Mrs. Kennedy and Me

by McCubbin, Lisa;Hill, Clint

  “What do you think of these Kama Sutra paintings, Mr. Hill?” she asked.

  I don’t think I had ever blushed before in my life. But damn if I didn’t feel my face get hot.

  “I think they’re fine, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, trying not to smile. “At least they’ll be a great conversation starter. They’ll have tremendous shock value.”

  She just laughed and said, “Oh, Mr. Hill.”

  I thought the paintings seemed more appropriate for a private area like the master bedroom, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. I was certain she hung them there for the exact reason I had stated. Shock value. Pure and simple.

  The next day it was back to the White House and then on to Camp David. With all the time and effort Mrs. Kennedy had put into building this house, and trying to make everything perfect, I was surprised to learn that Atoka would not be the residence of choice—at least for the near future. President and Mrs. Kennedy decided to rent out the house for the summer of 1963, which caused some consternation to the Secret Service and the White House Communications Agency because of the extensive security and communications equipment that had been installed as the house was being built.

  Mrs. Kennedy’s original intent was to go to Hyannis Port for the entire summer, beginning around the president’s birthday or shortly thereafter, but she enjoyed Camp David so much that the date to go to Hyannis Port kept getting pushed back.

  In early 1963, Letitia Baldridge had informed Mrs. Kennedy that she was resigning from her job as social secretary. Like so many White House staffers, she worked long hours, typically six or seven days a week, with no time for a personal life. I knew the past year had been tough on Tish—she thought Mrs. Kennedy should have attended more White House social functions, and hosted more ladies’ luncheons and teas. But that wasn’t Mrs. Kennedy’s style. And there had been plenty of times in which Tish was thrown into a frenzied search for a replacement when Mrs. Kennedy declined to attend a function at the last minute. They both knew it was time for Tish to move on, and as far as I knew, there were no bad feelings about her resignation.

  Tish gave a generous four months’ notice, and in that time, Mrs. Kennedy decided to hire an old friend of hers from Miss Porter’s school, Nancy Tuckerman. Like Tish, Nancy had exquisite taste and style, but her calmer personality was much more compatible with Mrs. Kennedy.

  On Tish’s last day, Mrs. Kennedy and the staff threw her a going-away party in the China Room—the room on the ground floor of the mansion where all the china from previous administrations is displayed in glass cases. There was champagne and beautiful, thoughtful parting gifts, including a small round table made by the White House carpenters, on top of which was an inlaid piece of paper that had been signed by the senior staff, as well as President and Mrs. Kennedy, Caroline, and a scribble by John. But perhaps one of the most memorable moments was when Mrs. Kennedy ushered in the Marine Band, and they sang a tongue-in-cheek tribute to Tish that Mrs. Kennedy herself had written. That was typical of Mrs. Kennedy—always taking the time to write or draw something personal and befitting to the recipient.

  Clint Hill, Pam Turnure, Tish Baldridge, and Mrs. Kennedy

  As it happened, Tish’s last day, May 29, 1963, was also President Kennedy’s forty-sixth birthday. He had a typically full schedule with back-to-back meetings, but the staff managed to throw him a surprise birthday party late that afternoon in the Navy Mess.

  Located on the lower level of the White House, the Navy Mess is a simple dining hall where the staff eats meals—prepared and served by Navy stewards. It’s not a place the president normally went, but around 5:45 that afternoon, somebody escorted him down there. Mrs. Kennedy and I were there waiting, along with Nancy Tuckerman—her first day on the job—and most of the president’s staff.

  As soon as the president walked in, somebody handed him a glass of champagne, and we all started singing “Happy Birthday.” He broke into a big smile and acted as though he were surprised. In reality, I think he must have known what was going on. It is very difficult to surprise the president—any president. The last thing a president wants is to be surprised. He relies on his top staff to keep him well informed, and if they don’t, they are soon out of a job.

  But the president played along, as he was presented with an array of gag gifts. There was a miniature rocking chair, boxing gloves to deal with Congress, “Debate Rules” from Richard M. Nixon. But the biggest laugh came when Mrs. Kennedy presented her gift—a basket of dead grass.

  “Mr. President,” she deadpanned, “on behalf of the White House Historical Society, it is with great honor and with the utmost respect, that I present to you genuine antique grass from the antique rose garden.”

  Surprise party at White House for President Kennedy’s 46th birthday

  The president loved it. That too was typical of Mrs. Kennedy’s self-deprecating sense of humor. In giving the gift to her husband, she was simultaneously mocking herself, as well as the staff members and others who adulate the president.

  That evening, Mrs. Kennedy had planned a truly special event for her husband’s birthday—a cruise on the Potomac aboard the beautiful presidential yacht, the USS Sequoia.

  A classic teak and mahogany 104-foot motor yacht built around 1925, the Sequoia was operated by the U.S. Navy and had been made available to every president since Herbert Hoover. Due to her shallow draft of less than four and a half feet, the Sequoia wasn’t an oceangoing vessel, but she was ideal for cruises along the usually calm waters of the Potomac.

  President Kennedy was happiest when he was on the water, and this night was no exception. Mrs. Kennedy had invited about twenty-four guests, who were told to arrive promptly for an 8:01 departure. We had Secret Service agents on a couple of security boats, but there were just three agents aboard the Sequoia—Floyd Boring and Ron Pontius from the President’s Detail, and myself.

  Agents Ron Pontius, Floyd Boring, and Clint Hill on U.S.S. Sequoia

  None of President Kennedy’s political advisors had been invited—the guest list included only family members and his closest friends: Bobby and Ethel, Sarge and Eunice, Teddy, the Bartletts, Ben and Tony Bradlee, the Fays, British actor David Niven and his wife, Florida senator George Smathers and his wife, Bill Walton, Lem Billings, and a few others.

  It was a dreary, rainy evening, making the open-air top deck unusable, so everybody was crammed inside the main and aft salons. The interior of this classic yacht feels like a cozy gentleman’s library with low ceilings, varnished mahogany paneling and cabinetry, and fine fabric for the drapes and furnishings. The captain steers the boat with a large, classic wood and brass wheel, from the windowed pilothouse on the main deck. Behind the pilothouse there is the galley, the large main salon, which is connected to the smaller, cozier aft salon by a narrow hallway and bar area. At the rear is the fantail—sort of an outdoor covered porch.

  The yacht is elegant and spacious, but with about twenty-four guests, three agents, the crew, and the three-piece band Mrs. Kennedy had arranged, on this night it was close quarters.

  To accommodate all the guests for dinner, the mahogany Chippendale dining table was extended to fill the entire main salon, so drinks and hors d’oeuvres were served on the aft deck and covered fantail. While Agents Boring and Pontius and I stood post on the exterior walkways, the guests inside dined on roast filet of beef and 1955 Dom Pérignon champagne. People were in lively spirits to begin with, and as the night wore on, and the champagne flowed, the party got louder and livelier. There were plenty of toasts, and after birthday cake at the dining table, the president opened presents in the aft salon. Then the dancing started. They were doing the twist, the cha-cha, and everything in between. It was wild. I don’t think I had ever seen the president and Mrs. Kennedy having more fun. Nobody wanted the night to end, but the captain docked the Sequoia around 1:20 A.M., and finally, everybody went home.

  Mrs. Kennedy was thrilled that the party had gone off so well.

  IT’S BEEN A long
time since I’ve thought about that night, that wonderful raucous night. I can still see the president’s surprise and amusement while opening his gifts. I can still hear the music, the guests singing along, and the president having such a wonderful time surrounded by his closest family and friends. What a privilege it was for me to have been there, to witness the joy and laughter. But always, when I remember that special birthday celebration on the Sequoia, I can’t help but think that it shouldn’t have been his last.

  At forty-six, it shouldn’t have been his last.

  President Kennedy opens gifts on U.S.S. Sequoia

  20

  Losing Baby Patrick

  JFK conducts business during family photo session on Squaw Island, August 1963

  On June 22 1963, President Kennedy departed on a two-week trip to Europe, with stops in England, Ireland, Italy, and Germany. It was history in the making and I have to admit that I was disappointed not to be able to join my colleagues on what I knew would be a challenging and significant trip.

  When I saw the news reports about President Kennedy delivering what would forever be known as his “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech, all I could think about was the complex challenge faced by the Secret Service agents assigned to protect him. The photos showed hundreds of thousands of unscreened people—many watching from balconies and rooftops—as President Kennedy spoke, all alone at a podium on an open stage. He was a sitting duck.

  How do you protect someone in that environment? All it takes is one lucky shot—and that first shot is free. You never know it’s coming. After that, all you can do is react.

  This scene played itself over and over as the president traveled to Rome, Naples, and Dublin. I knew the guys on the detail had to have been living on pure adrenaline.

  ONCE AGAIN THIS summer, the president and Mrs. Kennedy had rented a house on Squaw Island—very close to the house they’d rented the year before—still less than a mile from the Kennedy compound. The large, rambling, gray-shingled house was at the end of the narrow, one-lane gravel road on Squaw Island, set back on a heavily wooded piece of property so that you could barely see it from the road. A simple wooden sign hung over the front door with the moniker: BRAMBLETYDE. The home had ample space for the children to play outdoors, a stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean from the entire backside of the house, and a private beach. Plenty of privacy, and close enough—but not too close—to the rest of the family.

  This was now the seventh house the Kennedys had occupied on a regular basis, outside the White House, in the two and a half years since Kennedy was elected. So once again the Secret Service and the White House Communications Agency had installed the extensive communications and surveillance equipment to ensure the security of the president and his family while in residence. A semipermanent trailer was placed at the base of the driveway to serve as the Secret Service Command Center and secretarial office. It had everything we needed—radios, telephones, and a typewriter to write up our daily reports—but unfortunately, not even a hint of an ocean view.

  Once President Kennedy returned from Europe, he began the usual summer schedule in which he arrived at Hyannis Port on Friday afternoons, and left Monday mornings. There was always such a hubbub of activity during the weekends that when the president and his entourage left, the atmosphere during the week would return to a much slower, relaxed pace. Mrs. Kennedy continued to walk regularly, and often we would walk together from Brambletyde to the ambassador’s residence, where she would visit with her father-in-law on the porch—sometimes for hours at a time. He couldn’t speak, but you could see the joy in his eyes as she chatted away, or read aloud from magazines and newspapers.

  She didn’t want to be seen in public at this time, so she would frequently send me to Lorania’s Toy & Book Shop in Hyannis to buy candy or inexpensive toys for the children. She’d give me a list of things and then, as I was walking out the door, she would add, “Oh, and Mr. Hill, why don’t you pick up a few magazines for me while you’re there, too.”

  I knew what she meant. She loved to read the tabloids—especially if there were articles or photos of her in them—but she certainly didn’t want anyone to see her buying them.

  Other than quiet outings, Mrs. Kennedy spent a great deal of time secluded in her upstairs bedroom and adjoining office, from which she could hear the sound of the waves, and look out to the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. She was spending a lot of time doing early planning of events for fall entertaining at the White House, and was consumed with preparations for the baby. Chief Usher J. B. West had been given instructions on transforming a small room in the private residence into the new nursery, using John’s white crib, and adding some new drapes and a new rug.

  This was the first year her personal secretary, Mary Gallagher, had come up to the Cape for the entire summer, and Mrs. Kennedy kept her busy with dictation, correspondence, and detailed requests to J. B. West, Oleg Cassini, and Nancy Tuckerman, who was now handling the social side of things. Provi was there, of course, and Paul Landis and I worked closely with both her and Mary to ensure that the things Mrs. Kennedy requested were accomplished. We, along with the White House switchboard operators, became experts in locating people with whom Mrs. Kennedy wanted to speak, wherever they were. Everybody’s joint mission was to keep the first lady happy, and to keep anxiety levels to a minimum.

  THE BABY WAS due in September, and while Mrs. Kennedy planned to return to Washington to deliver the baby by Caesarean section at Walter Reed Army Hospital, we had to have an alternate plan in case of an emergency while we were at the Cape. A representative from the Boston Secret Service office and I accompanied Drs. John Walsh and Janet Travell to visit the various hospitals in the Hyannis Port area, and we determined that Otis Air Force Base Hospital, which was less than twenty miles from Hyannis Port, was the best option in terms of proximity, security, and facilities. As one final precaution, Dr. Walsh agreed to stay in Hyannis Port for the duration of the summer so that he could assist Mrs. Kennedy with any problems.

  July 28, 1963, was Mrs. Kennedy’s thirty-fourth birthday, and she was adamant that it be celebrated in a low-key way. There was the standard noontime cruise on the Honey Fitz, and then a quiet family dinner that evening at Brambletyde. Quite different from the wild celebration on the Sequoia for President Kennedy’s birthday in May, but that’s what she wanted.

  Mrs. Kennedy on the Honey Fitz, Hyannis Port, July 1963

  During this extended period of time at Squaw Island, Agent Landis and I managed to arrange our schedule so that we could each have a day off every week. The weekends were filled with a flurry of activities when the president was in residence, but during the week, as long as one agent on duty worked a sixteen-hour day, the other could have the day off. It was a real treat to have an entire day completely to ourselves.

  Wednesday, August 7, 1963, happened to be my designated day off.

  Caroline, who was now five years old, had a riding lesson scheduled that morning, and Mrs. Kennedy decided to go along and watch, as she often did. So Paul Landis drove Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline to the stables, while Agent Lynn Meredith from the Kiddie Detail followed in a separate car.

  Shortly after they arrived at the farm, Mrs. Kennedy was standing by the fence outside the riding ring. Suddenly, she turned to Paul.

  “Mr. Landis, I don’t feel well. I think you better take me back to the house.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Kennedy,” Paul said.

  Agent Meredith was standing nearby, but before Paul could tell him what was going on, Mrs. Kennedy said, “Right now, Mr. Landis.”

  There was no doubting her sense of urgency so Paul got Meredith’s attention and said, “I’m taking Mrs. Kennedy back to Squaw Island. You stay here and take care of Caroline.”

  As Paul helped Mrs. Kennedy into the backseat of the car, she got a worried look on her face, and repeated, “We better hurry, Mr. Landis.”

  As soon as they pulled away, Paul radioed the command center.

  George Dalt
on, an assistant to the president’s naval aide, who worked closely with us at Hyannis Port, was on duty in the Secret Service trailer.

  “George,” Paul said. “I’m bringing Mrs. Kennedy back to the house. Get Dr. Walsh to come immediately, and put a helicopter on standby.” He looked over at Mrs. Kennedy and added, “And call Clint. Tell him we’ve got an emergency.”

  The two-lane country road back to Hyannis Port was filled with dips and bumps, and Paul was driving as fast as he felt he could without causing Mrs. Kennedy any discomfort, but she kept urging him to go faster.

  “Mr. Landis, please go a little faster. Please go faster!”

  As Paul sped up to eighty miles per hour on the windy, bumpy road, he thought, Please God, don’t let her have this baby in the car. Please let me get to the house in time.

  Fortunately, as Paul pulled into the driveway at Brambletyde, Dr. Walsh was just arriving. They helped Mrs. Kennedy inside and after a brief examination, Dr. Walsh said, “We need to get her to the hospital right away.”

  I HAD RENTED a tiny cottage on the other side of Hyannis Port for the summer and was sound asleep when the phone rang. It was George Dalton.

  “Clint,” George said, “Mrs. Kennedy is going into labor. You better get over here.”

  Oh God. The baby isn’t due for another five weeks. She can’t have the baby now, it’s too early.

  I got dressed as fast as I could, grabbed my commission book and my revolver, and just as I was walking out the door, the phone rang again.

  “Clint, they’re taking the helicopter to Otis.”

  Oh God.

  “Okay. I’ll meet them there.”

  As I raced to Otis, I radioed the Secret Service Command Center and told them to contact SAIC Behn’s office at the White House. The president needed to know his wife was about to have the baby.

  It was about a ten-minute flight to Otis Air Force Base, and normally a twenty-five-minute drive. I arrived just as the helicopter was landing.