by Hill, Clint
Are you kidding me?
The press office pitch was that the president wanted to set an example for conserving energy, so he gave up the use of Air Force One for this trip and flew on a United Airlines flight from Dulles to Los Angeles. But it wasn’t just the president. It was him; his wife, Pat; daughter Tricia; the doctor; two military aides; and a number of Secret Service agents, along with 107 surprised regular passengers. No press were aboard, because they were not told until after the plane left.
Now, I knew that the military would be flying an aircraft out to El Toro Marine Corps Air Station to stand by to bring the party back or in case of emergency. That burns fuel too. What really got me was that he had been flying back and forth to Camp David on a daily basis by helicopter rather than just staying there. This stunt was strictly eyewash for political reasons, and we were left scrambling to ensure his protection on a coast-to-coast commercial flight.
Nineteen seventy-three had been a year that defied the imagination. So much had happened that no one could have foreseen: the resignations of the presidential staff and members of the cabinet; the conviction of a sitting vice president of criminal charges, and his subsequent resignation; and the swearing-in of the first nonelected Vice President of the United States. Like 1963 and 1968, 1973 was a year I was glad to see come to an end. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a good feeling about what was ahead.
ON FEBRUARY 17, 1974, once again I was awakened in the early morning hours by the ringing of the White House phone next to my bed.
“Mr. Hill?”
“Yes?”
“Sir,” the on-duty EPS officer said, “sorry to disturb you, but a helicopter is buzzing the White House. We have identified it as a stolen Huey from Fort Meade. He is attempting to land on the South Lawn.” Calmly he added, “Do we have authorization to shoot at the helicopter?”
Without hesitation I said, “If it is threatening, you are authorized to shoot. Try to hit the rotors and keep it away from the house.”
I told the officer to give the command and keep the line open.
By this time, the chopper had flown away from the White House and was being pursued by police helicopters trying to force it down.
Then, suddenly, the officer said, “Sir, he’s returning to the White House.”
I heard the sound of gunfire as the EPS officers began shooting at the intruding helicopter.
“Chopper down, sir. Officers and agents on scene.”
I immediately drove to the White House and was pleased to see how the officers and agents had handled the situation. Fortunately, President and Mrs. Nixon were in Indiana at the time attending to their daughter Julie who had undergone emergency surgery. The pilot was injured only slightly and was taken into custody. We discovered the helicopter was piloted by Robert K. Preston, a disgruntled Army private first class who had flunked out of pilot training. He had been reassigned to helicopter maintenance and was doing this to prove his piloting capability. He was arrested and charged with wrongful appropriation and breach of peace, and was eventually found guilty and sentenced to one year in jail and a $2,400 fine. A few days after the incident President Nixon had some of the EPS officials and officers, as well as Maryland State Police officers who had pursued the helicopter, into the Oval Office to thank them for keeping him and his family, and the White House, safe.
IN EARLY MAY 1974, my sister Janice called to tell me that our mother, Jennie Hill, who was in a nursing home in Northwood, North Dakota, was quite ill. She had been in the nursing home for about a year, and at seventy-eight years of age was deteriorating rapidly. I was preparing to go see her when on May 19, Janice called again to tell me mom had died. Janice agreed to make the arrangements, and we decided on a funeral in Minot, North Dakota, where Mom had moved after our father died and where we had many relatives, which would make it convenient for everyone. After the funeral services, we would bring her back to our hometown of Washburn so she could be buried next to Dad.
I notified Director Knight of the situation and told Rundle what my plans were, but did not ask for any assistance. I flew from Washington to Minneapolis, alone, and had to change planes to go on to Minot. Waiting for me in the Minneapolis terminal was the SAIC of our Minneapolis office, Art Blake. He was going to accompany me to North Dakota. Resident agent Kent Jordan from Aberdeen, South Dakota, met us in Minot. They had everything arranged for me, and I was so very thankful to have friends and associates like these two men. Secret Service agents were supposed to be tough—and we were—but when your mother dies, even the strongest of men need someone to lean on.
AS SOON AS the Watergate Committee had learned about Nixon’s secret taping system, they had been trying to get Nixon to release the tapes. It had gone back and forth, back and forth, playing out on television in the living rooms of America. Back on November 17, 1973, in a televised question-and-answer session with four hundred Associated Press editors, the president maintained his innocence in the Watergate case and promised to supply details and more evidence from tapes and presidential documents. He defended his record, and when he proclaimed he had never profited from his public service, he uttered words that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
“In all my years of public life I have never obstructed justice,” he said. “People have got to know whether or not their president is a crook. Well, I’m not a crook. I have earned everything I’ve got.”
By July 1974, Nixon had finally consented to release incomplete transcripts of the tapes, but he still refused to turn over the actual tapes. On July 8, 1974, I could hardly believe this was happening in our country, but the U.S. Supreme Court began hearings in the case United States of America v. Richard M. Nixon. Our president was a defendant in a case being prosecuted by the Justice Department.
On July 24, 1974, the Supreme Court ruled that President Nixon must turn over the tapes by seven o’clock in the evening. At 8:00 p.m., there was a vote on whether to impeach President Nixon.
Three days later, the House Judiciary Committee adopted rules of impeachment against Richard Nixon. Before the full House of Representatives could vote on the matter, Nixon announced his resignation. On August 5, President Nixon admitted he held back evidence from the House Judiciary Committee, keeping it a secret from his lawyers and not disclosing it in public statements. And, he revealed, there were more tapes.
In taped conversations with Bob Haldeman on June 23, 1972, six days after the Watergate break-in, it was evident that Nixon clearly had directed the cover-up. The tapes did not implicate him in the burglary, but just as important, they contradicted what he had been claiming to be the truth.
On August 8, 1974, Nixon addressed the nation on live television and announced that he would resign the Office of the President of the United States at twelve o’clock noon on August 9. Vice President Gerald Ford would then be sworn in—the first person to become President of the United States not through the process of election but rather as an appointee.
I was among those standing on the lawn as President Richard M. Nixon and his wife, Pat, exited the Diplomatic Reception Room through the South Portico. Accompanied by Vice President and Mrs. Ford, they walked through a cordon of uniformed military personnel, rifles held at attention in salute, and approached the military helicopter.
Finally, President Nixon walked up the steps of the helicopter, and then turned around and threw his arms skyward with his fingers in his trademark “V” for victory sign. This time there was no cheering, no applause, no tribute—only tears from friends and staff who had gathered for the farewell. It was the sad end of an administration that had gone beyond the laws of the land and tried to cover it up. President Nixon was leaving the White House for the last time, and this time it was in disgrace. At Andrews Air Force Base he boarded Special Air Mission (SAM) 27000 to fly west to San Clemente, and at noon, as the aircraft passed over the heartland of America, the aircraft call sign changed from Air Force One to plain old SAM 27000.
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History Takes Its Toll
At 12:03 p.m. on August 9, 1974, Gerald R. Ford was sworn in by Chief Justice Warren Burger as the thirty-eighth President of the United States in the East Room of the White House. Standing there in the same room where President Kennedy’s body had lain in repose, now crowded with television cameras, members of Congress, staff, and Ford’s wife, children, and friends, I was witness to yet another unprecedented event in our nation’s history.
After taking the oath of office, President Ford stepped up to the podium. “The oath that I have taken is the same oath that was taken by George Washington and by every president under the Constitution. But I assume the presidency under extraordinary circumstances never before experienced by Americans. This is an hour of history that troubles our minds and hurts our hearts.”
He proceeded with what he said was not an inaugural speech, but “straight talk among friends.”
“I am acutely aware that you have not elected me as your president by your ballots. So I ask you to confirm me as your president with your prayers.”
It was a heartfelt speech lasting less than ten minutes, and at times President Ford choked back tears. “As I begin this very difficult job,” he said, “I have not sought this enormous responsibility, but I will not shirk it.”
Toward the end of his remarks, he looked up from his notes and said with confidence and defiance, “My fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over. Our Constitution works; our great republic is a government of laws, not of men.”
Just as I had witnessed Lyndon B. Johnson taking the oath of office after another national nightmare in the small, crowded cabin of Air Force One less than twelve years earlier, this transition seemed surreal. But it was, as Gerald Ford noted, a testament to our Constitution that the transfer of power could occur peacefully and seamlessly. Men may die or fail, but our country would survive.
TRADITIONALLY, THERE WAS a swift transition between administrations, and on the same day that one presidential family moved out of the White House, the next one moved in. But because of the unexpected nature of this transition, President and Mrs. Ford gave the Nixons plenty of time to move out, and the Fords ended up spending the first ten nights of his presidency at their home in Alexandria. The agents on the detail said President Ford would come out the front door in the morning, still in his pajamas, and pick up the newspaper before heading back in to prepare his own breakfast of orange juice and an English muffin. And that was indicative of the character of Gerald Ford.
He had been in Congress for a long time and was highly respected. He hadn’t campaigned to be president, and I’m not sure he ever envisioned himself as president. But there he was.
Born in Omaha, Nebraska, Gerald Rudolph Ford grew up in Grand Rapids, Michigan, in a close-knit family. A gifted athlete, he played football for the University of Michigan and was voted the Wolverines’ most valuable player in 1934. Upon graduation, Ford was offered professional football contracts from both the Detroit Lions and the Green Bay Packers, but he opted instead to pursue a law degree at Yale University, where he graduated in the top 25 percent of his class.
He served in the U.S. Naval Reserve during World War II, was elected to Congress in 1948, and eventually became the minority leader of the House of Representatives during the Johnson administration.
The feedback I got from the agents on the Ford Detail was that Ford was a great guy—humble, respectful, and kind. He loved to play golf and was an avid downhill skier—the Ford family typically spent holidays skiing in Colorado—so we had to make sure we had agents who could keep up with the new president on the ski slopes.
On August 19, President Ford had a scheduled speech at the Veterans of Foreign Wars’ annual convention in Chicago. As this would be his first trip outside Washington as president, and his first trip aboard Air Force One, I decided to accompany the PPD to observe the agents in a real-life situation on the road. I was pleased to see the good working relationship the agents had with the Ford staff, and I returned to Washington knowing the detail was doing an excellent job.
That same day, President Ford nominated Nelson Rockefeller, the sixty-six-year-old former governor of New York, to be vice president, but he still needed to be confirmed by Congress. In the interim, we had to provide protection for the person next in the line of succession to the president, Carl Albert, Speaker of the House of Representatives.
On the morning of Sunday, September 8, one month after Ford had taken the Oath of Office, I was at home when I got a call informing me that the president was about to appear on television from the Oval Office. I was as surprised as the rest of the nation when he announced that he was granting “a full, free, and absolute pardon unto Richard Nixon for all offenses against the United States which he, Richard Nixon, has committed or may have committed or taken part in . . .”
The presidential pardon meant that the judicial system now had no choice but to withdraw from any possible criminal legal action against Nixon.
President Ford’s reasoning was that a trial would reopen the wounds that were already in the process of healing and would cause “prolonged and divisive debate” while exposing Nixon to “further punishment and degradation” after he had already paid the high price of relinquishing the highest elective office of the United States.
Reaction was swift and severe on both sides. Some agreed that it was the right thing to do in order to close the door on Watergate, while others called it an abuse of presidential power and an insult to the American people. One thing was for sure: Ford’s honeymoon period had come to an end, and from that point on, he would be the target of outrage and protests—an additional challenge for the agents on his protective detail.
Meanwhile, we still didn’t have a vice president. The largest controversy during the congressional hearings was Rockefeller’s wealth. That caused the hearings to go on for four months. He offered to establish a blind trust but Congress chose not to push the issue and didn’t require that be done. Finally in December a vote was taken, and Rockefeller was confirmed.
The residence that had been the home of the Chief of Naval Operations at the Naval Observatory off Massachusetts Avenue in northwest Washington was finally finished being renovated and was now the official residence of the Vice President of the United States. It was music to my ears, a dream come true. No more extra costs for a temporary VP residence. The Rockefellers, however, owned a large estate on Foxhall Road in northwest Washington, and they chose this to be their official residence. They ended up using the new official vice president’s residence merely for social events. My dream bubble burst—proving yet again that no matter how much you plan, you must always be willing to adjust for unforeseen obstacles and politicians with their own resources, ideas, and agendas.
ON CHRISTMAS NIGHT, in the early morning hours of December 26, 1974, I was once again awakened by the sound of the White House phone ringing next to my bed. A man had crashed his car through the Northwest Gate of the White House, had driven up the driveway almost to the North Portico, and then stopped the car, got out, and stood wearing what appeared to be explosives attached to his outer garments. He wore a hooded sweatshirt and stood with his arms outstretched, with what appeared to be a detonator in one hand. He just stood there, making no attempt to enter the mansion.
I hurriedly drove from my home to the White House to see for myself what was going on. By the time I arrived, Metropolitan Police and Fire Department personnel had responded and were standing by. Chief Earl Drescher of the Executive Protective Service began to talk with the man and eventually convinced him to surrender. The man, twenty-five-year-old Marshall Hill Fields of Silver Spring, Maryland, was taken into custody and then to St. Elizabeths mental hospital for observation. There were no injuries, just a piece of rusted metal gate lying on the White House lawn. Fortunately, President and Mrs. Ford were in Vail, Colorado, for the holidays.
Now, we had been asking for a sturdier, more secure gate for years, but our budget proposals w
ere always denied. Guess what? After this incident, the gate was replaced with a very heavy, hydraulic-operated gate—exactly like the kind we had requested.
PRESIDENT FORD TRAVELED to five different countries in his first five months as president: Mexico, France, Korea, the USSR, and Japan. This was the first visit to Japan by a U.S. president and was made possible due to an enormous security operation by the Japanese authorities in cooperation with the U.S. Secret Service. During these travels outside the United States, there was no sitting vice president. Although confirmed by both the House and the Senate as required by the Twenty-fifth Amendment, Nelson Rockefeller was not sworn in until December 19, 1974. We were then able to discontinue protection for Speaker Albert.
In January 1973, President Nixon had announced that an accord had been reached that would end the Vietnam War and “bring peace with honor.” Our combat troops had come home, but several thousand civilian U.S. Department of Defense employees had remained in Saigon. The North and South resumed fighting later that year, and in the spring of 1975 the North Vietnamese were advancing toward Saigon.
An evacuation plan was set in motion, but on April 30, when Saigon fell to the North Vietnamese, more than 1,200 Americans still remained. They were airlifted to ships offshore—along with thousands of South Vietnamese desperate to escape the Communist takeover—in a frantic and dangerous helicopter operation. The attempts by the United States to assist South Vietnam over the past fifteen years in defense of its territory had failed.
The statistics were staggering. America’s involvement in the Vietnam conflict spanned five presidents—Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, and Ford. More than 58,000 Americans lost their lives; over 300,000 were wounded; and 75,000 returned severely disabled.
BY THIS TIME, my physical health had begun to deteriorate considerably. I spent more time going to and from doctors than on the job. I was fast using up the sick leave I had accrued over the years, and I began to delegate more and more responsibility to my deputy, Paul Rundle. Somehow, I was managing to hold it together at work, although, looking back, I’m sure people around me were well aware that the demons were slowly taking over. Paul Rundle was my saving grace—he was, and is, the epitome of a true friend.
