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

walked back to the yacht, Mrs. Kennedy said, “What did you think of the play, Mr. Hill?”

“Well,” I laughed, “I must say I didn’t understand one word, Mrs. Kennedy. Did you enjoy it?”

She laughed and said, “Oh, I loved it. I couldn’t understand a word, either, but I’m familiar with the play, and just being able to see it in that ancient theater, of which I’ve read about since I was a girl, was just so special.”

“That’s what matters, then,” I said. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Agent Jeffries and I boarded the Northwind with Mrs. Kennedy and the Radziwills, and we prepared to depart Epidaurus. Ken would now have some free time, while we were on the yacht with Mrs. Kennedy for the rest of the trip. Ken’s grandmother had recently died, so he was able to attend her fortieth day memorial service. The Greek government was so willing to do anything to help us, that they provided Ken with a Renault convertible with royal license plates to attend the service.

We had mapped out an itinerary prior to Mrs. Kennedy’s arrival, but she had her own ideas. I got the feeling that she and Jeffries were often at odds, largely due to the difference in their personalities. He was a rigid, play-by-the-rules fellow, and she was free-spirited and spontaneous.

She came to me and said, “Agent Hill, you told me that the job of the Secret Service is to allow me to do the things I want to do.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, that is correct.”

“Well, not everyone seems to understand that.”

I knew what she was trying to tell me, yet it wasn’t my place to tell a supervising agent how to do his job.

“Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, “as long as you let us know what you want to do, we will make sure you are safe. If you want to change your plans, we will adjust.”

“I’d like to go water-skiing.”

“Then, Mrs. Kennedy, if you want to go water-skiing, you will go water-skiing.”

And that is what she did. For nearly an hour, Mrs. Kennedy water-skied off the back of a small motorboat, expertly weaving back and forth across the wake on a single ski, while I sat in the back of the boat, hoping I didn’t have to go in after her. Having learned how to swim by being thrown into the Missouri River at the age of six, I had never water-skied in my life, nor had I seen anyone do it up close.

The Greek navy ships managed to keep the press boats far enough away so she was able to water-ski in relative privacy, with no photos.

She had a constant smile on her face, her eyes squinting from the sun and spray, and when she finally had had enough, she simply let go of the rope and slowly sunk into the water. The Greek crew member that was driving the small craft steered the boat around quickly and pulled alongside her.

She was slightly out of breath, and dripping wet, as I helped her into the boat and handed her a dry towel.

“Thank you! That was so much fun!” she exclaimed as she wiped her face with the towel. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement as she added, “Mr. Hill, why don’t you have a go?”

I laughed. “No, thank you, Mrs. Kennedy. I’d need a few lessons before I could compete with you.”

She laughed and we sped around, back to the Northwind, where Stash and Lee had been watching from the deck. Mrs. Kennedy seemed so relaxed, and I was happy we had been able to accommodate her desires to water-ski in the Aegean Sea.

Despite Ken Giannoules’s concern that his formal Greek wasn’t up to par, the Greek government couldn’t have been more cooperative, even going so far as closing off to tourists the tiny island of Delos, where according to Greek mythology, Apollo was born, so Mrs. Kennedy could wander the ruins in privacy. We sailed to the charming island of Poros, and on to Hydra, where enthusiastic crowds waved and church bells rang as the yacht entered the quaint harbor.

We had planned to sail from Hydra to Mykonos at 6:00 P.M., but Mrs. Kennedy and Prince and Princess Radziwill were having such a good time at a local taverna that they decided they wanted to stay. Jeffries and I sat at a table nearby, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

A group of locals in native costume were singing folk songs and the entire restaurant was clapping and singing along, Mrs. Kennedy included. As they started to dance the kalamatianos, Mrs. Kennedy jumped out of her seat and joined the circle, laughing, and singing and dancing. We finally left Hydra at midnight, bound for Mykonos.

The next morning, we awoke at anchor in the picturesque harbor of Mykonos, where the turquoise sea and the cloudless azure sky framed the freshly whitewashed buildings stacked on the hillside like an exquisite painting. Mrs. Kennedy was enchanted. Finally, the yacht and the small flotilla of navy ships returned to the villa in Kavouri.

After four days on the yacht, Mrs. Kennedy was eager to see the sights for which Athens was so well-known—the Parthenon and the Acropolis. With the prime minister’s wife, Mrs. Karamanlis, as her tour guide, Mrs. Kennedy walked up the rugged rocks and steps that led to the Parthenon, the classic Greek temple that was built in honor of the goddess Athena. As the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the Doric columns, Mrs. Kennedy smiled graciously for the tourists and press who snapped photographs constantly during her hourlong visit. I followed closely behind her, barely noticing the historic ruins as I scanned the swarm of people, looking for anybody or anything unusual. When somebody would get just a bit too close, I’d reach out my arm as a barrier, ready to push someone if needed, but fortunately, the people were friendly and we had no problems at all.

“I hope these sights are retained forever,” Mrs. Kennedy remarked to Mrs.