get to the island. It was a windy day, and the water was filled with whitecaps and very choppy, and every time we went up over a wave and crashed down hard, it felt like we were being punched over and over again. I had never felt seasick before, but this time I was very close. It seemed to take forever but finally we reached the marina, and fortunately I managed to avoid being sick. I disembarked and proceeded to the villa to meet Princess Irene Galatzine—I was a bit windblown and sunburned, but no worse for the wear.

  The princess was a strikingly beautiful woman, very tall and elegant, and I felt somewhat like the hired help, literally just off the boat, but she was extremely gracious, and eager to go shopping for Mrs. Kennedy. I had never heard of her before the previous night’s dinner, but Mrs. Kennedy had informed me that she was famous for designing trousers for evening wear, known as “palazzo pants.” Apparently she was quite well known in the fashion world. So, there we were, Princess Irene Galatzine and me, shopping together in the upscale boutiques on the Isle of Capri.

  We selected an assortment of dresses, trousers, gauzy blouses, jewelry, shoes—you name it. We had a whole damn wardrobe for Mrs. Kennedy. By the time we finished and returned to the villa, it was getting dark, so going back to Amalfi across that rough body of water was out of the question.

  “You’ll have to stay here at the villa,” the princess said. “I’ll make sure the boat driver is informed and have him available for you first thing in the morning.”

  “Well, thank you very much,” I said.

  She showed me to a guest bedroom and told me to make myself at home. “And you must have dinner with me, Mr. Hill.”

  “Oh, no,” I protested. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “I insist,” she said. “Truly, it will be a pleasure.”

  I hadn’t intended on staying overnight and I had no clothes to change into for dinner, so I just went into the bathroom and washed up as best as I could.

  When it came time for dinner, I was surprised to find that it would just be the princess and me dining alone. It was a simple meal of seafood and pasta with a salad and excellent Italian bread. Princess Irene made me feel comfortable, but being a participant—rather than an observer waiting in the wings—was something I wasn’t used to.

  So, that’s how I ended up spending the night at the home of Princess Irene Galitzine. My life had been one adventure after another. It sure was a long way from the North Dakota Children’s Home to the residence of a princess on the Isle of Capri. I felt like the luckiest man in the world.

  In the morning, after some juice, extremely dark coffee, and a biscotti I was ready to leave. I now had in my possession a large trunk filled with purchases the princess had made on Mrs. Kennedy’s behalf. We loaded it on the boat and off to Amalfi I went. The trip back was smoother than the one to Capri, no whitecaps, and we made good time. Arriving at the beach house, we were met by the caretaker, who carried the trunk up to the house. Mrs. Kennedy and Lee were there and very glad to see me, and especially the trunk full of goodies. It was as if Christmas had arrived in August.

  Mrs. Kennedy insisted I stay as she and Lee went through the various items of clothing. When I began to tell them about the wild boat ride across the choppy waters, they started laughing hysterically.

  “I want you to tell me everything, Mr. Hill,” Mrs. Kennedy said with childlike delight in her voice. “From the moment you left here. Every detail. What Irene said, where you shopped, what you ate for dinner. Don’t leave anything out.”

  So, as Mrs. Kennedy and her sister gave me an impromptu fashion show, I regaled them with details of my adventure on the high seas, and the night with the princess on the Isle of Capri.

  Clint Hill and Mrs. Kennedy in Italy

  THUS FAR, I had managed to protect Mrs. Kennedy while also keeping things in line with the president’s instructions. Then one evening Mrs. Kennedy informed me that she, along with Lee, Stash, and their guests, was going to go to Positano—to a nightclub.

  The president’s words immediately popped into my head. And above all, no nightclub pictures.

  “Okay, Mrs. Kennedy, whatever you want. I’ll handle it,” I said.

  We left Ravello and traveled down the coast to Positano, yet another picturesque town on the Amalfi coast. We had alerted the police and advised them to provide a contingent of officers dressed in plainclothes, to make our large group, which included Mrs. Kennedy, several friends, and several Secret Service agents, as inconspicuous as possible. The nightclub was crowded, and while Mrs. Kennedy did not go unnoticed, we managed to keep the paparazzi outside. Everyone was dancing and laughing, having a great time, into the wee hours of the morning. I remember watching Mrs. Kennedy enjoying herself so much with her friends. Oh how I wished I could be out there on the dance floor with them, a participant rather than a bystander.

  Paul Landis escorts Mrs. Kennedy in Positano

  AS THE DAYS went by, everybody fell more in love with Ravello. It was so picturesque, so charming, the people so warm and friendly. Finally, on August 31, we bid farewell to Italy. The three weeks on the Amalfi coast had been nothing less than enchanting, and all of us, especially Mrs. Kennedy, were sad to leave. When I think back and remember those special times, one of the things that stands out is the memory of the view in the evening, looking down the coastline. Anchored in the harbor at Amalfi, a thousand feet below Ravello, the fishing boats and private yachts were decorated with strands of tiny white lights throughout the rigging, so that it looked like a hundred thousand candles dancing in the water. It was magical.

 
; 15

  October Crisis

  After a month in Hyannis Port and three weeks in Italy, I assumed we would return to Washington, but we ended up flying straight from Rome to New York to Quonset Point, Rhode Island, where the president met us, along with an enormous crowd and full press coverage. It was a wonderful, happy family reunion, and from there we were off to Hammersmith Farm for the next several weeks.

  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.