Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir by Clint Hil (love letters to the dead TXT) 📗

The room was silent as Mrs. Kennedy, holding hands with Caroline, walked up to the casket. Mrs. Kennedy touched the casket with her black-gloved hand and knelt, as Caroline, watching her mother, did the same with her own little white-gloved hand. They knelt together and kissed the flag that covered the casket, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the room.

The ceremony concluded, and we returned to the White House. Now the president’s body would lie in state, allowing the public to file past and pay their respects. The funeral and burial would take place the next day, Monday, November 25.

I KNEW MRS. Kennedy wanted to walk some of the way in the funeral procession but I did not know the details. SAIC Behn called me and said, “Clint, are you aware of what Mrs. Kennedy intends to do during the funeral procession?”

“Well, yes, she has mentioned that she intends to walk part of the way.”

“That is really going to create a problem,” he said. “We have I don’t know how many heads of state coming from all over the world, not to mention every high-ranking official in the U.S. government, including President Johnson. And if she walks, they will feel compelled to walk.”

“Believe me, I understand, Jerry. But, if that is her intent, rest assured that is what she will do.”

“Listen, we really need your help. This funeral is going to stretch our security capabilities to the max as it is. Will you please try to talk her out of it? You are the only one who even has a chance.”

“I’ll try Jerry, but when she makes up her mind to do something, there’s little chance of talking her out of it.”

She was upstairs in the residence, so I called and told her I needed to speak with her.

“Come on up. I’ll be in the Treaty Room,” she said.

I took the elevator to the second floor and walked down the hall to the Treaty Room. She was waiting in there for me.

“Hello, Mr. Hill. Come in,” she said. She was pale and drawn; her face looked incredibly sad. It was like she was there, but she wasn’t. She was cordial, and in control, and clearly capable of making decisions, but her spirit was gone.

I suppose some people may have said the same thing about me.

“Mrs. Kennedy, I’ve been told you intend to walk in the funeral procession tomorrow and I wanted to clarify what exactly it is that you intend to do.”

“Oh Mr. Hill, you are always looking for the little details in everything. Are you concerned?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“Well, don’t worry, I’ve decided not to walk all the way, only from the White House to St. Matthew’s.”

“Mrs. Kennedy, there is a lot of concern about other people who might decide to walk, if you walk. Heads of state, for example.”

“Well, Mr. Hill, they can ride or do whatever they want to. I’m walking behind the president to St. Matthew’s.”

I knew that determination in her voice. Oh how well I knew it. She had made up her mind, and nobody was going to be able to talk her out of it.

“Okay, Mrs. Kennedy. Thank you for telling me your plans.”

I left, returned to my office, and called SAIC Behn.

“Jerry, I’ve talked to Mrs. Kennedy and she does intend to walk during the funeral procession tomorrow, but only from the White House to St. Matthew’s.”

“No chance to talk her out of it, Clint?” he asked.

“Believe me, Jerry. Nothing is going to change her mind. She is walking.”

LATER THAT DAY, Prince Radziwill, Mrs. Kennedy’s brother-in-law, arrived from Europe. I was in my office the evening of Sunday, November 24, when the phone rang.

“Clint Hill,” I answered.

“Oh, Mr. Hill,” the familiar voice began—which meant to me, I was about to be asked to do something not in my job description—“Stash has just arrived from Europe and really wants to pay his respects to the president. Do you think you can arrange it?”

“I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Kennedy,” I replied. “What exactly does he want to do?”

“He wants to go to the Capitol and I’ve heard you can’t get in for hours. Can you help him?”

“When does he want to go?”

“He is ready now.”

“Tell him to come down to the Diplomatic Reception Room and I’ll take him to the Capitol.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hill.”

I called for a White House car, Stash came down, and we were driven to the Capitol. He and the president had been close. I too had gotten to know Stash well over the past three years, and we had shared some memorable experiences. Tonight we were sharing a deep and profound loss.

Mrs. Kennedy had been right. The wait to get in to view the casket in the Rotunda was hours. Hundreds of thousands of people had lined up for the opportunity to circle around President Kennedy’s casket. People eight abreast in a line that stretched forty blocks.

I escorted the prince past all the people, and took him right into the Rotunda where the president lay in state. I identified myself and explained to the officer in charge of the honor guard who Stash was, and he was permitted to approach the casket, pray, and pay his respects.

On the way back to the White House, he said, “Thank you, Clint. I’ll never forget what you did for me.” He was very emotional, and it tore me apart.

THE NEXT DAY, November 25, was John’s third birthday. Both President and Mrs. Kennedy had been planning on making it a special day for him. They had each mentioned it to John as we left for Texas four days earlier. Instead we were taking John, along with his mother and sister, to his father’s funeral.

How sad, I thought. John will go through life remembering November twenty-fifth more for the day his father was buried than for it being his birthday.

The number of people wanting to pay their respects to the president at the Capitol was so vast