by Hill, Clint
We returned to Glassboro on Sunday, where by now the tiny college town had become the focus of the world’s attention, with nearly a thousand reporters and photographers staked out around Hollybush. Johnson and Kosygin met for five more hours, and by the end of the meetings both men acknowledged that although they failed to resolve any major differences, the one thing they agreed was to avoid the risk of nuclear war so that their grandchildren might live in a world of peace.
Just as the conference was ending, someone on President Johnson’s staff learned that Premier Kosygin had scheduled a televised press conference at 8:00 p.m. at the United Nations. President Johnson had not planned to make any additional statements to the press, but in light of what Kosygin was doing, he decided that the American people should hear from their own president first. While we were en route back to Washington aboard Air Force One, arrangements were being made to have the TV networks set up at the White House. Normally we would land at Andrews Air Force Base and helicopter back to the White House, but it was already late, and pilot Colonel Jim Cross informed the president that the only way we could make it before eight o’clock was to land at National Airport in downtown Washington. The problem was that Federal Aviation Administration regulations prohibited such a large aircraft from landing there because the runway was considered too short.
President Johnson wouldn’t be deterred. He asked Colonel Cross if he could land safely on National’s runway, and Cross replied with great confidence that he could.
“Then do it,” the president ordered.
The control tower at National gave Cross clearance to land—only because he was piloting Air Force One. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one holding my breath as the plane slid to a stop—very close to the end of the runway—at 7:31 p.m.
The presidential helicopter was standing by; it took off four minutes later and landed on the South Grounds at 7:40, and the president appeared live on television at 7:43 p.m.—seventeen minutes before Kosygin.
ON DECEMBER 9, 1967, President and Mrs. Johnson’s older daughter, twenty-three-year-old Lynda, married Marine Corps Captain Charles S. Robb in the East Room of the White House. It was a beautiful ceremony amid the festive Christmas decorations, but there was also a bittersweet poignancy to the event, because it had been announced that Captain Robb would begin a tour of duty in Vietnam just a few months later. For President Johnson, having his son-in-law in the combat zone would make his efforts to find a peaceful ending to the conflict all the more urgent.
It was around this time that I was informed I was being promoted to Special Agent in Charge of President Johnson’s protective detail. After initially wanting me kicked off of his detail, it turned out President Johnson had come to the conclusion that I really was a professional, and he trusted me with his life. From this point on, I would be the last line of defense for the President of the United States.
Just a few weeks into my new assignment, I was faced with my first big challenge. On the morning of December 17, 1967, we received word that fifty-nine-year-old Prime Minister Harold Holt of Australia had gone missing while swimming in rough surf off the Australian coast. Despite an exhaustive search, no trace could be found of his body, but a helicopter crew sighted a huge shark in the area where he had been swimming. This was an enormous shock, and as soon as I heard, I was sure President Johnson would be going to Australia to attend any services held on behalf of the prime minister. I had witnessed the sincere friendship that had formed between the two leaders over the past couple of years, and I knew President Johnson would want to pay his respects to the Holt family and also to the people of Australia.
Any large gathering of world leaders is always an extremely difficult and tense situation for the Secret Service, but funerals are particularly challenging because of the short notice to prepare, and this one would test us like nothing else had before. It would end up being one of the most extraordinary, and arduous, trips of my career.
The first problem we encountered was that the premier presidential aircraft, USAF 26000, was undergoing a required biannual maintenance check and was unavailable for the trip. We would have to use the backup plane—USAF 86970—which didn’t have a bed for the president, and had a much lower fuel capacity, requiring us to make more frequent refueling stops. President Johnson was of course furious that 26000 couldn’t be ready in time, and in order to appease him, the maintenance team basically rebuilt the interior of the backup plane in forty-eight hours—including installing an extra-long bed—to make it amenable to the president for the long-haul flight.
We departed the White House at 11:47 on the morning of Tuesday, December 19, flew by helicopter to Andrews Air Force Base, and boarded the newly revamped plane, which became Air Force One as soon as President Johnson stepped aboard. The presidential aircraft crew was well accustomed to President Johnson’s habits by this time, and they had stocked the plane with the president’s favorite foods and drinks—plenty of Texas-style chili with saltine crackers, vanilla ice cream for dessert, and Fresca. LBJ loved his chili, and it was his favorite thing to have aboard Air Force One. To this day, I still enjoy a good bowl of chili, and it always reminds me of my days with LBJ.
Our first refueling stop was Travis Air Force Base, in California, and while we had not planned on deplaning, shortly before landing the president was informed that a group of wounded servicemen had been brought in that morning from Vietnam to the base hospital.
“Well, then, I’m going to go and see those boys,” he said.
Everyone at the hospital was taken by surprise when the President of the United States suddenly walked in. He took the time to speak with the wounded men—all of whom were so very young—and hand out gold pens with his signature on them.
“Now you write me and let me know how you get along,” he said as he thanked them for their service to our country. “You fellows have done a good job in Vietnam. I am proud of you.”
Six hours later, we landed at Hickam Air Force Base, in Hawaii, at 6:05 p.m. local time, in driving rain. The governor of Hawaii and several thousand people were waiting in the downpour to greet the president, so while the jet was being refueled we deplaned, and President Johnson made a few remarks under an umbrella. The press that was accompanying us on the press plane were unprepared for rain, and with just one umbrella among them, they got completely soaked while taking notes of President Johnson’s short eulogy for his friend Prime Minister Holt. The agents who rode on the press plane later informed me that everyone had stripped off their clothes and had them hung around the aircraft, hoping they’d dry out before we reached Australia.
There wasn’t much rest to be had on the next leg of the trip, as we encountered heavy turbulence for much of the flight to our next refueling stop. It was midnight local time when we reached Pago Pago, American Samoa, but despite the late hour a large crowd had gathered to see and pay their respects to President Johnson. It was a hot and humid night, and there were about a thousand people, most in native dress—the men bare-chested, holding torches high above their heads. The flames danced against the pitch-black night sky, creating a mesmerizing backdrop to the melodic sounds of a children’s choir singing the national anthem, and while it was a sight to behold, the muggy, tropical air was almost unbearable for those of us dressed in traditional business suits.
By the time we reboarded the air-conditioned cabin of Air Force One, everyone was dripping with perspiration, including President Johnson, who remarked that he just wasn’t meant for these tropical climates.
We took off from Pago Pago shortly before one o’clock in the morning and crossed the International Date Line, and when we landed at Fairbairn Air Force Base near Canberra, Australia, six and a half hours later, at 4:34 a.m. on December 21, we had been traveling for more than twenty-five hours.
We motorcaded directly to the Canberra Rex Hotel, and even though it was still before dawn, there was no time to rest. We had a full day ahead, and I barely had time to take a refreshing shower and shave before it was time to
get back to work.
When a president attends a state funeral or memorial service, it’s an opportunity for him to meet and confer with other world leaders who are all there at the same time, and this was definitely going to be the case here in Australia. The memorial service was scheduled for the next day in Melbourne, but many heads of state were gathering in Canberra first, and it was a whirlwind of activity as Johnson had one meeting after another with representatives from Australia, New Zealand, South Korea, Thailand, Malaysia, Laos, Indonesia, Singapore, the Republic of China (Taiwan), the Philippines, and South Vietnam. There were press photographers and people coming and going—it was the usual madhouse situation. The one thing that was different was that President Johnson had been meeting privately with Colonel Jim Cross, his military aide and pilot, at various times during the day. Normally, they conferred by phone. I had the feeling something was up.
THE NEXT MORNING, Friday, December 22, everyone was up early to fly to Melbourne for the memorial services. President Johnson was clearly weary from the long journey, and the personal sense of loss he felt for his good friend Prime Minister Holt was written all over his face as he consoled Mrs. Holt and the rest of the family privately at Government House before the memorial service at St. Paul’s Cathedral.
As we escorted President Johnson to the second-row pew, I took note of the remarkable gathering of dignitaries and heads of state who had come to pay their respects, which included a poised young man who took the place of honor in the first pew, immediately in front of President Johnson—twenty-year-old Charles, Prince of Wales, the heir to the British throne.
At the conclusion of the services, we motorcaded straight to the airport and were airborne from Melbourne at 2:30 in the afternoon. The assumption of most people on board, as well as those on the press and backup planes, was that we were headed back to Washington, following the same route by which we had come. Only a handful of us knew that we were not going home just yet, but even those of us on the inside didn’t know exactly what President Johnson had up his sleeve.
When we left Washington, the Secret Service, WHCA, and other military units were aware that there was a distinct possibility this trip would be extended and might include a stop at the Vatican for a meeting with Pope Paul VI. We were not sure of our exact route, or where or when additional stops might be made—only that we would be back by Christmas.
Shortly before the funeral service, Rufus Youngblood had pulled me aside.
“Clint, Valenti just told me, and I confirmed with Colonel Cross, that the president has decided to go to Korat. When we take off from Melbourne, we’re heading west to Darwin to refuel. All details are top secret.”
“Korat? The air force base?” I asked.
The Royal Thai Air Force Base in Korat, Thailand, was the largest front-line facility of the U.S. Air Force for bombing missions into Vietnam.
“Yes,” Youngblood said. “Apparently the president wanted to go straight to Cam Ranh Bay, but that would mean we’d be landing in Vietnam at midnight. Obviously not a good idea.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“We’ll land at Korat at around ten o’clock tonight. From what I understand, the pilots of the other aircraft aren’t even being told where they’re going until they’re off the ground. We’ll overnight in Korat and fly to Cam Ranh Bay early tomorrow morning. The press are going to be mad as hell, but we’re going to prevent them from filing or making any phone calls until our next stop—wherever that is. I don’t think the president has even decided where the hell he’s going next.”
“Any confirmation on the Vatican?”
“No. As far as I know, any meeting with the pope is still unconfirmed too.”
I shook my head. “So we’ve got no advance teams? Nobody on the ground ahead of us?”
“That’s right,” Youngblood said. “Our security plan is the element of surprise.”
“It’s a goddamn nightmare, is what it is,” I said. “One leak and we’re all dead.”
We had recently learned that the Vietcong now possessed long-range weapons, and there were no bases in Vietnam that were invulnerable. If word got out that President Johnson was going to be in Cam Ranh Bay tomorrow, there was no question he’d be a target.
The only people President Johnson had taken into his confidence about his intentions were Jack Valenti and Colonel Jim Cross, and he had sworn them to secrecy. Valenti had strong Vatican contacts and was apparently trying to arrange a meeting with Pope Paul VI to enlist his help to secure peace in Vietnam, while Cross had assembled a mini air fleet that included several giant cargo planes carrying staff, telecommunications, helicopters, and cars. The pilots of all the aircraft, including the backup plane and the Pan Am press charter, were only given the flight details of where they were headed next well after takeoff. Meanwhile, those of us charged with protecting the president were also left to guess what his next moves might be.
It was a little after 10:00 p.m. when we landed at Korat. Using U.S. Air Force vehicles, we took the president to a trailer house that had quickly been arranged for his use. He was inside for just a few minutes before he came out and said he wanted to go to the mess hall where the pilots gathered. Some flights had just returned from a bombing mission over Vietnam, and he wanted to see and talk with the pilots.
By this point, word had spread around the base that President Johnson had dropped in for an unnannounced visit, but still, when he walked into the officers club, the men could hardly contain their surprise. The president made a few remarks and then spent about forty-five minutes with the pilots, asking pointed questions about the situation on the ground in Vietnam. It was almost as if he didn’t trust what his advisors had been telling him for the past four years, and this was his chance to get the straight story from the men on the front lines. Finally, at midnight, he decided it was time to get some rest, and we escorted him back to his trailer.
Meanwhile, a bed in an adjoining trailer had been made available for me, and I gladly took advantage while the midnight shift stood post. I stripped down to my shorts and slung the rest of my clothes across the end of the bed so they’d be easily accessible for whatever time we ended up departing. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. This was the only time I would have the use of a bed on this trip, and at this point I had no idea what President Johnson had planned beyond Cam Ranh Bay—and truth be told, I don’t think even the president himself had figured it out just yet.
Five hours later, at 5:00 a.m., on Saturday, December 23, I was awakened by one of the midnight-shift agents.
“Clint, the president is up. Rostow and Bundy just went into his trailer.”
Walt Rostow, the national security advisor, and William Bundy, the Assistant Secretary of State for East Asian and Pacific Affairs; the president must have summoned them.
“Do you have any idea why?” I asked.
“He told them to get going and find a way to get him into Karachi without the press finding out prior to arrival.”
Karachi? “He’s going to see Ayub Khan,” I said as I jumped out of bed. “Goddamn it! I wish he’d realize we are on his side.”
If we were headed to Karachi after Vietnam, and then possibly to the Vatican, my guess was we would continue flying west, all the way around the world. Who else was he going to visit on the way back to Washington? Charles de Gaulle? Queen Elizabeth? Here I was, the Agent in Charge of protecting the President of the United States, headed into a combat zone, and I had no idea what the man was going to do next.
God help me.
I quickly ran a razor up and down my face before throwing on the clothes I’d worn the day before, and managed to be outside the president’s door when he emerged from his trailer, dressed in his tan gabardine ranch clothes.
The entire base—about two thousand servicemen—had gathered in a hangar where two jets were undergoing maintenance. The men were packed in there, standing room only, with dozens perched on horizontal beams and ladders dangling from the aircra
ft cockpits, and they all came to attention as President Johnson strode up to a podium on a stage that had been erected at one end. I followed and stood behind him as first he decorated a group of pilots with Silver Stars and the Distinguished Flying Cross, and then made a few remarks to the men about the importance of their service and the good job they were doing.
It was still dark when we took off from Korat at 5:53 a.m., escorted by two fighter jets, one on each wingtip. A team of agents on another aircraft had taken off a few minutes earlier, and would arrive mere minutes ahead of us to secure the landing zone.
IT WAS ABOUT 8:30 as we began our descent to Cam Ranh Bay, and looking out the window, if you didn’t know any better, you might think we were headed to a tropical island vacation spot. Beautiful white sand beaches wound like ribbons along a rugged coast dense with palm trees, sandwiched between the land and the brilliant turquoise waters of the China Sea sparkling in the morning sun. But then the giant U.S. military base came into view—a sprawling city of barracks and hangars, buzzing with military vehicles—and the pristine coastline turned into a string of piers crowded with supply ships and destroyers. One hundred ninety miles northeast of Saigon, Cam Ranh Bay was the largest base the United States had ever built from the ground up in any foreign country, its pair of two-mile-long runways the largest in the world.
We touched down gently, and as soon as Air Force One came to a stop a portable stairway was rushed to the door at the front of the plane. White House photographer Yoichi Okamoto was first out the door, racing down the steps to get in position to begin shooting. I stood immediately behind President Johnson, and as he descended I stayed inches behind him, quickly taking note of the situation on the ground and where our agents were positioned.
Waiting at the bottom of the ramp to greet the president were Nguyen Cao Ky, now South Vietnam’s vice president; U.S. ambassador Ellsworth Bunker; and General William Westmoreland, and as they all smiled and shook hands the advance agent pulled me aside.