Mrs. Kennedy and Me

by McCubbin, Lisa;Hill, Clint

  As soon as I saw Mrs. Kennedy, I could tell she was deeply worried.

  “It’s going to be okay, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, as we rushed her into the special wing that had been prepared just for such an emergency. I placed my hand on her arm and tried to reassure her with my eyes, but we both knew what the other was thinking.

  Please God, I prayed, please let the baby be all right.

  As Mrs. Kennedy went into emergency surgery, Agent Landis immediately took control of the security around the hospital wing, while I waited outside the operating room.

  I tried to keep my mind occupied by thinking about everything that needed to be arranged in the aftermath of the delivery: Who needs to be contacted? What will she need and want from the house? How do we keep the damn press away?

  I found myself pacing back and forth, as if I were the expectant father, just as I had done when John was born two and a half years earlier.

  So much had changed in those two and a half years. At that time, I had just met her a few weeks earlier. Now we were so close, and had spent so much time together, we could practically read each other’s minds. I knew how much this baby meant to her, and I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her, or to the child.

  At some point, Paul Landis told me that President Kennedy was airborne from Andrews Air Force Base.

  “But he’s not on Air Force One,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Apparently none of the planes were available. He and some staff and the agents are coming in on two JetStars.”

  The Air Force had a group of four-engine jet aircraft in its VIP fleet that could be used as Air Force One. A JetStar, which only holds about six or eight passengers, and couldn’t travel at nearly the same rate of speed, would only have been used as a last resort. As it turned out, because the president didn’t have any travel plans on his schedule that day, one of the Air Force planes was in the air on a check flight, and the others were having routine maintenance done. It was bad luck, and damn bad timing. Once again the president was going to miss the birth of his child.

  Shortly before one o’clock in the afternoon, while the president was still airborne, Dr. Walsh came out of the surgery room.

  “Clint, you can breathe easy. Mrs. Kennedy has delivered a baby boy, and she is doing fine.”

  “How is the baby?” I asked.

  “Well,” he said, “he’s small. He weighs just four pounds, ten and a half ounces.” With a worried look in his eyes, he added, “We have some concern about his breathing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve put him in the incubator and we’ll know more in a little while.”

  “Okay, thank you, Dr. Walsh. I’ll make sure the president gets the news immediately. He’s on his way, and should be here soon.”

  THE PRESIDENT ARRIVED at Otis about forty minutes later.

  “Congratulations, Mr. President,” I said.

  “Thanks, Clint. How is Mrs. Kennedy?”

  “I believe she’s still under sedation, but you should talk to Dr. Walsh.” I didn’t know how much he knew at that time, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell him there might be a problem with his newborn son.

  The president went in to see his wife, and then spent time conferring privately with Dr. Walsh.

  President Kennedy walked over to me and said, “Clint, find the base chaplain. We need to baptize the baby right away.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

  A short while later, the president and Mrs. Kennedy’s son was baptized Patrick Bouvier Kennedy. The name had been decided in advance—Patrick after President Kennedy’s paternal grandfather and Bouvier for Mrs. Kennedy’s father.

  After the baptism, Mrs. Kennedy was moved into the recovery suite that had been prepared for her, and baby Patrick was taken into a separate area where he could be monitored.

  This was my first glimpse of the baby. As soon as I saw him, tears welled in my eyes. He had a perfectly shaped head, and the tiniest hands and feet. He was beautiful. But he was clearly fighting for each breath, as his poor little chest struggled to get the oxygen he needed to survive.

  He looked so alone in the sterile incubator, with tubes going every which way. Oh, how I wanted to pick him up and hold him close. He was so fragile, and more than anything, I wanted to protect him. But all I could do was hope and pray.

  Please, do anything to me, God. But please don’t let Patrick die.

  As the doctors continued their tests, it became increasingly clear that Patrick’s respiratory problems were serious. He had a condition known as hyaline membrane disease—a common affliction in premature babies due to incomplete lung development. They didn’t have the capability of treating him at Otis—he needed to get to Children’s Hospital in Boston, where they were better equipped to handle the problem. Time was of the essence, but it was too risky to transport him by helicopter. He had to go by ambulance, and he had to have a Secret Service agent with him. This was the son of the President of the United States.

  I wanted to stay with him, to try to protect him, but I needed to be with Mrs. Kennedy when she awoke. I had to be there for her.

  “Paul,” I said to Agent Landis, “Mrs. Kennedy would want one of us to be with him.”

  He nodded.

  “You go with the baby in the ambulance, Paul.”

  So Paul got in the ambulance with tiny baby Patrick and the medical crew, and at 5:55 P.M., with a full police escort, they raced to Boston.

  I had rushed to Otis that morning without showering or shaving, and by this time, I knew I looked awful. I sent someone to the PX to get me a razor and some shaving cream, and snuck into a bathroom so I could at least splash some water on my face and have a quick shave. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  After visiting with Mrs. Kennedy once more, President Kennedy flew to Hyannis Port to check on Caroline and John. I stayed outside Mrs. Kennedy’s door as nurses went in and out. I was relieved when Louella Hennessey, the wonderful nurse who had helped care for all the Kennedy babies, arrived, because I knew what a comfort she would be to Mrs. Kennedy. President Kennedy returned an hour or so later, and went in again to visit with Mrs. Kennedy.

  When he came out, he said, “Clint, I’m going to Boston to be with Patrick. I know you’ll make sure Mrs. Kennedy is well taken care of. Just make sure I’m kept informed.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President. I will make sure you are fully aware, should anything change.”

  All the activity—the constant coming and going of people and staff—was a blessing for me. As long as I was busy, I could keep my emotions in check. Every time I thought about baby Patrick, so small and alone inside the incubator, it nearly tore me apart. Throughout this time, Mrs. Kennedy seldom woke up, but continued to remain in a stable condition.

  President Kennedy had brought two of Mrs. Kennedy’s staff with him—Pamela Turnure and Nancy Tuckerman—which was a great relief for me. Now I could focus strictly on security and privacy. My emotions, however, kept taking me back to that incubator leaving Otis Air Force Base with the tiny boy inside, gasping for air, fighting for life. I thought of my own two sons and how much they meant to me. How much I wished I could spend more time with them. How fortunate I was that they were healthy and growing rapidly like youngsters their age do.

  If only Patrick can survive this threatening ordeal, he too will be growing and developing before my eyes—just as I’ve watched John and Caroline. Something I have been unable to witness with my own sons.

  MRS. KENNEDY WAS still in and out of consciousness, and had not been told of the seriousness of Patrick’s condition—only that he had a lung problem similar to what John had been born with. Taking the baby to Boston was just a precaution.

  Once President Kennedy and his Secret Service detail arrived at Children’s Hospital, with the added assistance from the Boston Secret Service Field Office, it was decided that Agent Landis should return to Otis to assist me. He arranged
for an official car and got back to Hyannis at 2:20 A.M.

  The president remained overnight in Boston with Patrick. I stayed with Mrs. Kennedy.

  THE NEXT DAY, August 8, there was nonstop activity. Both Paul and I were at Otis doing whatever we could to ensure Mrs. Kennedy was all right; the president was flying back and forth between Boston and Otis and Hyannis Port; Mary Gallagher, Pam, and Nancy were handling the onslaught of phone calls and messages from friends, relatives, world leaders, and the general public. Everybody was concerned about Patrick. Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennedy was still sleeping most of the time. She had no idea that her son’s life was hanging in the balance.

  We were getting limited information from Boston because no one seemed to know Patrick’s exact condition. But it apparently had not improved. We all went to bed that night hoping and praying he would pull through.

  By this time, field office agents had been brought in to supplement Paul Landis and me, so we didn’t have to work twenty-four hours a day.

  I had not left Otis since we arrived the morning of August 7, and had taken over one of the bedrooms in the suite so I could at least try to get some sleep. I wanted to make sure that if Mrs. Kennedy needed anything in the middle of the night, though, that there was a familiar agent there to help her, so I asked Tommy Wells from the children’s detail to stand outside her door throughout the night.

  I lay in bed, rarely sleeping, my mind going over and over the possibilities should Patrick not make it. At 4:15 A.M. on Friday, August 9, I was awakened by the sound of the phone ringing.

  “Clint Hill,” I answered.

  “Clint . . .” It was Jerry Behn, the Special Agent in Charge of the White House Detail. “We have just been informed that Patrick has passed away.”

  Tears welled in my eyes as I tried to keep my voice steady.

  “He died at four-oh-four this morning. The president wants Dr. Walsh to tell Mrs. Kennedy. Fortunately, you don’t have to do that. But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Jerry.”

  Before I could even digest what had happened, I heard the phone ringing outside my room in the area we had set up as the Secret Service Command Post. I could hear Tom Wells on the phone, getting the same awful news I had just received. A few minutes later, I heard Agent Wells call Dr. Walsh. There was no going back to sleep, so I got up and walked into the hallway.

  I looked at Tom and could tell that he too was having a tough time holding it together.

  “I guess you heard the news,” he said to me.

  “Yeah. Behn called to tell me.”

  “You know, Clint,” Tom said, “Nurse Lumsden—the night duty nurse—was going in and out of Mrs. Kennedy’s room all night. And each time she came out I’d ask, ‘How is she doing?’ And every time the answer was the same. She’d say, ‘Mrs. Kennedy is really having a tough time tonight. She’s been so restless all night, just tossing and turning. She just can’t seem to get to sleep.’ It happened all night long.”

  Tom paused. He looked down, and gulped as he fought the emotions.

  “Then, at four o’clock, Nurse Lumsden came out and said, ‘She’s finally gone to sleep. Just now. She just fell asleep.’”

  He looked up at me to see if I understood what he was saying.

  I nodded.

  “And then,” Tom said, “it wasn’t but a few minutes later that I got the call.”

  “Thank you, Tom. I’m so glad you were out here. I know she appreciated it, too.”

  My heart ached. My whole body ached. I wanted to go in and hold Mrs. Kennedy, to tell her how sorry I was. How much I felt her loss. But she needed to sleep. She had been fighting all night, just as her baby son was fighting for his life.

  I went back to my room, closed the door, and put my head in my hands.

  This was the third child she had lost. It was far more than any woman should ever have to bear.

  AT 6:30 A.M., Dr. Walsh arrived and broke the tragic news to Mrs. Kennedy.

  She was devastated. It was heartbreaking to see her in such emotional pain, and I felt so helpless. I was supposed to protect her. But there was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do to protect her from the pain of losing a child. I was thankful that Nancy Tuckerman and Pam and Mary and Louella Hennessey were there to comfort her. It was all I could do to stand outside the door, and hold my feelings inside.

  When President Kennedy arrived later that morning, he looked like he had been to hell and back. The doctors had called him, knowing death was imminent. They had released Patrick from the lines and tubes, and President Kennedy was able to hold his son in his arms, for the first and last time.

  I looked at the president and said, simply, “My condolences, Mr. President.”

  “Thank you, Clint,” he said.

  I turned the knob and opened the door to Mrs. Kennedy’s room. He walked in and I quietly closed the door again. My heart wrenched with anguish as I stood outside the room, knowing the pain the president and Mrs. Kennedy were sharing inside.

  THE FUNERAL SERVICES for Patrick Bouvier Kennedy were held on Saturday, August 10, in Boston, with Cardinal Cushing presiding. Paul Landis and I stayed with Mrs. Kennedy at Otis for, still weak from the Caesarian operation, she was unable to attend. She couldn’t attend the funeral of her baby son.

  On Sunday, August 11, the president brought Caroline in the morning, and John in the evening, which seemed to boost Mrs. Kennedy’s spirits more than anything. The next day he brought the two of them together, before he had to return to Washington to get on with his job as President of the United States.

  My heart ached for her as she continuously tried to maintain her composure. Nancy, Pam, and Mary, all close friends, attempted to support her as best they could. Her sister, Lee, finally arrived from Europe, and she seemed to help Mrs. Kennedy more than anyone did.

  The president continued to come and visit as often as possible, while juggling his own grief, visiting Caroline and John, and dealing with world issues, which didn’t stop for the death of a president’s son.

  Clint Hill with President Kennedy and children as they exit Otis AFB Hospital

  I had been with Mrs. Kennedy through the births of two sons and the death of one. I couldn’t imagine anything more difficult.

  21

  Onassis and the Christina

  Sue Roosevelt, Mrs. Kennedy, Aristotle Onassis, and Franklin D. Roosevelt, Jr. aboard Christina

  After the death of Patrick, the other agents and I noticed a distinctly closer relationship, openly expressed, between the president and Mrs. Kennedy. I first observed it in the hospital suite at Otis Air Force Base but it became publicly visible when Mrs. Kennedy was released from the hospital, a week after the birth. With press photographers snapping away, President and Mrs. Kennedy emerged from the hospital suite hand in hand. It was a small gesture, but quite significant to those of us who were around them all the time. Prior to this, they were much more restrained and less willing to express their close, loving relationship while out in public. The loss of Patrick seemed to be the catalyst to change all that.

  The president had to return to Washington, but Mrs. Kennedy and the children elected to stay for the rest of the summer—as they had planned—at the Cape. It was the best place for her to recuperate and day by day, her physical strength began to return. Emotionally, however, she was drowning in sorrow. The loss of her son was constantly on her mind, and she seemed to become more and more depressed.

  She continued to write notes and request information be passed on to various individuals, but you could tell her heart wasn’t in it. She spent time with the children, but for the most part remained alone and secluded in her room in Brambletyde. There was nothing anybody could say or do to ease her pain. We simply hoped that time would heal this tragic wound.

  The president came as often as possible to Hyannis Port, midweek for one night in one case and for an extended stay over Labor Day weekend. Not only was he taking great pains to be suppo
rtive to Mrs. Kennedy, but I noticed that he was paying more and more attention to the children than ever before. He started taking John with him to visit Ambassador Kennedy or out to the Allen Farm to watch Caroline ride. He would go swimming with John and Caroline in the ocean—watching with delight as they jumped to him from the decks of the Honey Fitz. Taking Caroline to Sunday church services with him became a regular occurrence. Having Caroline and John ride on the helicopter from the Kennedy compound to Otis Air Force Base with him as he was departing for Washington on Air Force One became more common. This was all new.

  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.