by Hill, Clint
The events of November 22, 1963, were ever present in my mind and affected everything I thought or did. The emotional trauma caused my body to react physically, so I was having physical problems as well. I kept being referred to different doctors, and at that point I was seeing a gastroenterologist, a neurologist, and an internist. Pills were prescribed, but nothing seemed to work or help. I was providing financially for my family, but emotionally I was not there as a husband or a father. There’s no doubt about it now: I was going through post-traumatic stress disorder—PTSD. But in the 1970s there was no such diagnosis. I was no longer on a protective detail, and I found that when I got home from the office, a Scotch and soda helped me deal with the transition from problems at work to problems at home. I’m not proud of how I handled my issues. But that’s how I dealt with it—and it only got worse over time.
34
* * *
1972: The Beginning of the End
Not long after Jack Ready had come to me with his unusual expense report problem, President Nixon went on national television and announced his plans to visit the People’s Republic of China.
“Good evening,” President Nixon began. “I have requested this television time tonight to announce a major development in our efforts to build a lasting peace in the world.
“As I have pointed out on a number of occasions over the past three years, there can be no stable and enduring peace without the participation of the People’s Republic of China and its 750 million people. That is why I have undertaken initiatives in several areas to open the door for more normal relations between our two countries.”
President Nixon revealed the secret trip taken by Kissinger and how it resulted in an invitation from Premier Chou En-lai for President Nixon to visit China—which Nixon accepted with pleasure.
Fully aware that the U.S. relationships with our allies in Southeast Asia might be jeopardized by this announcement, he said, “Our action in seeking a new relationship with the People’s Republic of China will not be at the expense of our old friends. It is not directed against any other nation. We seek friendly relations with all nations. Any nation can be our friend without being any other nation’s enemy.
“I have taken this action because of my profound conviction that all nations will gain from a reduction of tensions and a better relationship between the United States and the People’s Republic of China.”
The United States had had no direct relations with China for over two decades. We had no embassy there, and no diplomatic personnel whatsoever. In 1972, there were no products imported to the United States with “Made in China” stamped on the back. The announcement was a stunning surprise. The next day the Washington Post wrote: “If Mr. Nixon had revealed he was going to the moon, he could not have flabbergasted his world audience more.”
From the moment the trip was announced, the Presidential Protective Division began working with WHCA and the White House staff on what would be the most complex arrangements for any presidential trip ever. Agents who went on the initial survey trip came back and told me, “You just can’t even believe it. Being in China almost felt like we had landed on a different planet.”
Despite the distrust between the Chinese and the Americans, everyone who was working behind the scenes to make this trip happen wanted it to be successful. Months of planning and negotiation came together, and on February 21, 1972, President and Mrs. Nixon—with an entourage of three hundred staffers, press, communications, and Secret Service personnel—departed for Peking.
The thought of accompanying the detail to China had crossed my mind, but with the new responsibility of being assistant director, I needed to concentrate on all of our protective activity not just that for the president. Deputy Director Boggs had a closer relationship with Nixon White House staff members than I did, and he wanted to go, so I gladly remained on duty in Washington.
For a whole week, through the magic of television, Americans got to travel with President and Mrs. Nixon on this remarkable journey, which President Nixon said was “the week that changed the world.” And indeed it had.
EARLY ON THE morning of May 15, 1972, I woke up and found my wife, Gwen, in bed, her face contorted and her jaw frozen shut, unable to speak. I immediately called our doctor.
“See if you can get some orange juice into her mouth,” he advised. “I’ll send an ambulance.”
I hurried to the fridge, poured some orange juice into a glass, raced back to the bedroom, and tried to slowly pour some into her mouth. But her teeth were clenched so tightly together that most of the juice flowed down her chin and onto her nightgown. I tried to force her mouth open to get the juice in, but I physically couldn’t do it. I had never seen anything like this, and I didn’t know what to do.
Our sons Chris, fifteen at the time, and Corey, who was eleven, had heard the commotion and came to see what was going on. They took one look at their mother and realized that we had a serious problem.
“You know your mom is a diabetic,” I said as I continued to try to help release her jaw, “and this apparently has something to do with that. Don’t worry. An ambulance is on its way. Your mom’s going to be all right, but I need you guys to get dressed to go to the hospital with me.”
The ambulance arrived, and the attendants immediately gave Gwen an injection. Once she was stabilized, they put her onto a stretcher, took her out to the waiting ambulance, and sped away, sirens blaring. The boys and I jumped into my government car and raced to Alexandria Hospital.
When we got there, Gwen was sitting up, drinking orange juice with Dr. Bazo at her bedside.
“Clint, we have her stabilized,” he said. “She’s going to be fine. The problem was a mixup in the medication she is taking. We’ve straightened it out, but I want to keep her in the hospital until tomorrow to make absolutely sure.”
“That is a relief,” I said. “She can stay here as long as necessary.”
I notified my office about what had happened and called the schools to let them know why Chris and Corey hadn’t shown up. After being at the hospital for most of the day, finally at around four in the afternoon the nurses suggested we go home and let Gwen get some rest.
I was driving, with Chris in the front seat and Corey in the back, and as usual I had the official Secret Service radio on. We were a mile or two from our house when I heard the Candidate Command Center respond to a radio transmission that I could not hear. All I could hear was the command center response, and I thought it sounded like there was a problem with one of the candidate details.
I picked up the handheld radio and said, “Command Center, this is Dazzle. Do we have a problem?”
Special Agent Johnny Grimes was the operator on the other end, and he simply said, “Yes, sir. We have a big problem.”
“I’ll two-two you from my residence.” That meant I would call on a telephone landline from my home. I didn’t want to tie up the radio getting an explanation of the problem.
When I got home, I picked up the direct line to the WHCA switchboard and asked for the command center.
Johnny Grimes answered.
“Johnny, it’s Clint. What’s going on?”
“Candidate Governor George Wallace has been shot.”
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“Wallace is in the hospital in critical condition.”
“Oh God,” I muttered under my breath as Grimes continued.
“Agent Zarvos was also shot, and one of the Alabama state troopers, as well as a Wallace campaign worker.”
“I will be there as soon as I can.”
My sons were listening to all this but could hear only my end of the conversation. I explained briefly what had happened and told them I was going to have to go into work.
One of our neighbors was an army sergeant who worked at the White House, so I ran over there and knocked on the door. Fortunately, his wife, Agnes, was home. After explaining everything that had just happened—Gwen, Governor Wallace—I asked if she could look after my
sons for a while because I needed to get to the Secret Service command center. She gladly agreed, so I jumped back into the car and sped away.
Of all the candidates we were protecting in 1972, Alabama governor George Wallace—the outspoken segregationist—was the one we worried about most. His rhetoric riled people up—both for his views and against them—and knowing that he could be a target of violence, he traveled with a three-sided bulletproof lectern that was so heavy it required at least two men to move. Wallace had just finished speaking at a rally in a supermarket parking lot in Laurel, Maryland, and as he turned away from the crowd, heading to a waiting vehicle surrounded by Secret Service agents and Alabama state troopers, a man called out, “Hey, George! Aren’t you going to shake my hand?”
Wallace immediately turned around, smiling, unable to resist connecting personally with the voters, and walked toward the exuberant crowd. People clamored to get closer, shouting, “Over here! Over here!”
Near the front of the pack was twenty-one-year-old Arthur Bremer, from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Before anyone knew what was happening, Bremer whipped out a gun and started firing at point-blank range. The agents reacted as fast as humanly possible, throwing their bodies on top of the governor, but in the blink of an eye the gunman had fired off multiple rounds.
The assailant was in custody, and the three victims had been taken to Holy Cross Hospital in Silver Spring, Maryland. As assistant director of Protective Forces I felt responsible, in a sense, that this had happened on my watch. I asked the same questions I had asked myself almost nine years earlier in Dallas. Where did we go wrong? What could, or should, we have done differently to prevent this? The answers would not come easily.
It was late by the time I returned home that night, and after making sure the boys were okay, I collapsed into bed.
Gwen was released from the hospital the following day and had recovered completely, now with a better understanding of her medication for her diabetic condition and strict adherence to the medical instructions.
I went to see Wallace as he was recovering in the hospital, representing Director Rowley and the entire Secret Service. I extended my regrets for what happened and apologized for not being able to prevent this tragic event. He was partially paralyzed, and it really made me sick to realize he would never be the same as he was prior to 3:55 p.m. on May 15, 1972. The Secret Service had agents assigned to Wallace in 1968 after the Robert Kennedy assassination, so the agents knew the governor, his family, and his staff very well. This time it didn’t go as planned, and I felt awful.
Agent Nick Zarvos was in the same hospital, and when I went in to visit him, it was tough to see the results of his heroic actions, with his wife there by his bedside. He had been shot in the throat and was unable to talk. Ultimately he recovered, but with a much-changed voice pattern.
President Nixon flew down from Camp David, paying calls on both Governor Wallace and Agent Zarvos, and when Wallace was well enough an Air Force aircraft with medical staff on board was used to transport him back to Montgomery, Alabama.
The agents assigned to Wallace accompanied him back to his home state, and out of respect I joined them.
IT DID NOT take President Nixon long to request additional Secret Service protection for every candidate running for the office of president, including those who had not previously qualified under the established guidelines and were not considered major candidates. Among them were Representative Shirley Chisholm from New York, Congressman Wilbur Mills from Arkansas, and Dr. Benjamin Spock. President Nixon added one noncandidate to the list as well: Senator Ted Kennedy. We quickly put new protective details together, carefully selecting the leadership. I was quite concerned about the Kennedy Detail, and a very senior, experienced individual was made the Agent in Charge. Three weeks later the senator himself requested the protective detail be terminated, and on June 5, 1972, we discontinued coverage of Senator Kennedy.
Around this time President Nixon was about to depart on a trip that included a historic visit to the Soviet Union. I was scheduled to go, but because of the Wallace shooting and the additional protective details we had just formed, I told Director Rowley it was not the appropriate time for me to be gone. I suggested Deputy Director Boggs go in my place, and he did.
IN SEPTEMBER 1972, I received a telephone call from Alex Butterfield, one of President Nixon’s key aides, advising me that the administration was so concerned about Senator Kennedy that they wanted the Secret Service to resume his protection. They wanted to make sure the best agents were assigned, and they requested a specific agent be added as the detail leader.
I informed Mr. Butterfield that we would put the same detail back with Senator Kennedy—they were all well qualified and already had a good rapport.
“The detail leader will be the same,” I said. “He is one of our best agents.”
Butterfield did not seem satisfied with my response, but finally he hung up. A short time later I received another telephone call, this one from Eugene Rossides—assistant secretary for law enforcement at the U.S. Treasury Department; Rossides reported directly to the secretary of the treasury.
“Clint,” he said, “I understand you have spoken with Alex Butterfield about protection for Ted Kennedy.”
“Yes, sir, that is correct.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. “The White House wants a certain agent assigned to the Kennedy Detail.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice, and I did not like someone who knew nothing about protection trying to tell me how to put together a security detail—especially for someone as high-risk as Ted Kennedy. If anything happened to him, the burden would lie on my shoulders, not Eugene Rossides’s.
“Mr. Secretary, we have already selected the detail personnel, and they are preparing to begin covering Ted Kennedy as we speak. This is not a good time to change leadership. We do not need anyone else.”
There was a slight pause, and then Rossides said, “You apparently don’t get the picture, Clint. This is not a request, it is an order.”
I heard it as an ultimatum and felt that if I wanted to keep my job, I had no choice.
“If that is what you believe is necessary,” I replied with disgust, “we will do as you request.”
It sickened me to realize that the president could sink so low as to insist that our organization, which was providing him with protection and enabling him to function as president, place an informant on a protective detail. There was no question in my mind that this was what was happening. I had always held the Office of the President in extremely high regard. This request, although it did not come directly from the president, obviously emanated from him. It sullied the office and gave me an insight into the character of the man in it.
I KNEW I couldn’t keep the Ted Kennedy situation to myself—I had to talk to someone I could trust. Deputy Assistant Director for Investigations Jim Burke had the office next to mine, and I knew he would be a good person with whom to discuss the ramifications of this troubling situation. The office of criminal investigations manages Secret Service employees and operations in the various field offices throughout the world, and this is where the majority of Secret Service personnel are located. When we in protective forces need additional personnel, we go to that pool of agents to make up the protective details.
I explained the conversations I had just had with Butterfield and Rossides. And then I added, “Jim, it is obvious to me why Nixon wants this specific agent on the Ted Kennedy detail. He is known to be close to some of the top Nixon staff, and may be indebted to them for some reason. I believe the president wants him as a spy within the Ted Kennedy entourage.”
Jim shook his head with disgust. “Let’s take care of this right now.”
The agent, Robert “Bob” Newbrand, was originally from New York City. He was experienced in investigations as well as protection. He had worked undercover on a number of cases and knew how to handle himself in various situations.
Burke picked
up the phone and called the agent at the field office where he was presently assigned.
Burke explained the situation to him and added, “Clint just got this request from both Butterfield and Rossides. It appears the White House is trying to set you up as an informant on the Ted Kennedy Detail.”
Agent Newbrand laughed and said, “I’ll take care of that.”
“What do you mean?” Burke asked.
“I’ll lie to them and provide plenty of useless information,” Newbrand replied.
Mr. Burke turned to me and said, “Don’t worry, Clint; the situation is taken care of.”
I was relieved but still disgusted by this unethical demand from the administration.
A few days after Agent Newbrand became part of Senator Kennedy’s detail, Burke called me into his office.
“I just got a call from Newbrand,” Burke said.
“Oh really? What did he have to say?”
“He said, ‘Clint was right. They are requesting all kinds of information about the senator and his activities.’ ”
It came as no surprise. “Exactly what I thought would happen,” I said.
“Yeah, he’s got it all under control, but he’s really pissed off that Nixon and his staff would think that he would betray the Secret Service under political pressure,” Burke said. “You know Bob—he just laughed and said he’ll use the opportunity to have a little fun with them.”