Five Presidents: My Extraordinary Journey With Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, and Ford

by Hill, Clint

  At 6:38 p.m., with the sun falling low on the horizon, the motorcade got under way with the two presidents standing in the rear of the Mexican government’s Lincoln convertible, waving to the crowd. We had run the ten-mile route and planned for it to take about forty-five minutes at a standard motorcade speed of twelve to fifteen miles per hour. What we had not anticipated was the enormous crowds the Mexican government had turned out. In an effort to give President Johnson a welcome rivaling that given President and Mrs. Kennedy back in 1961, the government had bused in people from outlying areas, and nearly half the city’s population of six million was right here along the parade route. Everywhere you looked, people were hanging out of windows, standing on rooftops and balconies, and spilling into the street. Red, blue, yellow, and orange confetti swirled from above like a colorful winter snowstorm, while mariachi bands stationed along the route serenaded the crowd with the festive sounds of trumpets and strummed guitars. The crowds were so large that even with thousands of Mexican police strategically positioned, the throng of people could not be contained. Time after time, the cars in the motorcade were forced to stop when a portion of the crowd surged through police lines and swarmed them. Our agents and the Mexican security police surrounded the presidential vehicle in an effort to form a barrier between the people and the presidents, alternating between jogging and walking, depending on the speed of the motorcade.

  Once again the high altitude caused problems for some of the agents who had just landed with the president, but I was impressed with their determination to keep up.

  President Johnson was thrilled with the exuberance of the crowd, and as people clamored to touch him, he’d lean out of the car, trying to shake hands and touch as many people as he could, while at the same time we were forcibly pushing people away. My adrenaline was on overload as I scanned the sea of humanity, knowing the presidents were sitting ducks if anyone was out there with a high-powered rifle, intent on taking down a president and willing to risk his own life.

  Darkness fell, and we trudged on for what seemed like an eternity, finally arriving at Los Pinos at 9:07 p.m. It had taken us two and a half hours to go ten miles. All of the agents had traveled by foot the entire way, and by the end not only were we completely exhausted, we looked like a band of vagrants—our hands and faces slathered with sweat and grime, our suits ripped and soiled beyond repair.

  The Mexican authorities estimated the crowd at somewhere between two and three million—the largest ever to view a motorcade in Mexico City. It was a politician’s dream scenario—President Johnson remarked that it was “the most wonderful reception” of his life—and a Secret Service agent’s living nightmare.

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  Traveling with LBJ: Down Under

  During my annual physical examination in 1966, the doctors at Bethesda Naval Hospital discovered I had a double hernia, and they recommended surgery as soon as possible. I was concerned about missing some interesting presidential activity, but the upcoming schedule was not very travel intensive, so I scheduled the surgery for June 7. A few days before I went into the hospital, Director Rowley called me into his office.

  “Clint,” he said, “in my most recent discussion with the president, he specifically inquired about you.”

  Oh no, I thought. President Johnson still doesn’t think I’m capable?

  “Yes, sir. In what way?”

  “He commented on your work ethic and dedication to the job, and he asked about your pay grade in comparison to some of the other agents. When I gave him the information, he told me we needed to raise your grade.”

  Was I hearing this correctly? “The president thinks I deserve an increase in pay?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” Rowley said. “I agree wholeheartedly, and I’ve just initiated the paperwork to increase you to a GS-15. The president is extremely pleased with your performance.”

  I was astounded. The president’s confidence in me was an indication that he considered me trustworthy and loyal to the Office of the President. Considering that a year and a half earlier he had requested that I be removed from the detail, this was a major accomplishment.

  It wasn’t long before I was back in the regular routine, but during my absence the problems facing the president, and the world, seemed to have escalated. Civil rights activist James Meredith had been shot and wounded while marching in Mississippi. Race riots had broken out in Cleveland, and Martin Luther King had been assaulted with rocks in Chicago. The Vietnam situation had intensified, and on June 29 the United States began to bomb Hanoi and Haiphong. The president of Argentina had been deposed by a coup, and the prime minister of South Africa had been assassinated. There had been a sniper shooting at the University of Texas that left thirteen dead and thirty-one wounded. In Chicago, a mass murderer had brutally killed eight student nurses, and, in an upscale Chicago suburb, the daughter of U.S. Senate candidate Charles Percy had been murdered in her bedroom. Everywhere you turned there was violence and killing.

  AUGUST IN WASHINGTON, D.C., is typically very quiet, with most of Capitol Hill on vacation, but in 1966 a big event kept a lot of people in town—the wedding of the president’s daughter. On Saturday, August 6, seven hundred guests attended the wedding ceremony of Luci Baines Johnson and Patrick J. Nugent at the magnificent Basilica of the Immaculate Conception—the national Roman Catholic Church—in northeast Washington, D.C., and the reception afterward at the White House, while 55 million people tuned in to watch the event on live television. It was a wonderful, happy occasion for the Johnson family, but for the Secret Service, one of our main concerns was that the ever-present antiwar picketers would spoil the day, so we had hundreds of policemen posted around the White House. The demonstrators persisted throughout the day and into the evening. The guests were largely oblivious to what was happening just outside on Pennsylvania Avenue, but every so often, when the band stopped playing, you could hear the protestors chanting, “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids have you killed today?”

  AT THE END of September, Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos invited President Johnson to meet in Manila with the leaders of six other nations allied in the anti-Communist military effort in South Vietnam to try to find a resolution to the growing conflict. By this time, we had around 300,000 Americans in Vietnam, and more than five thousand of our boys had been killed, as well as thousands more from the allied nations. Johnson readily accepted the invitation and expanded the trip to include stops in New Zealand, Australia, Thailand, Malaysia, Korea, and American Samoa. There was much speculation that President Johnson would also use this trip to make a stop in South Vietnam to visit the troops, but the White House consistently denied that was going to happen. In fact, a surprise visit to South Vietnam was in the plans from the beginning; the key was keeping it from being leaked to the press.

  Not only was it an ambitious itinerary with tremendous logistical challenges, but it was also Johnson’s first trip outside North America as president, and the first time a sitting president would visit Australia, New Zealand, Malaysia, and American Samoa. With just a few weeks of lead time, advance teams were hastily organized and sent to the various locations.

  On October 17, there was a grand send-off ceremony at Dulles International Airport in Washington for the president and first lady. Now that I was one of the Assistant Special Agents in Charge of the White House Detail, I had the privilege of flying on Air Force One with the president during each leg of this long journey. There was limited space on the presidential aircraft, and typically seats were reserved for just six to eight agents, with the majority of the detail traveling in the backup plane or the press plane.

  We landed at Honolulu International Airport to a large crowd and the typical arrival ceremonies, Hawaiian-style—with hip-swaying hula dancers, ukulele music, and stacks of floral leis presented to President and Mrs. Johnson to wear around their necks.

  Our armored presidential vehicle, SS-100-X, had been sent by cargo plane, and as we motorcaded into do
wntown Honolulu, the streets were lined with schoolchildren and people holding up signs that read ALOHA MR. PRESIDENT! and WELCOME TO THE 50TH STATE! Hundreds of thousands of people waved and cheered—it was an exuberant, happy crowd—and at least a dozen times along the way, President Johnson ordered the driver to stop the car so he could get out and shake hands.

  President Johnson was clearly elated with the wonderful reception in Honolulu, but as we prepared to head Down Under, we received some concerning information from the Australian Security Service. Apparently, several anonymous calls had been made to newspapers in Adelaide and Sydney saying an attempt would be made on President Johnson’s life when he visited Australia. One caller told a reporter that he planned to take a rifle with a telescopic sight to Sydney. The man said his nineteen-year-old son had recently been killed in Vietnam and chillingly added, “I’m going to blow Johnson’s head off.”

  Australia had nearly five thousand troops in Vietnam, and while the majority of Australians supported the war effort, many were opposed to the policy of sending draftees and held President Johnson personally responsible.

  You couldn’t cancel a trip because of random threats, however, and there was never any discussion of doing so. Whenever the president left the White House or the security of the LBJ Ranch—whether it was driving to church in Johnson City, Texas, or traveling in a grand motorcade through downtown Sydney, Australia—there was always the concern that a lone gunman might be in the crowd. The best we could do was investigate with the information we had, remain vigilant at all times, and hope that the president himself wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.

  WE DEPARTED HONOLULU early on the morning of October 18, had a brief refueling stop in Pago Pago, American Samoa, crossed the International Date Line, and headed to Wellington, New Zealand.

  It was drizzling rain, but still there was a good-sized crowd of about three thousand at the airport for the arrival ceremony. Speaking briefly, President Johnson endeared himself to the people of New Zealand when he referred to the last time he was there, twenty-four years earlier in 1942, as a lieutenant commander in the U.S. Navy serving alongside New Zealanders during the dark days of World War II. In all of his speeches on this trip he would compare that war to the current situation in Vietnam—how the world might have been a different place if the “snowball of aggression” had been stopped in the 1930s. It was our obligation to keep our word, and, as a larger nation, to support the people of a smaller nation like South Vietnam “to keep the momentum from gathering.” But the task ahead would not be easy, he said, “because the securing of peace is not done by miracles,” and there should be no expectations that “a rabbit would be pulled out of a hat” on this trip.

  People of all ages had come out to welcome the president, and while there were a couple of placards protesting the war as we proceeded along the motorcade route from the airport to Government House—the official residence of the governor-general—the response was overwhelmingly warm and friendly. It had already been a long day, and our body clocks had not adjusted to the seventeen-hour time difference, but still there was a formal dinner reception, and by the time we got President Johnson tucked into his suite, it was after 10:30 in the evening.

  Morning seemed to come much too quickly, and the next day’s activities began early, with motorcades to the National War Monument and Parliament House. It was a crisp, sunny day, and because schools had declared it a holiday in honor of President Johnson’s visit, it seemed the entire city had turned out to line the streets of Wellington. Riding in SS-100-X, the president used the car’s microphone to connect with the people.

  “Thank you for coming!” his voice boomed from the speakers. “Good morning! Glad to see you!”

  The people loved it. “Welcome! Good on ya, Yank!” they yelled back.

  With all this adoration surrounding him, the president couldn’t contain himself inside the vehicle. At one point, there was a particularly large and boisterous group, including dozens of children dressed in their school uniforms waving and cheering. The car stopped—at the president’s request—and without warning, Johnson opened the door, got out, and went straight into the crowd, beaming with delight as he shook as many hands as he could. The people went wild—clapping, cheering, so thrilled to see this American president, larger than life, right here in front of them.

  We finally got him back into the car, but the next thing we knew, he was instructing Marvin Watson, his chief of staff, to get the advance man in the lead car to radio back and let them know which were the best spots—with the biggest crowds—so he could get out and greet the people, with maximum exposure. He invited the CBS pool cameraman into the car so he could film what the crowd looked like from the president’s perspective. Johnson was simultaneously directing traffic, telling the driver where to stop, and connecting with the crowd via the car’s loudspeaker system—he had taken charge of the whole damn motorcade. Needless to say, this put all the agents on edge, and we had to have guys running alongside the vehicle to make sure the president was covered anytime he decided to stop and jump out of the car.

  Every so often we’d see signs proclaiming OUT OF VIETNAM and STOP UNLIMITED KILLING IN ASIA, but the overwhelming majority of the crowds were friendly and enthusiastic, holding up signs like LBJ FOREVER and SUPPORT U.S. POLICY IN VIETNAM.

  The twenty-four-hour stay in Wellington was not just pomp and circumstance, though. President Johnson had substantive talks with the prime minister as well as the leader of the opposition party, and upon delivery of his speech in Parliament House the governing body applauded with two standing ovations. President Johnson was thrilled with the tremendous reception he had received, and as soon as he boarded Air Force One, he retired to his cabin and slept for the entire two-hour flight to our next stop—Canberra. Meanwhile, with reports of threats and demonstrations in Australia continuing to file in, our team of agents spent the time reviewing strategies for protecting the president and first lady in a potentially hostile environment—a task made all the more difficult with a president who haphazardly ignored prearranged security plans and was willing to expose himself to large, unchecked crowds in order to bask in the shower of adoration.

  IT HAD BEEN drizzling in Canberra, but just as Air Force One touched down at Fairbairn Royal Australian Air Force Base shortly after six in the evening the rain stopped, and rays of sunlight burst through disappearing thunderhead clouds.

  Prime Minister Harold Holt and his wife were waiting to greet President and Mrs. Johnson, and after the usual arrival ceremonies, President Johnson stepped up to the podium and made a few remarks to the press and the crowd at the airport.

  “I came to Australia in 1942 on a mission of war,” he said. “And now tonight, more than twenty-four years later, I return on a mission of hope. I cannot say that miracles will occur at Manila. I carry no magic wands. The hard work of securing the peace is never done by miracles.”

  The schedule called for everyone to move immediately to their assigned vehicles for the motorcade into downtown Canberra, but the cheering crowd along the fence beckoned. Unable to resist the human contact, President Johnson dove into the crowd, shaking hands, kissing babies, and handing out presidential pens as the press stumbled all over themselves trying to get photos.

  What the hell is he doing? Running for prime minister of Australia? I thought. If anyone needs a magic wand, it’s us. If he keeps this up, it’ll be a damn miracle to get him home alive.

  Finally, after he’d gone up and down the fence line, the president got into the car with Prime Minister Holt, and the motorcade got under way. There were tremendous crowds along the route, and once again the president halted the motorcade no fewer than six times to jump out and greet the people. Fortunately, there were no threatening incidents, and we eventually got President and Mrs. Johnson to Prime Minister Holt’s residence for a nine o’clock private dinner.

  Meanwhile, our advance team at the Canberra Rex Hotel—where the president would be staying overnig
ht—warned us that a large crowd of antiwar demonstrators had gathered at the hotel’s entrance and was waiting for the president’s arrival. They were all riled up, shouting profanities and even hurling things at the American visitors who passed through the doors.

  It was eleven o’clock by the time President Johnson departed the Holt residence, and we informed him that we were going to bring him to the back entrance of the hotel to avoid any confrontation. I was riding in the front seat of the follow-up car, and as we were driving along, I realized I could no longer see the president sitting in the car ahead. He had crouched down in the backseat, and as soon as we arrived at the hotel we surrounded him and scurried up to his suite without anyone observing his arrival. It was quite different from the welcoming reception he had received only hours earlier, and it was the only time I ever saw a president duck down in the rear seat of a car to avoid being seen.

  EARLIER IN THE day, Youngblood informed me that President Johnson was considering an intensive campaign trip when he returned to the United States to support Democratic candidates in the upcoming 1966 midterm election. He wanted to visit a number of cities in a variety of states before Election Day, November 8, and an advance team headed up by Special Assistant to the President Sherwin Markman was being formed to preview potential stops.

  “The trip is extremely confidential,” Youngblood said. “They need an agent to go with them, and the president and I decided you would be the best person for the job.”