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

president-elect had chosen a brother for his cabinet. While it was not illegal, the decision certainly raised eyebrows throughout the political arena. JFK would later confront the controversy head-on, in his inimitable way—while speaking to a Washington social and political organization, he quipped about his choice of Bobby as attorney general.

Looking down for an instant, as if the thought had just come to him, he said, “I don’t see what is wrong about giving him a little legal experience before he goes out and practices law.”

He broke into a big grin, the crowd roared with laughter, and the critics had no comeback.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennedy announced that twenty-three-year-old Pamela Turnure, one of her husband’s former secretaries, would become her press secretary. She didn’t have much experience and I thought she was an odd choice. But at the time Mrs. Kennedy still didn’t grasp the interest the public had in her. “I can’t imagine why I will even need a press secretary,” she said at one point.

For her social secretary, Mrs. Kennedy chose her longtime friend and former classmate Letitia Baldridge, who turned out to be well-suited for the job. “Tish,” as she was known by her friends, had attended both Miss Porter’s School and Vassar, two years ahead of Mrs. Kennedy, and she came with a wealth of experience. She had been the social secretary to the wife of U.S. Ambassador David K. E. Bruce in Paris, as well as the social secretary to U.S. Ambassador Clare Boothe Luce in Rome, and was fluent in French and Italian. Standing six feet tall, Tish was a striking woman with a strong, confident personality. I liked her, and found that she would be another close ally.

As Christmas drew near, the realization that I would not be home for the holidays started to hit me. Caroline was eagerly awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus, and knowing I would not be able to share the excitement of Christmas morning with my four-year-old son, Chris, was difficult. Fortunately, I was able to use the White House switchboard at the Palm Beach Command Post to call home occasionally because there was no way I could afford to pay for long-distance telephone calls from a pay phone or from the motel. But hearing Chris’s little voice on the phone really tugged at my heart.

All of the agents staying at Woody’s Motel that Christmas were missing their families, so we tried to make the best of it together. We all took our jobs seriously and felt privileged to be on the White House Secret Service detail. Missing holidays with our families was just part of the job. With Christmas and New Year’s behind us, the one thing we all had to look forward to was the Inauguration. The transition of power from one president to the next, in a free and peaceful manner, has always been a great symbol of American democracy. Not only would we be back in Washington with our families, but we’d also be participating in history.

For me, it would be my first presidential transition, and even though I would be protecting the first lady, rather than the president, I was filled with anticipation for the activities of January 20, 1961.

A FEW DAYS before we were to depart for Washington, Jerry Behn, the acting Special Agent in Charge (SAIC) of the president-elect detail, took me aside in the Palm Beach Command Post.

“Clint,” he said, “the president-elect and Mrs. Kennedy have decided that they won’t bring Caroline and John back to Washington for the Inauguration. The children will be staying here with Miss Shaw, so we have decided to have you remain here in Palm Beach to supervise their security.”

As the words came out of his mouth, I felt like I was being punched in the gut.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Whatever you need me to do.”

“Jeffries will work Mrs. Kennedy alone during the inaugural activities.”

I was surprised my supervisors only felt the need for one agent to be with Mrs. Kennedy during the very active period of January 18, 19, 20, and 21, but they were the ones in charge. I was just the worker. Once again I felt the sense that I was back on the second team. While my colleagues were being a part of history, I would be Chief Babysitter of the Diaper Detail.

On January 18, I escorted Mrs. Kennedy and Agent Jeffries from the Palm Beach residence to the local airport, where the Caroline was waiting to take her to Washington for the Inauguration. Word had leaked out that she was departing, and an enthusiastic crowd had gathered at the small airport.

Mrs. Kennedy waved graciously but stayed well away from the people. I stayed close to her as I scanned the crowd looking carefully at the eyes and the hands from behind my dark sunglasses. You look at the eyes for an unusually intense gaze, and at the hands for a flash of a knife or gun, or a sudden movement into a pocket or purse. Even though Mrs. Kennedy was very popular, the hate mail directed toward her husband was often vicious. No matter how positive and cheerful a crowd might be, you had to continually be on the lookout for that one lone lunatic who wanted to make a name for himself. Or herself. There was just as much a chance that a woman might try to harm Mrs. Kennedy as a man.

As we got to the bottom of the stairs leading up to the Caroline, Mrs. Kennedy turned to me and said, “Thank you for staying with the children, Mr. Hill. I know they’ll be in good hands.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Kennedy. Enjoy the festivities and I’ll see you in Washington after the Inauguration.”

As the Caroline taxied away I stood on the tarmac, alone and dejected, wishing I were making the trip.

On Inauguration Day, I joined Miss Shaw and Caroline inside Ambassador Kennedy’s residence to watch the live coverage on television. Being from Great Britain, Miss Shaw was not familiar with