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

stopping her. From the guest list to the menu to the entertainment, she had specific ideas as to how everything should look and feel.

“We’re going to have a reenactment of a Revolutionary War battle with muskets and bugle players,” she informed me at one point.

Great, I thought. A bunch of costumed actors with guns will be within shooting distance of you and the president. I made a mental note to alert the Agent in Charge.

“And the president made a brilliant suggestion that the guests could arrive by boat. Wouldn’t that be magical?” she asked me.

“Magical,” I replied. “How many guests are you expecting?”

“Oh . . . probably between one hundred thirty to one hundred fifty.”

One hundred and fifty people—presumably including many high-ranking government officials—cruising slowly down the Potomac. This was going to be a major undertaking for the Secret Service, not to mention a menagerie of government services.

A cast of hundreds would be required to pull it off. Mrs. Kennedy’s vision for an early American historical state dinner required cooperation and coordination between various people and organizations that were not necessarily used to working together, including Tish Baldridge’s staff, the office of the Military Aide to the President, the National Park Service, the State Department, the White House usher’s office, the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association, the Secret Service, and René Verdon, the White House chef.

Every day Mrs. Kennedy would come up with a new idea, sending people scurrying around to get the necessary permits. If anyone raised the possibility that something might not be able to be accomplished, Mrs. Kennedy would reply softly, in her most convincing tone, “Of course it can be done.” She was in complete control of the countless details to make her production come together, and had steadfast confidence in her staff and their willingness to do whatever it took. I don’t think she ever knew how several behind-the-scenes incidents nearly turned the evening into a disaster.

The guests were split up between the Sequoia, the Honey Fitz, a PT boat, and a Navy yacht. They boarded at the Washington docks and sailed down the Potomac to the Mount Vernon dock. It was decided that they would make the return trip by car, which in and of itself was confusing and logistically difficult, as there needed to be far more cars than boats. Then there was the mosquito infestation problem. There had been a lot of rain, and the mosquitoes were rampant. So, on the day of the event, the area was sprayed with mosquito repellant once in the morning, once around midday, and again one hour prior to the guests’ arrival.

Chef Verdon had worked with Mrs. Kennedy to come up with a menu that could be prepared largely at the White House and then transported in military vehicles to the estate. As the food was being offloaded, he saw the repellant being sprayed and became concerned that the noxious spray would poison the food. He was terrified that the guests would become ill and he would be blamed. It was too late to prepare more food. René was beside himself. Fortunately, Tish Baldridge came up with a solution.

“Why don’t we have some Secret Service agents taste the food?” Tish suggested. “If they don’t become sick and die, then we know the food is fine for our guests.”

René acquiesced so two agents were given the task of gorging themselves on samples of every item of food that was to be served. They started with the George Washington Mint Julep, then the Avocado and Crabmeat Mimosa Salad, moved on to the Poulet Chasseur, to the Couronne de Riz Clamart, to the Framboises à la Crème Chantilly, and finally the Petits Fours Secs. There wasn’t much time, so they had to eat and drink quickly. As it turned out, the food was not tainted, but the agents felt sick simply from the mass quantity of food they had each consumed. This satisfied René that all was well and he could safety serve the president, first lady, and all the guests without danger of his reputation being damaged beyond repair.

It was a beautiful evening and by the time the guests arrived, everything was in place. Mrs. Kennedy looked regal in a white lace sleeveless Oleg Cassini dress with a wide green sash around her waist and elbow-length white gloves, as she and President Kennedy escorted President Ayub Khan and his daughter, Begum Nasir Aurangzeb.

After a tour of Washington’s home, it was time for the battle reenactment. The Army’s Colonial Color Guard and Fife and Drum Corps performed a military drill, and then a group of musket-carrying soldiers, wearing powdered wigs, aimed their muskets and fired. It just so happened that the sixty or so members of the press corps were right in the line of fire, and even though the guns were loaded with blanks, the noise and smoke were realistic, causing more than a few members of the press to jump at the sudden gunshots. I glanced at Mrs. Kennedy, and when I saw the smile on her face, I had little doubt that the placement of the press, directly in the line of fire, was all part of her master plan.

I stayed off to the side, always near Mrs. Kennedy, observing everything going on around her. I had noticed the table settings with several forks, spoons, and knives, of different sizes, lined up in a particular order outside the plates. Growing up in Washburn, North Dakota, I had never been to a restaurant or event that required so many different types of cutlery. As I watched Mrs. Kennedy confidently choose the appropriate utensil for each course, I took mental notes should I ever be in a situation myself that would require me to know which fork was for salad, and which spoon was for dessert.

Everybody commented on the ambience, the delicious food, and the extraordinary theater of the evening. By all accounts the dinner for President Ayub Khan was a smashing success. President Kennedy knew how much effort