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

by Hill, Clint

  The following morning, President Johnson invited about sixty members of the Secret Service to meet him on the White House South Lawn for a formal farewell. It was a crisp, sunny day, and with invited members of the press looking on, all the agents and Secret Service staff gathered around the president, with the White House in the background, for a formal photo.

  I was standing immediately to the president’s right, and when the photos were finished, President Johnson stepped up to a microphone and gave a short speech.

  “Mr. Secretary, Director Rowley, members of the Secret Service, ladies and gentlemen,” President Johnson began. “I asked you to take a few moments this morning to come out here so I could say something to you that I have thought for eight years and have rarely expressed.”

  Squinting into the sun, he said he didn’t think the country fully recognized or appreciated the means by which we protect the president and his family.

  “Your protection is given by preparation and weary, backbreaking hours of hard work. I have seen it all over the world. There is no greater testimony to your efficiency than the recent trip we took when we were in the air fifty-nine hours and on the ground fifty-three hours, and conferred with more than a dozen heads of state in that many countries,” adding that several representatives from those countries told him, “Mr. President, what an extraordinary group of men accompany you.”

  Speaking slowly and with sincerity, President Johnson’s voice turned somber when he said, “I will never forget that day in Dallas when a great big, husky roughneck from Georgia threw 185 pounds of human weight on me and said, ‘Down.’ And there wasn’t any place to go but down, because he was on top of me. His life was being offered to protect mine.”

  He talked about how grateful Mrs. Johnson was for us and for the protection we provided to Luci and Lynda, and then he got personal.

  “A lot of things you have had to live through with me. If I could rewrite them, I would change a lot of them, because I have abused you, I have criticized you, I have been inconsiderate of you and of all those things that you know better than I do.”

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. President Johnson was apologizing to us.

  “I have spent more of my time telling you what you did wrong than what you have done right.” He recalled the incident in Australia and how he “just couldn’t keep back the tears” when the agents were splattered with paint, “but their chins up and their president safe.”

  And then he told a story about me.

  “Night before last, I was giving Tom Johnson the dickens for a mishap when I was going to drop in on a group of directors of the Urban League. . . . I said, ‘Notify them we are coming.’ Tom passed on the instruction, and Clint Hill executed it in his usually intelligent way by code.”

  He paused, moving his glance across the group. “The fellow on the other end just didn’t understand all of the code. He came back and said, ‘I can’t find that party here out of 300 or 400 in three or four seconds.’ ”

  The president continued, “So Hill said, ‘I am not sure they have arrived yet, Tom,’ and we had to drive around the block a time or two. By that time, I became impatient.”

  I stood there listening, perplexed at why he was telling this story in front of everyone, and in front of the press. What was he getting at?

  “I felt a little sorry for myself that late in the evening,” President Johnson continued, “and I said, ‘Tom, why do you do this to me?’ Then, characteristically, Clint Hill, before Tom could answer, said, ‘Mr. President, that is my mistake—my error.’

  “I said, ‘Well, why did you make it? What is wrong with you?’ And he said, ‘I communicated a code and we didn’t understand it.’

  “So before any more time passed, I started feeling sorry for Clint instead of myself. I was grateful that I had a man who had integrity enough to step up and face the music and say it was his fault, because that is the kind of a man that we all admire.”

  He looked at me, and everyone began clapping. It was embarrassing to me, and while I couldn’t have been more surprised at his remarks, I realized this was President Johnson acknowledging, in his own way, that he appreciated everything I did for him.

  He continued by pointing out what a huge burden had been placed on us after Robert Kennedy’s assassination, when we suddenly had to protect all the candidates.

  “You received this assignment in, oh, as I recall, three o’clock in the morning—you took up your posts of duty. You shifted your assignments. You left your families. You adapted yourselves to unprecedented demands, and as usual you carried out your job with quiet heroism and with the dedication for which you have become very famous.”

  And then he surprised Director Rowley by presenting him with the President’s Award for Distinguished Federal Civilian Service—for more than thirty years of dedication. He had pointed out Rufus and me and a few others specifically, but I was glad he was acknowledging all the agents—for none of us did this job alone.

  In closing, President Johnson added, “I did say to President Nixon the other day: ‘You will have many problems. Of course, you will have a lot of friends when you come in. But the best friend you will have when you come in and when you go out will be an organization—that will be the Secret Service of the United States.’ ”

  AT SOME POINT in late November, Rufus Youngblood requested a meeting with me at Secret Service Headquarters, which were then located at 1800 G Street N.W. He didn’t give me any indication what the meeting was about, but I presumed it had something to do with the changeover from Johnson to Nixon.

  When I arrived at his office, Assistant Director Lem Johns was also in the room, and after a few minutes of small talk they got down to business.

  “Clint,” Rufus said, “We need to discuss what your role will be when the new administration takes over. You have been an outstanding SAIC, and President Johnson says nothing but good things about how you’ve handled his detail.”

  “But,” Lem Johns chimed in, “we think there could be some problems if you are assigned to Nixon.”

  Problems? A feeling of dread started to creep over me—the same sort of feeling I had had eight years earlier when I was sitting in Chief U. E. Baughman’s office.

  “What kinds of problems?” I asked.

  “The fact of the matter is that you were close with the Kennedys and with Johnson,” Rufus said. Then, breaking into a smile, he added, “And, well, Nixon hates both of them.”

  “I won’t deny that,” I said with a chuckle.

  “We know you’re a professional,” Lem added, “but we have decided that Bob Taylor would be a better fit as Nixon’s SAIC, since he was with Nixon when Nixon was VP during the Eisenhower administration, and Nixon trusts him.”

  “I agree,” I said. It made sense. Bob Taylor had clashed with Johnson and had been moved off LBJ’s detail into an administrative position, but he was a good agent with a lot of experience, and I knew he’d do a good job. But where does that leave me?

  “So, Clint,” Rufus said, “we want you to head up the Vice President’s Detail.”

  The Vice Presidential Protective Detail—the VPPD—was obviously a demotion in status, and I also knew that previous SAICs of VPPD had been no higher than GS-15. I was already a GS-16. My mind was racing as I contemplated what this meant, and I realized that, in this moment, I had an opportunity to make some changes to the organization—changes that needed to be made—and from where I was sitting, I had some leverage.

  “Okay,” I said. “But I have some conditions.”

  “Sure,” Lem said. “Tell us what you need.”

  “One,” I said, holding up my right thumb, “I want to keep my GS-16 pay grade.”

  “No problem. We’ve already considered that,” Lem replied.

  “Two,” I said, as I stuck out my index finger, “I want the detail expanded. More personnel.” I was well aware that the agents on Vice President Humphrey’s detail had had to work an inordinate amount of overti
me because they didn’t have enough manpower, and the agents were burned out.

  “We can do that,” Rufus said. “Tell us how many agents you want, and we’ll make the necessary administrative changes.”

  “Three,” I said as I added my middle finger to the count, “I want to pick the agents on my detail. I get first choice.”

  “Okay,” Rufus said with a bit of hesitation. “I’m sure we can work that out.”

  Looking both men straight in the eyes, I added my ring finger. “Four—I want a dedicated physician to the vice president.” As much as vice presidents have traveled in the past, I fully expected the new vice president would be no different, and I didn’t want to be stuck in someplace like New Delhi or Montevideo with a sick or injured vice president and no doctor.

  “That can be done. No problem,” Lem replied.

  I had saved the biggest request for last. But it was a deal breaker.

  “And five,” I said, my hand now fully opened, “I want a dedicated Air Force aircraft, exclusively for the vice president’s use.”

  Rufus and Lem looked at each other. I could tell they had not anticipated this, but I wasn’t going to back down. The guys on Humphrey’s detail had told me how there had been many times when the vice president was going on an official trip and a plane had been authorized, only for them to get to the hangar and find out that President Johnson had denied the request. Not only was it humiliating for the vice president but it also left his staff and agents scrambling to find an alternative means of transportation. After four years of being on the president’s detail, where an aircraft was always available, I wasn’t about to be put in that predicament. If I was to be responsible for the protection of the vice president, I needed the tools to be able to do my job effectively.

  “You’re absolutely right, Clint,” Rufus said. “The vice president needs to have a dedicated aircraft. We’ll get it authorized.”

  We decided I would finish up with President Johnson through the holidays and begin the transition to Vice President–elect Spiro Agnew shortly before the Inauguration. It was undoubtedly a step down from being SAIC of the Presidential Protective Division, but knowing that I’d get to pick my own team and have a dedicated aircraft at our disposal, I wasn’t as disappointed as I otherwise might have been. It wasn’t for my personal benefit that I’d made the demands; it was because I’d seen how quickly things could change—how the vice president could become the president in a heartbeat—and as the person first in line to the presidency, the vice president deserved proper security and respect befitting the responsibility.

  PRESIDENT JOHNSON HAD been meeting with various members of President-elect Nixon’s staff throughout the week, and on the evening of December 16, after the annual lighting of the national Christmas tree, he had scheduled a meeting with Vice President–elect Agnew. I greeted Mr. Agnew and brought him to the Oval Office, where he and the president sat and talked for about an hour, before the president decided to take him upstairs to the residential quarters of the White House.

  I was waiting at the elevator when they came down from the residence at 8:30 p.m. and walked with the two men to the South Portico.

  After saying good-bye to Agnew, President Johnson turned to me and said, “Clint, let’s go upstairs. I want to talk with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  As we walked into the West Hall, he motioned for me to sit on one of the sofas, while he took a seat in a wing chair immediately next to me. Now, I had been upstairs in the residence a number of times, but this was the first time I had ever sat down alone with the President of the United States in the family’s private quarters, and I had no idea what the president wanted to speak to me about.

  “Clint,” he said, “I’ll be moving back home to the ranch next month, and I want to make sure I have people around me I can really trust.”

  He was looking me straight in the eyes, and as he continued he leaned forward in his chair, his arms resting on his knees.

  “When you were assigned to me, I questioned whether I could trust you because of your previous assignments, but you have proven your loyalty.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. That means a lot to me.”

  “Now, I know that many of the agents don’t appreciate all the time we spend at the LBJ Ranch, but I have never once heard you complain about it, and in fact, I can tell you feel comfortable there.”

  Oh no. I hadn’t seen this coming at all. Once again, President Lyndon Johnson was about to throw me a curveball.

  “Wouldn’t you enjoy spending some time away from the stress of Washington?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer he said, “I’d like you to move down to Texas and be in charge of my detail when we leave the White House. Would you consider that, Clint?”

  I paused, not knowing what to say. I was truly flattered. But while I had learned to deal with his idiosyncrasies—had taken the poke of his finger to my chest more times than I could count after a cabinet meeting in which I had no idea what had been discussed, knowing that he just needed to vent to someone—and had become skilled at anticipating his movements, I could not imagine spending an indefinite number of years on the LBJ Ranch, driving around looking at cattle and taking guests on tours of his birthplace and boyhood home.

  Finally, I said, “Thank you Mr. President, for the trust you have placed in me. I am honored you want me to run your detail.” He knew the “but” was coming, and I daresay I saw a tinge of dejection in his eyes.

  “But, Mr. President, I think it would be better for me to remain in Washington.” And then, suppressing a smile, I added, “I don’t think my career path runs along the banks of the Pedernales River.”

  His eyes crinkled, and he broke into a big grin. “Oh, I know. You just want to sit in some big office up here with a pretty secretary on your lap.”

  “Oh, I doubt that will be the case, Mr. President.”

  We both laughed—we really had become comfortable with each other, and nothing he said could shock me anymore—and then he stood up, a signal that our meeting was over, and said, “Let me know if you change your mind, Clint.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said as I stood with him. “But I don’t think that will happen, Mr. President.” I wanted him to know that there would be no changing my mind so that he could move on and find someone more suitable for the job of running his detail.

  “Good night, Clint,” he said.

  “Good night, Mr. President,” I replied as I turned to walk toward the elevator.

  “Oh, and Clint . . .”

  “Yes, sir?” I turned back to see what he wanted.

  “Thank you again. I meant everything I said.”

  JUST BEFORE CHRISTMAS President Johnson received word that the eighty-two crew members of the Pueblo who had been held captive in North Korea for eleven months were finally being released. And while the North Koreans refused to return the ship itself, the fact that the crew would be returning home to their families in time for the holidays was joyous news.

  President and Mrs. Johnson decided to stay in Washington to celebrate their last Christmas in the White House. It was also a nice treat for all of us on the White House Detail to be able to spend at least part of the holiday at home with our families.

  Two days later, I was on Air Force One with President and Mrs. Johnson, heading back to Texas for New Year’s. It would be my last visit to the LBJ Ranch, and while I had grown fond of the Texas Hill Country over the past four years, as we went about the daily routine of driving from ranch to ranch, I knew that when I’d declined President Johnson’s offer to head up his post-presidency detail, I’d made the right decision.

  A Gallup poll taken at the end of the year asked the question What man, living today in any part of the world, do you admire most? Dwight Eisenhower was number one; Lyndon Johnson number two; Edward Kennedy came in third, and Rev. Billy Graham was fourth. Richard M. Nixon, the man who would in twenty days be inaugurated as the thirty-seventh President of the United States, came i
n fifth.

  1968 would go down in history as one of our nation’s most tumultuous years ever, and as we turned the calendar to 1969 there was a feeling of trepidation across America. Were our best days behind us? What lay ahead? Would we see an end to the Vietnam War? Could Richard Nixon save our country?

  On January 10, I bid farewell to President Johnson. It was bittersweet, but I was looking forward to the challenges of the new administration with Richard Nixon and Spiro Agnew. And oh how challenging it would be.

  PART FOUR

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  With Presidents Nixon and Ford

  The presidential election of 1968 was like the year itself—unpredictable and scarred by violence. When Richard M. Nixon took office, America was a nation divided, with turbulence in our cities, ongoing protests against the Vietnam War, and still reeling from the assassinations of two more of our leaders. As president, Nixon’s first priorities were to resolve the Vietnam situation; better our relations with the Soviet Union; and return American society to a civil and harmonious union.

  President Nixon would have some major accomplishments and would be reelected in 1972 in a landslide victory in which he carried forty-nine of fifty states. Two years later, he would leave the Office of the President in disgrace, and the country that elected him in trauma.

  Suddenly, Gerald R. Ford would become the most powerful man in the world, under such extraordinary circumstances that Americans were in utter disbelief that this could have happened in our country.

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  Vice President Spiro Agnew

  After four years with President Johnson, protecting Spiro Agnew was a welcome change of pace. From the moment we met and had a chance to talk, we got along immediately, and unlike my inauspicious beginning with Johnson at the LBJ Ranch, I got the feeling Mr. Agnew was pleased to have me in charge of his detail. As I explained our procedures, he was very attentive and interested, and it was obvious the members of the Elect Detail who had been with him for the past few months had done an excellent job.