by Clint Hill
She hands the torch to Bobby, who touches it symbolically to the flame and then passes it to Ted.
This is Mrs. Kennedy’s triumph. When thinking about an appropriate tribute to her husband, the vision of the eternal flame at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris came to her, and she knew that’s what she wanted. She made the request, and it was passed to Superintendent Metzler less than twenty-four hours ago. Everyone said it could not be done. But she insisted. And here it is.
She thanks the commanding general, General Philip C. Wehle, for everything that’s been done on behalf of President Kennedy. Bobby grabs her hand in his, and together they walk away.
27
* * *
Return to the White House
The day is not over. Mrs. Kennedy has planned a reception for all the heads of state who traveled so far to pay their respects. On arrival at the White House she immediately goes to the second-floor living quarters to freshen up and prepare to receive her guests.
First are a small group of dignitaries, personally selected by Mrs. Kennedy to be received on the second floor in the Yellow Oval Room. They include Emperor Haile Selassie, President Charles de Gaulle, President Eamon de Valera, and Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, representing the United Kingdom.
Downstairs, in the Red Room, the remaining dignitaries are assembled, and Mrs. Kennedy stands in a reception line to receive them. Tired as she is, she manages to retain her composure and thank each and every one of the dignitaries in attendance. Even as some of them weep before her, she somehow stands strong. I am so proud of her. I know, because I know her like no one else does, that she is not the delicate flower so many people perceive her to be. She has had every right to fall apart in these last few days, and yes, there were private moments when she did, but she has been a model of grace and dignity, a pillar of strength to the entire nation.
Finally, when the protocol is finished and Mrs. Kennedy is preparing to go to the second-floor residence, she motions to me.
“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, what can I do for you?”
“I may want to go back to Arlington later,” she whispers. “I’ll call and let you know.”
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Kennedy,” I answer. “Oh, and Mrs. Kennedy . . .”
It has been such an emotionally draining day and her eyes are so empty that I hesitate to remind her.
“What is it, Mr. Hill?”
“I hate to bring it up, but I told Provi I’d remind you. Have you thought about doing anything for John’s birthday?”
Her mouth breaks into the slightest of smiles. “Oh, Mr. Hill, you never forget anything, do you? In fact, that’s what we’re going to do now. Everyone’s upstairs and we’re going to have a little celebration. Then we’ll have a joint party for John and Caroline in a few days.”
Mrs. Kennedy takes the elevator to the second-floor residence, where members of the Robert Kennedy, Lawford, Smith, Radziwill, and Auchincloss families have gathered in the family dining room. President Kennedy’s dear friend Dave Powers leads the subdued festivities with Irish songs and silly poems. There are presents and cake, and the laughter of the children is a sliver of sunshine amid the blackness of the past four days.
Both Agent Landis and I are exhausted, but if Mrs. Kennedy has enough strength left to return to the grave site, we are going to make sure she can do it. I notify Superintendent Metzler of our impending visit, and then call Sergeant Irv Watkins, one of our loyal White House drivers, and advise him we will probably be needing him and the car later.
It is nearly midnight when the phone in my office rings.
“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy?”
“Mr. Hill, Bobby and I want to go to Arlington now. We want to see the flame.”
We drive in silence through the now dark and empty streets of the nation’s capital, past the Lincoln Memorial, and as we turn onto Memorial Bridge, flickering in front of us is the Eternal Flame. It is an emotional sight for all.
We enter the gates of the cemetery and Watkins parks near the grave site as Agent Landis, in the follow-up car, joins us. Landis and I follow Mrs. Kennedy and her brother-in-law up the slope to the grave. It is so dark, yet so peaceful. Mrs. Kennedy has brought a small bouquet of flowers from the White House to place on the grave, and she is somewhat surprised to find some wreaths of flowers, military caps, and mementos that have already been placed there. She sees them for what they are meant to be—tributes to her husband. As Paul and I stand a few yards away, Bobby and Mrs. Kennedy kneel and pray together. They look across the Potomac to the spectacular view of the city.
It is a short visit, but it means so much to Mrs. Kennedy and Bobby to have this private time with their beloved Jack. We return to the White House, and as I say good night to Mrs. Kennedy, telling her I’ll see her in the morning, she reminds me, with the slightest hint of a smile, that it already is morning.
“And thank you, Mr. Hill. Thank you.”
I walk into the White House Diplomatic Reception Room and it hits me that just five days ago, I was standing here with President and Mrs. Kennedy and young John waiting for the helicopter to arrive to begin the trip to Texas. It started out with such hope, promise, and high expectations. Who could have predicted how the world would change in an instant. But that is exactly what happened.
On November 22, 1963, three shots were fired in Dallas, and the world stopped for four days. It was the end of the age of innocence.
Epilogue
The motorcade in Dallas, Texas, began like countless others I had worked with President and Mrs. Kennedy. There were dense crowds and screams of adoration all along the route. Then, five minutes from our destination, the crowds dwindled, and out of nowhere, three shots rang out in Dealey Plaza. Time stopped. It was almost incomprehensible—the President of the United States was dead. In this new age of television, the news spread like nothing ever had before; Americans and people all over the world experienced this tragedy together. It felt like you’d lost a member of your own family.
When Lee Harvey Oswald was arrested, there was a wave of disbelief. How could one man, an insignificant loner who couldn’t hold a job and had deep-seated emotional problems, be solely responsible for this heinous act? It just didn’t seem fitting for the death of a president. Then, when millions watched Jack Ruby shoot Oswald point-blank on live television, another shock wave resonated around the world.
It felt as if America were coming apart at the seams.
Fifty years later, countless myths continue to be perpetuated and debated in films, documentaries, books, and blogs, in an endless quest for justification. The information presented by the majority of these people is theory, not fact. They were not witnesses to the assassination, have little or no knowledge of protective procedures, did not know the depth of the dedication of the Secret Service agents on this assignment, and cannot possibly comprehend what those of us in that motorcade experienced. The truth is simple.
On Friday, November 22, 1963, three shots were fired as President Kennedy’s motorcade passed through Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas.
I was on the left running board, in the forward position, immediately behind the presidential limousine.
I heard the first shot and saw President Kennedy’s violent reaction as it pierced him in the upper back and came out his throat. The wound would not have been fatal.
I knew immediately that something was wrong and I jumped off the follow-up car and ran toward the president’s limousine.
While I was running, there was a second shot. I did not hear it. The motorcycle engines were loud in my ears, and all my senses were focused on getting to the back of that car to form a shield above President and Mrs. Kennedy to prevent any further damage.
But from all the evidence and testimony that came from valid witnesses, there is no doubt in my mind that there was a second shot at this time. This shot, the second shot, hit Governor Connally.
Mrs. Connally, who was sitting next to the governor and did hear the second shot, also had no doubt that this
was the shot that hit her husband.
Then there was a third shot. This one I heard, and I saw its immediate effects.
In reaction to the first shot, President Kennedy’s head was turned toward Mrs. Kennedy in such a way that when the third bullet pierced the back of his skull, it exited out the right side of his head.
This was the fatal shot.
All three shots came from the same location—the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. One man fired all three shots, and his name was Lee Harvey Oswald.
The President of the United States was struck down in the prime of his life by a lone assassin. It was not a military coup or the work of a conspiracy. It was the act of one man, acting alone. Three shots. One gunman. All from the same location.
I am often asked why I was the only agent that reacted. The simple fact is that I was the only one who had a chance. If you look at the photograph that was taken by James Altgens on Elm Street, at almost exactly the moment the first shot hit President Kennedy, you can see this is true.
I had been scanning the area to my left, when I heard a sudden explosive sound over my right shoulder. It came from an elevated position, and instinctively I started to turn my head toward that sound. In so doing, my gaze passed across the back of the presidential limousine, and I saw the president grab at his throat. You can see the president’s hand at his neck in the photo. Behind me, Agent Tim McIntyre also turned toward the noise, but because of his position, he didn’t see the president’s reaction.
On the right-side running boards of the follow-up car, both Agent Jack Ready, in the forward position, and Agent Paul Landis, in the rear position, had been scanning the crowds to the right of the vehicle, and at the sound of the first shot, their heads also turned automatically toward the explosive sound—away from the president. By the time these agents turned back toward the presidential limousine, I was already off and running. The next two shots came in rapid succession, and it was already too late for them to respond.
In the rear seat of the follow-up car, Agent George Hickey, who was manning the AR-15 rifle, also turned back toward the Texas School Book Depository, so much so that in this photo you see only the back of his head.
People ask, “What about Roy Kellerman, who was in the front right seat of the presidential limousine? Why didn’t he jump in the back?” Again, the answer is simple. There was a permanently fixed wide metal bar that ran from the left side of the limousine to the right, just behind and above the front seat, onto which the various tops of the car were attached when in use. But even without the tops on, the position of this bar precluded whoever was in that front seat from having immediate access to the passengers in the back. Additionally, Governor and Mrs. Connally were in the jump seats, and Kellerman would have had to climb over them to get to the president. The car was designed for political purposes more than it was meant to be a protective vehicle.
I was the only one who had a chance.
There is another interesting thing to note in this particular photograph. Look at the motorcycle officer positioned immediately to the right of the presidential limousine, on the left-hand side of the photo. He too is looking back toward the origination of that first shot. And look at some of the people in the crowd on the left-hand side of the photo. Many of them are looking back toward the Texas School Book Depository. These people have come out specifically to see the President of the United States and here he is in front of them, and they are not looking at him. Why? Because when they heard this sudden loud noise—what sounded like gunfire to some, like a firecracker to others—they instinctively turned toward that sound, toward the Texas School Book Depository. Still others have not yet realized what is happening.
For people who still debate a shooter on the “grassy knoll,” I point to this photo. Clearly, the shots came from behind.
The assassination of President Kennedy was the end of a chapter in American history. For a moment, politics and prejudices were forgotten as humanity bonded in unspeakable grief. Although evil had pierced a hole in America’s armor, our Constitution provided the framework for the peaceful transition of power, and when President Johnson took the oath of office on Air Force One, it was our democracy at its best.
Then, through the magic of television, the entire world watched the black-veiled thirty-four-year-old widow walk valiantly, her head held high, through the streets of America’s capital city, and somehow Jacqueline Kennedy’s strength and dignity gave all of us the courage to go on. If she could do it, so could we.
The images are indelible in our collective memory: the courageous widow leading an army of world leaders; the blue-eyed daughter kissing her father’s flag-draped casket; and the perfect salute by the three-year-old son of the slain president.
President John F. Kennedy understood that the power of America lies not in its politics—whether you are red or blue—but in its resilience and unified vision of freedom and liberty. One thing I know for sure is that he would not have wanted his legacy, fifty years later, to be a debate about the details of his death. Rather, he would want people to focus on the values and ideals in which he so passionately believed, so that for all Americans, our best days lie ahead.
A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on.
—President John F. Kennedy
Acknowledgments
In October 2012, we were talking to Mitchell Ivers, our brilliant editor at Gallery Books, about the paperback release of Mrs. Kennedy and Me, and the conversation turned to what our next project might be. Mitchell had a vision of a book filled with photographs focusing on the days surrounding the assassination, with Clint’s memories alongside the dramatic pictures. We knew it would be a difficult book emotionally, but the tremendous response and outpouring of affection we had received from readers of Mrs. Kennedy and Me helped us realize that Five Days in November was another story that needed to be told, and we began working on it immediately.
Once again, Mitchell, you have guided us through the process with ease and encouragement, always spot-on with your suggestions and comments. You have become a trusted friend, and we are deeply grateful for all you do on our behalf.
The entire team at Gallery Books is responsible for the beauty and design of this book. To President Louise Burke, Publisher Jen Bergstrom, and Jen Robinson, Director of Publicity, thank you for your friendship and support—we are so happy to have you in our corner. Production editor Alexandre Su, Art Director Lisa Litwack, Designer Paul Dippolito, Managing Editor Kevin McCahill, Production Manager Larry Pekarek, and Tom Pitoniak, you did an amazing job of putting our words and pictures into a beautiful and tasteful design that embodies the essence of those historic and tragic days. To Natasha Simons, thank you for pulling all of these parts together, for promptly replying to our endless questions and last-minute additions with professionalism and courtesy. And, last but certainly not least, to Mary McCue, our dedicated publicist, thank you for all you do behind the scenes to get our books in the public eye, for coordinating book signings, media interviews, and travel schedules all over the world, and through all the chaos, for managing to always have a smile on your face.
Finding and sourcing photographs for this book was an enormous task and we couldn’t have done it without the help of the following people: Gary Mack, Nicola Longford, Mark Davies, Megan Bryant, and Krishna Shenoy at the Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza; Matthew Lutts at Associated Press; Jerome Sims at the Dallas Morning News; Liza Maddrey; Cathy Spitzenberger at the University of Texas at Arlington; Tom Shelton at the University of Texas, San Antonio; Rob Bardua at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force. Once again the dedicated staff at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum were a great resource. Thanks to Ross Matthei and special thanks to Laurie Austin, who fulfills our last minute requests again and again, and still gives us a hug every time we see her. To Robert Knudsen, Jr., we are so grateful to you for providing the photos taken by your father.
To our intern, Lisa Olson, and
our assistant, Abby Biernat—thank you so much for helping us with the foreign landscape of social media and all things Internet. We could not have navigated through them without you.
Thank you to Wyman Harris for your discerning eye, both as a proofreader and in helping us choose the final photos. We so appreciate your knowledge and sincere interest in our projects.
There were times when memories needed to be corroborated and for that we leaned on former Secret Service agents Paul Landis and Tom Wells. We are grateful for your willingness to share your fifty-year-old notes, and more importantly, for your friendship and support.
Finally, to all the readers of Mrs. Kennedy and Me who have sent handwritten letters, emails, and Facebook messages, and to those of you we have met around the world at book signings and presentations, it is largely because of your overwhelming support that we had the courage to write this book. While we cannot possibly reply to all the messages, please know that we read, save, and appreciate each and every one.
Lisa McCubbin
To my sons, Connor and Cooper, you make me proud each and every day. Thank you for making my life so rich. I love you more than you can imagine.
To Clint—Even though I did not live through these events, you gave me a rare window into history, painful though it was, and I thank you for your candor through this process. Your memory astounds me. I am honored and privileged—and surely envied by many—to share so much time with you, and despite your disbelief, I cherish every minute. For some reason, we were brought together at the right time in both our lives, and I am so grateful we were. You are extraordinary.
