The Secret Service Command Center, when I notified them, had a similar reaction. Everybody was glad it was me, and not them, going through this ordeal. While they were laughing hysterically, at my expense, I was trying to think ahead to everything we might need.
I contacted the Army sergeant who was assigned to me to drive Mrs. Kennedy, and told him I needed him, the station wagon, and a big cooler with ice. Our station wagon had radio equipment so I could stay in touch with Palm Beach base and the Secret Service Command Center, and I figured the ice would come in handy one way or another.
I soon found out that Prince Radziwill and Chuck Spalding had been practicing for this hike for months. They had the best hiking boots money could buy. I also learned this whole escapade was the result of a bet. The president had challenged his buddies that they were not in good enough physical shape to do what Americans were doing all across the country. Me? I had only my Florsheims and my pride to do better than they did.
When we got together around 11:30, I also learned there would be a few important observers on this adventure: Professional photographer Mark Shaw, who had been with Life magazine, would be photographing the hike for posterity; and New York City doctor Max Jacobson and a Navy medical corpsman from the White House physician’s office would be on hand for medical assistance.
The newly completed Sunshine State Parkway was a north-south highway that ran from Miami to Fort Pierce, along the east side of Florida. It was not yet fully operational, which made it an ideal place to walk without having to worry about traffic.
So there we were, Prince “Stash” Radziwill, Chuck Spalding, and me, with our entourage, at midnight on the Sunshine State Parkway. We began shortly after midnight on February 22. We were all competitive, and knowing the attorney general had finished in seventeen hours, we were determined to beat his time. Fortunately the weather cooperated, with comfortable, cool air as we began the walk. After a few miles, we all realized we were working up quite an appetite.
“Can you have some food sent out to us, Clint?” Stash asked.
“Sure,” I said. “What do you want?”
“We need some protein,” Chuck said. “How about some steaks?”
Steaks?
“Come morning a glass of champagne with some orange juice would be nice,” added Stash.
This was obviously not your average fifty-mile hike. So, periodically, we would stop for a short rest, a cigarette—the three of us were all smokers—and I would radio back to the house and request certain things be sent out to us.
Steaks, orange juice, bottled water, champagne. When I asked, people responded. Everyone seemed to be in on this little jaunt and was eager to help.
We walked through the night, and shortly after the sun came up, Paul Landis brought Mrs. Kennedy and Lee out to see how we were doing. They walked with us for a while, verbally challenging Stash and Chuck Spalding to go faster. I was determined to stay ahead of the pack, and that just led to more jokes, more laughter. After about thirty minutes, they got back into their car to return to Palm Beach.
“We’ll be back to check on you!” Mrs. Kennedy called out. “Don’t give up!”
Every so often we would stop to eat, relieve ourselves, and rest. Chuck and the prince had come prepared with foldout mats to spread out on the grass, and a few hours later, they happened to be resting when Mrs. Kennedy and Lee returned, along with President Kennedy. Everybody was in good spirits, and the visit by the president gave us all renewed determination to finish what we had started.
President Kennedy jokes with Clint Hill during fifty-mile hike
By this time, the word had spread and soon the Florida State Police stopped by to encourage us. On and on we walked down the Sunshine State Parkway. Mile after mile after mile. Prince Radziwill and Chuck started to have problems with their feet, and when they took off their boots, big blisters were forming. I could feel the same thing happening to me, but I didn’t dare mention it. All of us were bound and determined to carry on.
At one point, Dr. Jacobson administered oxygen to Stash and Chuck to give them a boost. I declined the oxygen, but made the mistake of sitting down in the front seat of the station wagon during one of our breaks, and fell sound asleep. It lasted just long enough for Mark Shaw to take a photo, and then they woke me up and we were back to the walk.
Throughout the journey, I would radio back to the command post to advise of our progress. Somewhere around the forty-five-mile point, President and Mrs. Kennedy returned again to encourage us.
Finally, at about eight o’clock on the evening of February 23, we reached the fifty-mile point, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The adrenaline that had been flowing for the past twenty hours now stopped and I could feel the effects. Aches and pains in my back and legs, blisters on my feet. But, by God, we had finished.
On the drive back to the Paul residence, all I could think about was getting in a hot shower and going straight to bed. But when we pulled up, I was informed that the president and Mrs. Kennedy wanted me to come inside.
They were entertaining a small group of friends, and as soon as I walked in, President Kennedy handed me a tall glass filled with champagne.
“Congratulations, Clint!” he said.
Then he pulled out a handmade medallion made of purple construction paper that was attached to a ribbon of yellow crepe paper. As President Kennedy placed the mock medal around my neck, he read the inscription he had handwritten on the front:
“For Dazzle. February 23, 1963. The Order of the Pace Maker, He whom the Secret Service will follow into the Battle of the Sunshine Highway. John F. Kennedy.”
He looked at me and with a twinkle in his eyes, he added, “I even drew the presidential seal on there to make it official.”
Everybody laughed, and I was beaming. I was so impressed that the President of the United States had taken the time to prepare a handmade, personally inscribed medallion to me. It had been an arduous—some might say frivolous—task, but this simple, sincere gesture by President Kennedy made every step worth it.
The kid from the North Dakota Children’s Home has come a long way.
A few weeks later, a package arrived for me at my office in the White House. Inside was a leather-bound photo album. Engraved on the front in simple gold letters, it read:
FOR C.H. FROM M.S.
And on the spine:
THAT PALM BEACH 50
Inside were thirty original photos by Mark Shaw, all printed on heavy card stock, chronicling the fifty-mile hike.
It’s been fifty years since that momentous hike, and still that leather-bound book, and the handmade paper medal presented to me by President John F. Kennedy, are two of the most precious mementoes I have.
19
Camp David and the Kama Sutra
One day, we were walking alone together in Palm Beach along the beautiful Lake Trail, which overlooks the Lake Worth Lagoon, when Mrs. Kennedy told me her plans for the upcoming months.
“When we get back to Washington, I told the president I plan on attending as few events as possible,” she said. “You know, only if there’s a state dinner or a reception or something for somebody important.”
“I understand, Mrs. Kennedy.”
I realized that she still wanted to keep the news of her pregnancy quiet, and at the same time, she was concerned about overexerting herself. I got the sense that the fear of losing this baby was always in the back of her mind.
“We have to move everything out of Glen Ora, you know,” she said, “but the new house at Rattlesnake Mountain isn’t finished yet.”
She paused, and turned to me with a questioning look on her face. “The president suggested we spend weekends at Camp David.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Mrs. Kennedy.” Truly, I was so glad to hear that she was considering Camp David. I had no doubt she would love it.
As we walked, with the smell of the ocean and the balmy breeze surrounding us, I tried to explain what it was about Camp David that
was so unique. She had a keen sense of history, and I figured that she might be more excited about the prospect of spending time there once she understood how the retreat had been utilized by previous presidents.
The heavily wooded property is about 125 acres and sits on one of the highest elevations in the Catoctin Mountains in Maryland. Originally developed in the 1930s by the Works Progress Administration as a camp for federal government employees and their families, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt requested it be converted to a presidential retreat in 1942 and named it “Shangri-La.”
Roosevelt brought Winston Churchill there, and it was in this secluded environment that they planned the Allied invasion of Europe during World War II. When Eisenhower became president, he changed the name from Shangri-La to Camp David, after his firstborn grandson.
“The reason I think you will enjoy it, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, “is because it is so private—much more so than Glen Ora.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. It’s operated by the U.S. Navy and the entire property is surrounded by a high wire fence that’s closely patrolled by armed Marine guards, as well as constant electronic surveillance. It is so secure and so private that President Eisenhower thought it the best place to confer with Premier Khrushchev about the Cold War. They spent two days at Camp David.”
“Yes, I knew that,” she said. “But I guess I never really thought about the reason why Eisenhower chose to entertain him there.”
“Believe me, Mrs. Kennedy, it is a unique place that very few people in the world have ever had the opportunity to experience. There are paths and trails throughout the woods—you can literally walk for miles and miles without seeing another human being. It’s really the only place where you and the children and the president can roam freely without Secret Service agents hovering over you.”
She broke into a smile and with a glimmer in her eye, she quipped, “Oh, Mr. Hill, if you had told me that from the beginning, I probably would have gone there right after the Inauguration and never left!”
We laughed and continued walking and talking, and I got the feeling we would soon be spending a lot of time at Camp David.
ON SUNDAY, MARCH 3, I flew with Mrs. Kennedy, Caroline, and John on the Caroline back to Washington. When we landed in the section of the terminal for private planes, I was surprised to see President Kennedy waiting there to greet his family. It was somewhat unusual for him to make the effort to come to the airport, when we could easily make it back to the White House in less than ten minutes, but the president had clearly missed his family and was eager to see them.
The very next weekend, we were off to Camp David.
The president’s schedule didn’t allow him to come up until Sunday, but Mrs. Kennedy was eager to get out of Washington, so we drove her and the children up on Saturday.
Once you are on the grounds of Camp David, it is so secluded, so private, that you feel as if no one could ever find you, even if they tried. The views are spectacular, and the accommodations are elegantly rustic, with all the comforts befitting the President of the United States.
The centerpiece of the property is the large and luxurious presidential residence called Aspen Lodge, which has stunning views of the surrounding countryside. There is ample room for guests in well-appointed cabins that have names like Rosebud, Dogwood, and Holly, and the activities on the property are endless. There is a beautiful heated outdoor swimming pool, a putting green, driving range, a bowling alley, and even facilities for skeet shooting. Plus there are miles and miles of well-tended trails for walking and horseback riding. Brand-new stables had been built—complete with nameplates for Sardar and Macaroni—so that the horses could be boarded there when the president and Mrs. Kennedy were in residence. Meanwhile, Charlie the Welsh terrier came up in the car with the kids.
Everybody loved being at Camp David, just as I had anticipated. John loved tromping through the woods, finding sticks that immediately became imaginary swords or rifles, while Caroline would ride Macaroni around the athletic field or through the trails, as Mrs. Kennedy walked along.
From then on, Camp David became the regular weekend retreat for the entire spring of 1963. President Kennedy would arrive sometime Saturday and leave Sunday afternoon or Monday morning, while Mrs. Kennedy and the children would normally arrive prior to the president. Both the president and Mrs. Kennedy were huge history buffs, and the location of Camp David allowed them to take Caroline and John to the nearby historic sites of Gettysburg and Antietam.
As it turned out, during the months of April, May, and June 1963, Mrs. Kennedy spent far more time at Camp David than at the White House. Frequently, the children would return with the president on Sunday, since Caroline had school, and Mrs. Kennedy would stay at Camp David a day or two longer.
The first time she decided to stay on after the president had left, I couldn’t help but tease her about it.
“So, Mrs. Kennedy, I guess Camp David isn’t as bad as you thought it would be.”
She smiled and said, “Oh, Mr. Hill, I just couldn’t have imagined that it would be so wonderful. It has everything one could want or need, and so beautiful, too. It’s strange, isn’t it? But I feel like I have a sense of freedom here more than anywhere else.”
She was the most idolized woman in the world, and she could have anything she wanted, but what she craved most was privacy.
SOON IT WAS Easter, and we were back to Palm Beach, back to the C. Michael Paul residence. Mrs. Kennedy remained secluded, venturing out only for our frequent walks, and the daily cruise on the Honey Fitz with the president and other guests. She decorated Easter eggs with the children, and spent time almost every day visiting her father-in-law, Ambassador Kennedy. She was consumed with final preparations for the house at Rattlesnake Mountain, and would sit by the pool, her ever-present yellow legal pad in hand, writing instructions and notes as to how she wanted things done. No longer appreciating the implications of “rattlesnake,” she began calling the house Atoka in reference to the area in which it was located.
When we were in Palm Beach, Mrs. Kennedy didn’t have her normal social and secretarial staff with her, so often Paul Landis and I would act as the go-betweens, whether it be with staff, friends, family, or even the president on occasion. The truth was, Mrs. Kennedy was very hard to resist. We adored her. Our job was to protect her, and as long as nothing interfered with that mission, we would walk on water if she asked. And she knew it.
PRESIDENT KENNEDY ATTENDED pre-Easter services at St. Ann’s and St. Edward catholic churches, but on Easter Sunday the family celebrated the holy day with a private Mass at Ambassador Kennedy’s residence, as they had done the previous year. It was a sign of the tremendous respect the president had for his father to make these special arrangements—so that the elder Kennedy, wheelchair-bound and unable to communicate, could worship with his son, the President of the United States, in privacy.
By this point, Mrs. Kennedy was well into her pregnancy, and much as she would have liked to simply remain in hiding until the birth, she acquiesced that it was time to go public. On Monday, April 15, Pierre Salinger held a press conference in which he read a statement that said, “The White House announced today that Mrs. Kennedy is expecting a baby in the latter half of August. Mrs. Kennedy has maintained her full schedule for the past few months. Because of this active schedule, her physicians have now advised her to cancel all her official activities.”
Within minutes, newspapers around the country reprinted their headlines for the evening editions.
JACKIE’S EXPECTING 3RD CHILD
KENNEDYS ARE ELATED: CHILD DUE IN AUGUST
Telegrams and congratulatory presents and cards came pouring in from around the world. The public’s excitement over Mrs. Kennedy’s pregnancy was enormous. Of course the publicity and interest were exactly what Mrs. Kennedy didn’t want, but as I explained to her, this would be only the second baby born to a sitting U.S. president, the last being when Grover Cleveland’s wife
had a baby girl in 1893. Mrs. Kennedy’s “condition”—as we referred to it in those days—was big news.
After the announcement, Mrs. Kennedy’s public appearances were rare. She attended a play at the National Theater, and participated as hostess at the state dinner for the president of India, who had so graciously hosted her the previous year. When His Majesty Hassan II, King of Morocco, came to Washington, Mrs. Kennedy accompanied the president to greet him, and rode in the motorcade from the airport to Blair House, the official guest residence across the street from the White House. This was very unusual for her, but I soon learned why. After the king’s visit, Mrs. Kennedy told me that Morocco was one of the places she had always dreamed of visiting someday, and after meeting Hassan II, she was even more intrigued.
Mrs. Kennedy would visit Morocco much sooner than she ever imagined.
THE MONTH OF April meant the end of Glen Ora and the movement of things into the almost-ready new residence. Finally, on May 6, 1963, Paul Landis and I took Mrs. Kennedy to Atoka for a one-night stay. Mary Gallagher and a few of the White House domestic staff came along to help get the interior of the house in shape. There were pages and pages of notes on what was to go where. No detail had been overlooked.
Furniture was being moved, plants positioned, and paintings hung. Among the paintings were some I recognized from Mrs. Kennedy’s 1962 trip to India. They were very small in size, very colorful, and very erotic. The paintings depicted couples in various positions while making love. She and Mary spent a great deal of time trying to determine how best to arrange the paintings, which were going on a prominent wall, in the dining room.
Once they were hung, Mrs. Kennedy looked at me with a mischievous look in her eyes. She was starting to “show” a bit by this time—she was still very slim, but there were the telltale signs—and her face had that beautiful glow a woman has when she is expecting a child.
Mrs. Kennedy and Me Page 24