by Hill, Clint
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“The plan is that the president will make this trip a day or two after we get back, so we need you to make arrangements to fly back to Washington as soon as possible to join the advance group.”
I was disappointed that I wasn’t going to be able to participate in the rest of the president’s trip to the South Pacific and Asia, but at the same time the fact that I was being given the responsibility for this important advance was an indication that my abilities were being recognized and appreciated.
The following day, I remained in Canberra to finish making my departure arrangements while the rest of the detail accompanied President Johnson to Melbourne. Being that this was the first time a sitting American president had ever visited Australia, President Johnson’s every move was big news. Despite the protestors at the hotel and other small pockets of demonstrators during the motorcades, the overwhelming majority of Australians seemed almost starstruck by LBJ. They loved him.
The president’s arrival and motorcade through Melbourne was covered live on television, so I was able to watch everything in real time from my hotel room. It felt strange to be watching the events unfold when I would normally be right in the middle of the action, and I found myself filled with anxiety. The crowds were enormous—newscasters estimated at least half a million people and perhaps as many as a million. It was a frantic mob scene of children, teens, and adults screaming and shrieking. American and Australian flags fluttered from hands in every direction. The absolute hysteria reminded me of the Beatles’ arrival in New York City back in 1964. As the motorcade drove slowly through Melbourne’s downtown area, the presidential vehicle was forced to come to a complete stop as it became enveloped in a swarm of people. My stomach was in knots as I anticipated what was about to happen, and sure enough, the president took the opportunity to open the back door and step onto the side running board, and, clutching the side of the vehicle, he hurled himself up so that he was standing above the crowd. The people went absolutely crazy—shrieking and cheering, clamoring to get close enough to touch him. As he stood there, fully exposed, his ego overwhelmed by the adoring crowds, the agents were desperately trying to push people back from the car and create space so the motorcade could proceed.
Finally, a path was cleared, and as the car began moving again President Johnson got back inside. I could see agents Lem Johns, Rufus Youngblood, Bob Heyn, and Jerry Kivett walking alongside the slow-moving limousine, the tenseness of the situation written all over their sweat-drenched faces. When the cars were able to move faster, Johns and Youngblood rode on the back of the limousine, clinging to the handholds.
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, something came hurling at the vehicle, splattering all over the windshield and the agents. On the black-and-white television, it looked like they were covered in blood.
In fact, someone had launched several balloons filled with red and green paint. The agents struggled to carry on, the paint stinging their eyes and dripping down their faces. It was horrifying to watch this unfold, and I felt helpless sitting there in my hotel room. What if this had happened when the president was standing outside the car? What if it had been acid instead of paint?
The Australian police quickly caught the perpetrators, and eventually the agents were taken to a nearby hospital, where the paint was washed out of their eyes. Although the damage was serious, fortunately no one was permanently injured. The president and the agents returned to Canberra that night, and I got a full accounting of the horrific incident. Surprisingly, President Johnson didn’t seem bothered at all, even joking about it. Meanwhile, SS-100-X was sent to a paint shop, and by the next morning it looked as good as new.
The itinerary for Saturday, October 22, included a side trip to Sydney, with a return back to Canberra that evening, and while SS-100-X was flown ahead on a cargo plane, Prime Minister and Mrs. Holt joined President and Mrs. Johnson on Saturday aboard Air Force One for the short twenty-five-minute flight. I had arranged a commercial flight from Sydney to Honolulu and then on to Washington, so I flew with the presidential party on Air Force One to Sydney. My flight didn’t depart until late in the evening, so I intended to work with the detail throughout the president’s Sydney visit. After the paint-bomb incident in Melbourne, everyone was on high alert, and no one could predict what awaited us in Sydney.
WATCHING LYNDON JOHNSON and Harold Holt interact, it was clear that the two had formed a genuine and sincere friendship. Their goals were aligned, and while they both faced increasing criticism for the Vietnam situation, they firmly believed that the strong alliance of SEATO would ultimately lead to peace in the region. In contrast to Mexico City, Prime Minister Holt did not object to riding with President Johnson in our armored car, so after the normal arrival ceremonies the two leaders got into the back of SS-100-X, while their wives rode behind in a separate car.
The crowds along the motorcade route were tremendous—more than one and a quarter million people had come out to welcome President Johnson to Australia’s largest city. It was like a carnival, with balloons, people throwing confetti and streamers made from rolls of toilet paper from open windows above us, and thousands upon thousands of miniature American and Australian flags held up by screaming men, women, and children. The other agents and I started off on the running boards of the follow-up car, but almost immediately upon leaving the airport there was a loud group of antiwar demonstrators, so we jumped off and began jogging alongside the presidential vehicle. The vast majority of the crowd was enthusiastic and positive—many waving signs that said ALL THE WAY WITH LBJ—and although the president was inside the armored car, we knew that he might not stay there.
Sure enough, as the crowds grew from three deep to ten deep, the car suddenly stopped, and out came the president, walking beyond the police line and reaching out to shake hands with the people. He’d stop for a couple of minutes and then get back in the car, and three minutes later he’d be out again. Mobs of people were surging toward the car, and as we jogged along, pushing people back, we were getting reports that the real crowds didn’t begin for several more miles.
We turned a corner, and there were hundreds of children waving and calling out to the president, so of course the car stopped. He stood on the running board reaching out to shake hands, grinning and shaking his head with glee at the response, and then, suddenly, he hauled himself up to the roof of the car and sat on the roof so the people could see him better. I could hardly believe my eyes.
Lem and Rufus and I made eye contact with one another, all thinking the same thing: What in God’s name is he doing? What the hell use is an armored car if the man sits on top of it like a target for anyone who wants to shoot him?
Talking into the microphone of the loudspeaker system, the president thanked everyone and said how much he loved Sydney and the people of Australia as the crowd pressed in around the car. The agents were spread around, frantically scanning the throngs above, around, and behind us, hoping to God there wasn’t someone in the crowd with a rifle. Truth be told, if there had been, there wasn’t a damn thing we could have done. The first shot is free. After that, all you can do is react.
Youngblood finally convinced the president to get back in the car—by this time we were thirty-five minutes behind schedule, and as we drove slowly into the city the crowds got larger and larger. Suddenly a group of demonstrators holding antiwar signs began hurling eggs and black balloons at the car as they booed and yelled profanities. The Australian police surrounded them as we kept moving forward in a storm of toilet paper, ticker tape, and confetti.
The anti-Vietnam protestors seemed to be multiplying, and up ahead there appeared to be some kind of commotion. A bunch of young men and women were attempting to interrupt the motorcade by lying down in the street, and the police were struggling to remove them by grabbing their hands and feet.
The mounted police unit rode in to help us secure the motorcade, but it was absolute mayhem. Somehow we trudged through the demonstrators, but
then we had another problem. There was so much paper in the air that the radiator and every intake vent of the presidential vehicle had become clogged, and the air-conditioning had stopped functioning.
People were screaming and cheering, throwing confetti, while we were on our radios trying to figure out what to do. We ended up moving the president into a regular sedan, but as soon as the motorcade got under way again, we got word of a bomb threat. The situation seemed to be unraveling, completely out of control. The only thing to do was divert from the planned route. We took off down a side street and headed away from the screaming throngs, finally arriving at our destination, the Art Gallery of New South Wales.
The president and Mrs. Johnson had a tour of the art museum—cut short because we were so far behind schedule—and then everyone piled back into the cars for a short drive to Circular Quay West to board a yacht for a cruise in Sydney Harbor.
After the intensity of the past couple of hours, it was a relief to be aboard the yacht and away from the clamorous masses of people. A band played “Anchors Away” as we departed on the Captain Philip, with two police boats providing escort. It was a glorious, sunny day, and the harbor was filled with hundreds of sailboats and motorboats, all jockeying to get a view of President Johnson, who stood on the deck with Mrs. Johnson, waving at the crowds on the water. We passed the Sydney Opera House—still under construction and at that time a somewhat controversial addition to Sydney’s skyline—and sailed under the Sydney Harbor Bridge as the other boats frenzied around us. The local newspapers reported that in the history of Sydney Harbor there had never been as many boats as there were that day. It was a truly spectacular sight that I would remember for the rest of my life.
WHEN I ARRIVED back in Washington, I was able to stop at home for just a few hours—barely enough time to say hello to my family, drop off my dirty laundry, and repack—before reporting to Andrews Air Force Base, where I boarded an unmarked Lockheed JetStar along with the five other members of the survey team. This fact-finding mission was so secret that even the Air Force crew was wearing civilian clothes.
We flew all the way to the West Coast and started working our way back east checking possible venues, making stop after stop in city after city. The president and his staff did not want the press to find out about this possible political campaign trip, and everything was extremely hush-hush—so much so that when we arrived in Minot, North Dakota, where my mother was living at the time, I couldn’t call or see her. It was discouraging because she was getting up in age and I hadn’t seen her for quite some time, but I just couldn’t take the chance that word would get out.
We had just a few more stops to make when suddenly, as we landed on an airstrip in New Hampshire, our plane developed mechanical problems. We notified the base Air Force unit at Andrews, and they secured another unmarked JetStar and flew it with mechanics and parts to our location. We took off in the new plane while the mechanics worked on the disabled jet, and finished our mission.
Our recommendation to the president was twenty-five speeches in twenty-two cities, covering seventeen states over a two-day period—an enormous undertaking, but we believed it to be doable. The report was forwarded to President Johnson’s chief of staff, Marvin Watson, in Manila, Philippines.
Many had suspected that President Johnson might stop in South Vietnam since he was in the region for the summit, but the rumors were consistently and adamantly denied. In fact, even most of the president’s staff believed the printed schedules—which did not include a stop in Vietnam—were firm.
The morning after the Manila summit ended, President Johnson traveled by helicopter to two other locations in the Philippines—scheduled visits that included short motorcades with President Ferdinand Marcos, with the press corps in tow. During this time, pilot Jim Cross surreptitiously transferred Air Force One from Manila International Airport to Sangley Point Air Base across Manila Bay.
Upon the return to Manila, the helicopter delivered President Johnson and all those aboard to Sangley, where they got on Air Force One. Meanwhile, the traveling press corps was taken to a hangar at the airport, the doors were locked and guarded by Secret Service agents, and everyone was told that they would soon be departing for Cam Ranh Bay in South Vietnam. All outside communications were banned until the trip was over.
President Johnson spent two hours and twenty-three minutes on the ground in Cam Ranh Bay talking with the troops, pinning Purple Hearts on the injured, and awarding the Distinguished Service Medal to General Westmoreland. It was the first time a U.S. president had visited South Vietnam and the closest an American president had been to a battlefield since Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War, and by all accounts it was an extremely emotional experience for the commander in chief. Everyone returned to Manila, and the trip continued on as planned to Bangkok, Thailand; Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia; and Seoul, South Korea. The trip had been a great success politically—President Johnson’s appearances resulted in enormous crowds that were overwhelmingly positive in every city, while his participation at the Manila summit strengthened U.S. ties with the other nations that were resolved to defend South Vietnam and to continue working toward a peaceful resolution.
By the time President Johnson arrived back in Washington on November 2, however, he was thoroughly exhausted. Additionally, a medical evaluation had determined that he needed surgery to remove a growth from his vocal cords as well as an operation to repair a problem with the incision in his abdomen from his gallbladder surgery. The doctors urged President Johnson to get as much rest as possible before the surgery. Thus, the twenty-two-city, seventeen-state political campaign trip was shelved. All the work our advance team did was for naught, and on Friday, November 4, we were off to the LBJ Ranch so the president could rest up before the operation.
Ten days later we returned to Washington, and the president had his surgery at Bethesda Naval Hospital. Everything went smoothly, and three days after that President Johnson was released from the hospital. Rather than returning to the White House, we left Bethesda Naval Hospital by helicopter, flew directly to Andrews Air Force Base, boarded Air Force One, and flew back to Texas so the president could fully recuperate in the comfort of his home at the ranch. This meant that once again I would be in Texas on the anniversary of the assassination.
Three years had now passed since that dreadful day, and while it had drifted into the past for many people, including the media, my recollections and feelings of responsibility were as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. President Johnson remembered the anniversary with a telegram to Ambassador and Mrs. Joseph P. Kennedy and a handwritten letter to Jacqueline Kennedy but then it was ranch activity as usual, riding around inspecting the various ranches, spotting deer, and looking at sheep and cattle.
Between the lengthy foreign trips and the countless weeks at the LBJ Ranch, the agents on the White House Detail had been away from our wives and children for about 90 percent of the past year. I don’t know what prompted it—perhaps Mrs. Johnson felt sorry for our wives, knowing they were home alone while we were working at the ranch on Thanksgiving—but out of the blue, President and Mrs. Johnson invited the wives of the senior agents on the White House Detail to be guests at the LBJ Ranch for the first weekend of December.
When I told Gwen about the invitation, she was beyond excited. She had never met President Eisenhower or President Kennedy, and had only met Mrs. Kennedy very briefly the day I received the commendation after the assassination. This was a big deal—not only for her but for all the wives. Finally, they were getting a perk.
AFTER THANKSGIVING, MRS. Johnson had returned to Washington for several days, so it worked out that on Friday, December 2, the Secret Service wives flew back to Texas with her on the presidential jet. The plane landed at Bergstrom Air Force Base, and from there they all boarded a helicopter that flew them directly to the ranch. Now, having been on the White House Detail for eight years by this time, I couldn’t count the number of times I had flown on the presidential aircr
aft or ridden in helicopters, and it was the same for the other senior agents. But for our wives—most of whom had rarely flown much at all—to be able to fly with the first lady in the presidential aircraft, and then fly by helicopter to the LBJ Ranch, well, you can imagine it was quite a thrill.
It was shortly after five o’clock in the evening when the chopper landed at the ranch, and the president walked out to the airstrip to meet them. He put on the charm as he was introduced to Gwen and the others—Peggy Youngblood, Nita Johns, Loretta Taylor, Betty Godfrey, Donna Duncan, Ann Kivett, Mary Taylor, Heather McKinney, Barb Pontius, Pat Johnsen, and Beverly Olsson—grasping hands and kissing cheeks like they were old friends, and the ladies loved it.
As soon as the introductions were completed, he looked up at the sky and said, “I’m going out to look at my deer while there’s still light enough.” And then, turning to his guests, he smiled and added, “Anyone who wants to can come along.”
The ladies, all in their traveling clothes—skirts or dresses and high heels—looked at each other without knowing quite how to answer this strange invitation immediately upon arrival.
Mrs. Johnson piped up and said, “Lyndon, perhaps our guests would like to settle into their rooms first.”
“Oh, we can show them to their rooms later, Bird. Come on, y’all, let me show you my fine deer.”
It was so typical of LBJ. No matter who his guests were, the first thing he wanted to do was drive around and give them a tour of the ranch. He never gave a thought that perhaps someone might need to use the facilities after traveling halfway across the country, and no one ever dared speak up.
Everyone split up into the various cars, with President Johnson at the wheel of the station wagon leading the way, using the two-way radio system so each carful of wives could hear him, and the ranch tour began. He gave a running commentary, describing the countryside, the deer, the turkeys, armadillos, cattle, and Barbados sheep that were on the property. Driving from one ranch to another, it was the grand tour, with the leader of the free world as guide in chief.
