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

by Hill, Clint

  One obligatory stop on the tour was always the birthplace—the simple house where Lyndon Johnson had been born—and as everyone walked around the house, the President of the United States explained in graphic detail how, without any indoor plumbing, he had used a chamber pot as a young boy.

  Each of the twelve couples was assigned accommodations nearby: some stayed in guesthouses on the Lewis Ranch, some at the Haywood Ranch, some in a guest trailer house, and some—including Gwen and me—in Johnson City in apartments owned by President and Mrs. Johnson.

  On Saturday, President and Mrs. Johnson had a preplanned day trip to Del Rio and Ciudad Acuña, Mexico, to celebrate our nations’ joint venture in the Amistad Dam. So while those of us on the White House Detail flew to Mexico, local agent Clarence Knetsch was in charge of entertaining the wives for the day. The president had given Clarence instructions to take them on the normal routine—a tour inside the ranch house, which they had seen the night before, as well as the president’s boyhood home in Johnson City.

  Meanwhile, it was another typical workday for us—jogging in a motorcade through Ciudad Acuña, fending off surging crowds in a blizzard of confetti, trying to keep President Johnson safe as he and President Díaz Ordaz stood waving from an open-top car.

  That evening, the agents and wives all went for dinner at the Stonewall Café in Stonewall, where the main course happened to be venison—another first for most of the wives. The gals were really enjoying the opportunity to see and experience the ranch where we spent so much time, but without witnessing the protective activities like our trip to Mexico that day, they could not fathom the emotional and physical strain of our jobs.

  The highlight of the weekend was dinner with the president and Mrs. Johnson at the ranch house. White House photographer Yoichi Okamoto was on hand to capture the festivities, and the president and Mrs. Johnson made time to pose for photos with each of the couples before sitting down to dinner in the dining room. We had assigned seats, and while I was at President Johnson’s table, Gwen was seated at Mrs. Johnson’s table. Throughout the evening, President Johnson held court, telling story after story about crazy things that had happened with the various agents, sending the room into fits of laughter.

  It was a really special occasion—not just for our wives, but for the agents too—because for the first time we were not just agents, we were the president’s guests. And while it wouldn’t make up for years of missing birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays, the weekend the Secret Service wives got to spend at the LBJ Ranch went a long way toward holding together many a fragile marriage.

  26

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  1967

  For the third year in a row, we spent Christmas and New Year’s at the LBJ Ranch, finally returning to Washington on January 2, 1967. The previous year we had spent more time at the ranch in Texas than anywhere else, including the White House.

  On January 27, there was a devastating tragedy at Cape Kennedy. During a test launch for an upcoming two-week space mission, a spontaneous fire engulfed the Apollo 1 module, killing the three astronauts aboard. The horrific deaths of Virgil “Gus” Grissom, Roger Chaffee, and Ed White—all national heroes—threw the nation into mourning. The funerals for the three men would take place four days later, with Vice President Humphrey and Mrs. Johnson attending White’s burial at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, while President Johnson would attend the two separate services for Grissom and Chaffee at Arlington National Cemetery.

  I hadn’t been back to the cemetery in nearly three years—since the day I accompanied Mrs. Kennedy, John, and Caroline to pray at President Kennedy’s gravesite on what would have been his forty-seventh birthday—and now here I was accompanying President Johnson to two burials, with full military honors, on the same day. I knew in advance what the plans were, but I was unprepared for the emotional impact. Every sight and every sound brought back memories of the day we buried President Kennedy: the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves; the sharp cracks of the twenty-one-gun salute; the roaring flyover of jets in the missing man formation; the silence as the honor guard lifted the flag-draped casket from the caisson; and the soft sobs of the tearful widow as she was handed the carefully folded American flag before a mournful bugler ended the ceremony with taps. Clenching my jaw, I tried desperately to suppress the feelings that kept welling to the surface, but when President Johnson leaned over and shook the white-gloved hand of Chaffee’s eight-year-old daughter, and then the tiny five-year-old hand of his son, I had to turn away.

  IN THE THREE years since President Kennedy had been laid to rest in Arlington Cemetery, his gravesite had drawn more than sixteen million visitors. Every weekday, three thousand people per hour would come to pay their respects, and on weekends that number doubled. In 1965 it was decided that a larger site should be built to accommodate the flow of people, and Mrs. Kennedy worked with an architect to design a suitable memorial. The original gravesite had remained open to the public during construction, and the new site was due to be completed in the summer of 1967. We had recently returned to Washington from a trip to the LBJ Ranch in early March of 1967 when I was informed that President Kennedy’s body was going to be moved from its original gravesite to the new location. Mrs. Kennedy would be coming from New York City for a private reburial ceremony, and she had invited President Johnson and Secretary McNamara to attend. All of this was to be carried out in the highest secrecy, and very few people were aware it was taking place.

  Shortly after midnight on March 15, a small group of men set up floodlights around the gravesite, and with the use of a crane moved President Kennedy’s casket about ten yards downhill from its original location to its new resting place in the new stone and marble memorial. At the same time, the bodies of the two infant Kennedy children—Patrick Bouvier and their unnamed stillborn daughter, who had been brought from Massachusetts to be buried next to their father—were also moved to the new location.

  At 6:50 a.m., we departed the White House with President Johnson in a strictly off-the-record movement and motored to Arlington National Cemetery. It had been raining throughout the night, and although it was now after dawn, there was no hint of sunlight. As we pulled up to the site, I saw Mrs. Kennedy huddled under an umbrella with her brother-in-law Bobby and his wife, Ethel. Teddy, Pat, Eunice, and Jean were there too, each with their spouses, as well as Secretary McNamara. As President Johnson walked toward them, I hung back, remaining on the fringes of the burial site so as not to be noticed. This was a time for family and invited guests, and I was neither.

  Cardinal Cushing, who had conducted President Kennedy’s funeral Mass, had flown in from Boston to officiate, and a small Army band had been brought in, surely at Mrs. Kennedy’s request. A ceiling of dark clouds hung overhead as a steady rain poured from the heavens, enveloping all of us in sadness and grief that had yet to be eased by time. It was a simple twenty-minute ceremony, during which the band played just a few selections, including “Navy Hymn” and “The Boys of Wexford,” and the aging cardinal blessed the new grave.

  “Be at peace, dear Jack,” he said with his lilting Irish accent, “with your tiny infants by your side, until we all meet again above this hill and beyond the stars. May the Good Lord grant you eternal rest and let perpetual light shine upon you and yours.”

  As the somber ceremony concluded, Mrs. Kennedy leaned over to place a simple bouquet of lilies on the new grave, and as she stood up her head turned in my direction. Not wanting to feel like I was intruding, I looked down at the rain-soaked ground and turned away.

  An hour later, I was on Air Force One with the president, headed for a long day of politicking in Tennessee. It wasn’t until we were airborne and it had been confirmed that Mrs. Kennedy was on her flight back to New York that the press was informed of what had occurred that morning at Arlington Cemetery.

  IN 1963, PRESIDENT Kennedy had requested funds for a state-of-the-art, $188.5 million aircraft carrier, and after the assassination President Johnson deci
ded the carrier would be named after our slain president. Three and a half years later, the carrier was completed, and it was time to christen it. On May 27, two days before what would have been John F. Kennedy’s fiftieth birthday, I flew with President Johnson to Newport News, Virginia, where the carrier was docked.

  I accompanied President Johnson to a reception prior to the christening—Mrs. Kennedy was there with nine-year-old Caroline, six-year-old John, President Kennedy’s mother, Rose, Bobby, Teddy, their wives, Cardinal Cushing, many Navy admirals, and assorted distinguished guests—and I tried my best to stay out of the way. When it was time for the ceremony, everyone walked out to a special platform that had been built under the enormous bow of the great ship and sat in their designated seats. After President Johnson spoke about President Kennedy and the meaning of this great ship named in his honor, Mrs. Kennedy, Caroline, and John stepped up to the bow. Someone handed Caroline a bottle of champagne, and after two sirens sounded she struck the bow of the ship with the bottle. The bottle remained intact, so she swung it back and struck the bow again, this time with all her might. There was a loud crack as the bottle broke open, spraying champagne all over her. She smiled shyly as someone handed her a towel to wipe her face and her clothes, and her mother leaned in to congratulate her on a job well done.

  IN JUNE 1967, war erupted in the Middle East between Israel and its Arab neighbors. What became known as the Six Day War not only resulted in the controversial expansion of Israel’s borders but also created sudden and immediate tension within the already fragile U.S.-Soviet relationship.

  Soviet premier Aleksei Kosygin requested a special session of the United Nations General Assembly to demand Israel’s withdrawal from Arab territories, and announced he would travel to New York for the session. This created an opportunity for President Johnson to meet with Kosygin, and the president immediately suggested a meeting at the White House or at Camp David, where security would present no problem. Kosygin was agreeable to the meeting, but not wanting to be an official guest of the U.S. government, which would undermine his relations with the Arabs and North Vietnam’s Ho Chi Minh, he suggested they meet at the U.N., which was international territory. But a meeting in New York City created all kinds of security issues, not to mention that it would likely draw thousands of angry protestors on both sides. After going back and forth with various ideas, someone pulled out a map and a ruler, drew a line between Washington and New York City, and found that the midpoint was Glassboro, New Jersey, home of Glassboro State Teachers College.

  On June 22, at 5:00 p.m., the two sides agreed to meet at Glassboro College the following day at eleven in the morning. An advance team was hurriedly called to action and departed Washington a few hours later, with less than fifteen hours to secure the location for this historic summit between the leaders of the world’s two superpowers.

  The president had some specific requirements for the meeting place: there needed to be enough room to accommodate a meeting of several dozen representatives from both countries, but at the same time have several small, informal rooms where private meetings between President Johnson and Premier Kosygin could take place; he wanted carpeted floors wherever possible to eliminate noise from staffers walking around; and there needed to be a suitable place for a luncheon that included an elegant meal.

  The lead advance man was Sherwin Markman, one of President Johnson’s assistants, and upon arriving at the college around midnight, he immediately met with the college president, Dr. Thomas Robinson, to determine the meeting location. After reviewing several of the college’s buildings, Markman determined that the most appropriate option was Robinson’s large Victorian home, called “Hollybush.” The residence had a large living room, a big kitchen with a formal dining room, and an office on the main floor that was ideal for private meetings. There were some changes that would need to be made to the house, however, in order to provide the security and comfort necessary for such a high-level meeting, and there was no time to waste. Dr. and Mrs. Robinson consented to their residence being used, but they had no comprehension of what was about to happen to their beloved hundred-year-old home.

  In the wee hours of June 23, Secret Service agents and White House Communications Agency engineers streamed into the house with massive amounts of tools and equipment. The first problem was that the home had no air-conditioning. It was a muggy night, and the forecast called for a hot, humid day ahead. Unfortunately, the home’s antiquated wiring system couldn’t support even small window air-conditioning units, so the power company was called in to deliver and install a transformer, while electricians rewired the entire house. By morning, air-conditioning units had been installed in every room.

  That was only the beginning. Much of the Robinsons’ furniture needed to be removed to make room for conference-style tables and chairs; heavy drapes were hung over the windows to ensure privacy; separate telephone lines were installed for the Soviet and American delegations, and the kitchen was completely ripped apart so that professional, heavy-duty appliances could be installed. Unbelievably, by the time we arrived with the president shortly before eleven o’clock, the old stone house had been transformed to fit all the necessary requirements for an international summit.

  There was an army of press waiting outside, and when the Soviet entourage arrived, President Johnson and Premier Kosygin posed for photos before entering the house. The most pressing issues were, of course, the Middle East situation and the Vietnam conflict, but it just so happened that the day before, President Johnson had become a grandfather, with the birth of his daughter Luci’s son, Patrick Lyndon Nugent. President Johnson had yet to see the baby, but he and Kosygin found common ground in the fact that they both had grandchildren, and that they shared a responsibility to not only avoid nuclear disaster but to make the world a safer place for future generations.

  When it was time for lunch, the two leaders walked into the floral-wallpapered dining room, and with the Russian interpreter between them, President Johnson asked Kosygin what he would like to drink.

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Kosygin said.

  President Johnson broke into a sly smile and retorted, “I’m having what you’re having . . . vodka.”

  Kosygin had presented the president with a special bottle of vodka, so the bottle was opened, two glasses were poured, and, grinning at each other, the American president and the Soviet premier quickly downed the vodka shots, Russian-style.

  By the time the meeting was wrapping up, both Johnson and Kosygin agreed that the discussions had been fruitful, and perhaps it would be beneficial to schedule another meeting before Kosygin returned to Moscow. President Johnson was scheduled for a Democratic fund-raiser in Los Angeles that evening and Kosygin had to return to New York, so they decided to return to Glassboro on Sunday, two days later, much to the surprise of the press, the Glassboro community, and most especially to Dr. and Mrs. Robinson.

  Air Force One was standing by at Philadelphia International Airport, and at 5:45 p.m. we were wheels up, headed for Los Angeles. During the five-hour flight, I managed to grab a bite to eat and catch some sleep before changing into my tuxedo for the formal event. We landed at Los Angeles International Airport at around 7:45 p.m. local time, transferred to a helicopter, and flew to the Century Plaza Hotel in downtown L.A., where nearly a thousand guests had paid $1,000 per couple to attend the black-tie Democratic Party fund-raiser.

  Meanwhile, outside the front entrance of the hotel, ten thousand anti–Vietnam War protestors were clashing with police. It was a damn mess, but fortunately the advance team arranged for us to bring President Johnson in through a rear basement door, and he got inside without being noticed. The event was set up in an enormous ballroom that had been transformed into a glittering nightclub with a large dance floor surrounded by dozens of tables, and somehow I had drawn the short straw and was designated to walk in with President Johnson as he was introduced to the star-studded Hollywood crowd. Standing outside the door, we heard th
e master of ceremonies, comedian Jack Benny, announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for our honored guest, President Lyndon Baines Johnson!”

  The room erupted with applause as the orchestra played ruffles and flourishes and “Hail to the Chief,” and President Johnson strode into the room. A spotlight focused on him as he walked across the dance floor, and there I was, awkwardly walking a few steps behind, trying rather unsuccessfully to remain unobtrusive.

  The night wore on as President Johnson mingled with the guests over dinner of beef filet. Wine and champagne flowed, and then, following dinner, there was entertainment by Fred Ames and Diana Ross and the Supremes.

  The president was eager to meet his newborn grandson, so it was decided that we would fly directly from L.A. to Texas to visit Luci and the baby in the hospital in Austin before returning to Glassboro on Sunday. We departed L.A. just before midnight local time, and by the time we got to the LBJ Ranch, it was 4:30 a.m. Central Time—6:30 a.m. by our body clocks—and I realized we had been on the go for a full twenty-four hours. It was days like these that I was amazed by President Johnson’s stamina and his ability to transition so easily from high-level international talks at which the world’s fate hung in the balance to schmoozing and politicking with movie stars and entertainers, while still managing to make time to be with his family.

  Of course LBJ also realized his daughter Luci had just given him a priceless photo opportunity, so the press was alerted, and a photo was circulated of President Johnson with his newborn grandson.