by Clint Hill
5
* * *
Brooks Air Force Base
At 2:40 P.M. we pull up to the Aerospace Medical Center at Brooks Air Force Base, where the commander of the Aerospace Medical Division is waiting to greet President and Mrs. Kennedy. We walk briskly through the building, and as we exit the doors, we find a raised stage overlooking a vast expanse of grassy field, on which nine thousand folding chairs have been set up—each one of them filled—with thousands more standing on the outskirts. The crowd is a mix of civilians in their Sunday best and Air Force personnel in their dress blues, and as soon as the president emerges from the door, they stand up in unison, clapping, as the band plays ruffles and flourishes and “Hail to the Chief.”
It is a warm afternoon, and the sun is blazing overhead. Ladies in the crowd fan themselves with the program, or use it to shield their eyes from the sun. The president is here to dedicate four new structures of the Aerospace Medical Division. With just thirty-five minutes allotted on the schedule, the introduction is brief and the president moves to the podium to address the crowd.
For more than three years, I have spoken to the American people in terms of the New Frontier. That is not a partisan term. It is not the exclusive property of Republicans or Democrats. It refers instead to this nation’s place in history—to the fact that we do stand on the edge of a great new era, filled with both crisis and opportunities, an era to be characterized by achievements and by challenges.
It is an era which calls for action, and for the best efforts of all who are willing to explore the unknown and test the uncertain, in every phase of human endeavor. It is a time for pathfinders and pioneers.
I have come to Texas today to salute an outstanding group of pioneers—the men who man the Brooks Air Force Base School of Aerospace Medicine and the Aerospace Medical Center.
The people are rapt with attention, hanging on his every word. He is a gifted speaker, and every word is uttered with conviction and passion. He refers to his visit to Cape Canaveral last Saturday, during which he saw the new Saturn C1 rocket booster, which will put the United States at the forefront of space exploration.
He ends the short speech with a reference to literature, as he so often does.
Frank O’Connor, the Irish writer, tells in one of his books how, as a boy, he and his friends would make their way across the countryside; and when they came to an orchard wall that seemed too high to climb, too doubtful to try, too difficult to permit their journey to continue, they took off their caps and tossed them over the wall—and then they had no choice but to follow them.
My friends, this nation has tossed its cap over the wall of space—and we have no choice but to follow it. Whatever the difficulties, they must be overcome. Whatever the hazards, they must be guarded against. With the vital help of this Aerospace Medical Center, with the help of all who labor in this space endeavor, with the help and support of all Americans, we will climb this wall with safety and with speed—and we shall then explore the wonders on the other side.
The people love it. They love him. All nine thousand people bolt out of their seats in unison with a standing ovation and deafening applause. Their response is like a magnet—enticing President Kennedy to them. He grabs Mrs. Kennedy’s hand and leads her toward the crowd.
As Agent Kellerman and I make eye contact, acknowledging we are each aware of the situation, President Kennedy says something quietly in Mrs. Kennedy’s ear, which causes her to break into laughter. They are having a wonderful time together, high on the elixir of the crowd’s adulation.
During the 1960 campaign, Mrs. Kennedy was pregnant with John and thus did very little campaigning with her husband. In the three years since, the couple’s popularity has grown to the point that they are idolized like movie stars. To see them appear together in a public situation like this is such a rare occurrence that the people who are in proximity realize this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even in this rather staid crowd of military personnel, people are pushing and shoving to get as close as possible to the Kennedys as they can. It is a politician’s ideal situation and a Secret Service agent’s nightmare. Like oil and water, politics and protection just don’t mix.
President Kennedy thrives on this dizzying atmosphere and dives into the crowd, shaking as many hands as possible. Having become so close to Mrs. Kennedy, I know she is really very shy, and this kind of situation is not one she enjoys. But she has promised her husband she will support him however she can in this reelection campaign. She looks to me for reassurance before following the president’s lead. I am within inches of her, ready to intervene if necessary, as she timidly offers her hand to the screaming mass.
Suddenly a glassy-eyed woman breaks through the crowd and lunges at Mrs. Kennedy.
“Mrs. Kennedy! Mrs. Kennedy, please touch my hand!”
She grabs at one of Mrs. Kennedy’s white-gloved hands and shrieks, “Oh my God! She touched me! She really did!”
The woman is harmless, but I can see the fearful look on Mrs. Kennedy’s face. I immediately put my hand firmly on the small of her back and push her beyond the woman’s reach.
After several minutes of shaking hands, the president waves to the crowd and turns back toward the building. En masse, the crowd groans a sigh of dismay.
“Clint,” Agent Kellerman says, “the base commander invited the president to see some men in a space simulator, some sort of oxygen chamber. It’s not on the schedule but the president wants to go.”
It makes sense. The space program is one of President Kennedy’s prime interests.
Four airmen are inside a space cabin simulator, breathing pure oxygen at a simulated altitude of 27,500 feet.
“They’ve been in there since November third,” the commander explains, handing President Kennedy a headset with microphone so he can talk to them. “And they’ve got seventeen more days to go.”
Captivated and intrigued, President Kennedy fires a series of questions at the young men.
“How do you feel? Where do you sleep? Any problems? What do you hope to learn?”
He’s clearly impressed with the experiment. Taking off the headset, he offers it to Mrs. Kennedy.
“Here, Jackie, have a talk with the men.”
Conscious of the beret so carefully clipped to her hair, she declines the headset but waves at the men, smiling with admiration.
President Kennedy turns to one of the scientists leading the program and asks, “Do you think your work here might have medical applications apart from space research? Is it possible your work might help improve oxygen chambers for premature babies?”
The scientist agrees that it very well might.
President Kennedy looks at his wife, and their eyes lock. Nothing is said, but I know they are both thinking about their baby Patrick—his recent birth and death still so fresh in all our minds. The clock is ticking, however, and now we are even further behind schedule. President and Mrs. Kennedy thank their hosts and the entourage walks briskly to the waiting vehicles. Mrs. Kennedy settles into the rear bench seat on the left side of SS-100-X, the president is on her right, and Governor and Mrs. Connally fold down the jump seats just in front of them. Standard protocol seating seems to have finally stuck.
Hundreds of people have moved from the other side of the building, hoping to see the Kennedys as they depart, and once again we agents are on high alert. I move into position so I’m standing next to Mrs. Kennedy, my right hand on the car. As driver Bill Greer slowly accelerates, I walk alongside, then break into a jog, staying as close to Mrs. Kennedy as possible, constantly scanning the crowd.
The president is thrilled with the enthusiastic welcome San Antonio has given them.
“That was really something—those men in that oxygen chamber,” he remarks to Governor Connally. Connally beams. Other than the slight delay in schedule, everything is going remarkably well.
Mrs. Kennedy is pensive, but much more relaxed now that she’s in the safety of the limousine. As Bill Greer
speeds up, I drop back to the follow-up car, reach for the handhold, and jump onto the left running board position next to driver Sam Kinney.
Our destination is Kelly Air Force Base, and while the crowds along this stretch are not as dense as those in the downtown business section of San Antonio, I’m amazed at how many people there are all along the way.
6
* * *
Kelly Air Force Base
Three hundred San Antonio police officers have assisted us with security, and as we arrive at Kelly Air Force Base, several officers are standing at attention. President Kennedy requests Greer to stop. Agent Kellerman jumps out and opens the door for President Kennedy, who walks over to the officers.
Reaching out his hand to one of them, the president says, “I want to thank you and your fellow officers for the fine job you’ve done this afternoon.”
The police officer seems to be in complete shock as he shakes the president’s hand. It is a moment he will never forget.
We drive onto the base, and although we will be here for just a few minutes, five thousand people are waiting to greet us. Young officers are sitting on others’ shoulders to get a better view. Wives, girlfriends, sons, and daughters have joined the servicemen, and as the motorcade comes to a stop, the people clap and shriek. A row of Air Force policemen keeps the crowd contained as President and Mrs. Kennedy reach into the crowd to shake hands.
The three aircraft that brought the presidential entourage to Texas—Air Force One; the backup plane with tail number 86970, which will now serve as the vice president’s plane; and the Pan Am chartered press plane—were flown from San Antonio International Airport here to Kelly Air Force Base while we were motorcading through the city. Why? Pure politics. Rather than have the motorcade double back to San Antonio Airport after visiting Brooks Aerospace Medical Center, and pass by the same people who had just seen them, transferring the planes to a new departure point provides the opportunity for more people to see the president.
At 4:00 P.M. we are wheels up, headed for Houston. Air Force One takes off first, followed a few minutes later by the vice president’s plane and the Pan Am press plane. We are thirty minutes behind schedule, but everyone aboard Air Force One is elated. In two and a half hours on the ground, President and Mrs. Kennedy appeared before an estimated 125,000 citizens. The hope is that this personal contact will leave a lasting, positive impression that ultimately puts Kennedy and Johnson back in the White House in 1964.
7
* * *
Houston Airport Arrival
The flight from San Antonio to Houston covers less than two hundred miles and takes just thirty-five minutes. The president’s Secret Service detail has changed shifts, so the agents aboard Air Force One are different from those who were on the Washington–San Antonio flight, due to the time of day and a change of shifts. Previously, the 8:00–4:00 shift was on duty; now the 4:00–midnight shift will accompany the president. The midnight–8:00 shift will take over in Fort Worth. Each shift has just five agents, plus Kellerman as the agent in charge, and the drivers. For the protection of Mrs. Kennedy, there are just two of us—Agent Paul Landis and myself.
During the flight, Kellerman and I review the survey report submitted by the Secret Service advance agent, to get some idea of what to expect on arrival. The large parade-type vehicles we used in San Antonio—SS-100-X and the Secret Service follow-up car—are being flown ahead to Dallas for use tomorrow. Unfortunately, the Secret Service does not have enough vehicles to be able to provide them at each location, so in Houston we will use leased vehicles—a standard four-door Lincoln convertible for the presidential party and a Mercury convertible for the follow-up car. It’s a far less desirable situation for the president and the Secret Service, but when you’re hopping from city to city all in one day, there’s no other choice.
The press plane lands ten minutes ahead of Air Force One—just enough time for the reporters and photographers to get into position—followed a few minutes later by the vice president’s plane. Vice President and Mrs. Johnson move into position with the local dignitaries who are already lined up, ready to greet President and Mrs. Kennedy—as if they hadn’t just seen them half an hour before in San Antonio. This is politics.
As I exit the aircraft behind President and Mrs. Kennedy, I am struck by two things. First, the heat. While the wind is blowing, it does nothing to cool the air, nor diminish the brightness of the blazing sun, low on the horizon. The second thing that grabs my attention is the carnival-like atmosphere emanating from the massive crowd gathered behind a fence line on the tarmac. There must be eight thousand people—men and women, young and old, families with children, Boy Scout troops and college students—screaming, whooping, waving small American flags, holding up signs and banners.
A band begins to play ruffles and flourishes, but even the trumpets can’t drown out the screeches.
“Mr. President! Jackieeee! Welcome to Houston! Pleeease, come over here!”
Once again Mrs. Kennedy is first down the ramp, and at the bottom Vice President Johnson introduces her to the mayor and his wife, who hands Mrs. Kennedy a huge bouquet of yellow roses. Mrs. Kennedy accepts the flowers graciously, despite the fact that now she must juggle them with her purse. Clutching her purse in her left hand, she cradles the bouquet, thorns and all, in her left arm like an infant, in order to keep her right hand free for the obligatory handshaking down the rest of the receiving line.
As the president and Mrs. Kennedy near the end of the line, the noise level of the crowd increases dramatically.
“Please, Mr. President! Come over here! We want to see Jackie!”
President Kennedy needs no further invitation, and when he begins walking toward the crowd, his wife dutifully following, the assembled throng reacts with frenzy. Fathers hoist children onto shoulders, urging the bewildered youngsters to reach out their hands. Cameras flash, women shriek. As the president and Mrs. Kennedy walk along the edge of the screaming mass, smiling, touching as many hands as possible, we, the agents, stick as close as possible, trying not to interfere but wishing to God they’d finish this up and get into the cars. It’s the kind of situation that, in a split second, can so easily get out of control.
Finally the president decides he has done enough politicking. He waves to the crowd, reaches for his wife’s elbow, and they head toward the four-door Lincoln Continental convertible that will serve as the presidential vehicle in Houston. The standard configuration of the car requires Mrs. Connally to ride in the front seat between driver Bill Greer and Agent Kellerman, while Governor Connally, Mrs. Kennedy, and the president squeeze into the backseat. It is very crowded—and not nearly as impressive as SS-100-X.
At 4:50 P.M., twenty-five minutes behind schedule, the motorcade departs as the crowd continues to cheer and clap, the flags waving in the breeze. I, along with the other agents assigned to the follow-up car, walk alongside the presidential vehicle, constantly scanning the crowd, until the driver picks up speed and we drop back to the follow-up car.
The two-door Mercury convertible we are using as a follow-up car does not have running boards like “Halfback,” which makes it awkward for us to ride in such a way that we can easily jump off when necessary. Each of us, in our own style—some not very gracefully—mount the sides of the car, either riding sort of sidesaddle, or in a straddling position, one leg inside the car and one leg outside. It is very uncomfortable, and I’m hoping we can breeze into the downtown area to the Rice Hotel as quickly as possible.
But details of the motorcade route were spelled out in the local newspapers this morning, and the crowds here are just as big as the ones in San Antonio. Even along the Gulf Freeway there are people standing on the shoulders of the road, and as we drive by, they surge toward us. Traffic in the other direction has come to a complete stop. It’s off the car and on again. Off and on, as we crawl toward the city’s skyline. All of us are dripping with sweat, as we spend more time jogging alongside the president’s car than
riding. The sun is setting fast, and there is notable disappointment from the people lined up ten and twenty deep along Travis Street who have waited for hours but can now barely see President and Mrs. Kennedy as darkness falls.
8
* * *
Rice Hotel
Forty minutes after departing the airport, we finally arrive at the Rice Hotel. Police are having difficulty holding back the crowd gathered on the opposite side of the street. As soon as the presidential car pulls to a stop, all you can hear are shrieks and screams.
“Welcome to Houston, Jackie!” “We love you, Mr. President!” “Please, look over here!”
Naturally, the president acquiesces, and urges Mrs. Kennedy to join him. People claw to touch them, and once again they try to touch as many people as possible. But they are both windblown and withered, like the limp bouquet of yellow roses Mrs. Kennedy still cradles in her arms because she is too considerate to simply leave them in the backseat of the car. Finally, we get them to the hotel entrance, hoping for some space, but it is not to be.
The hotel lobby is jammed. People are everywhere, swarming, craving for a glimpse of the first couple, pushing and reaching for one moment of contact. I will never understand what drives people to behave like this. All I can do is stay close to Mrs. Kennedy, as her last line of defense.
Finally, with the help of the hotel manager, we get them into the elevator and up to the fifth floor to the four-room International Suite. Their luggage has been delivered, and they have three hours to relax, eat a small meal, and change clothes in preparation for the dinner in recognition of Senator Albert Thomas at the Houston Coliseum.
