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

not much we could do as long as they remained outside the security perimeter we would establish. Mrs. Kennedy didn’t like the attention, and neither did I. I kept thinking about how cold that damn water would be if I had to jump in after her. I didn’t have a skin-diving suit. Fortunately, she didn’t require my assistance, and I didn’t see any pictures in the newspaper the next morning.

Around this time Mrs. Kennedy also decided to take up golf. I accompanied her to the Newport Country Club, where she took some golf lessons and practiced with her longtime friend Bill Walton. As with almost any sport she tried, Mrs. Kennedy was a natural. She hit the ball long and straight, and her form was so good she reminded me of some of the female pro golfers I had observed. She was determined to do well, and you could see it in her attitude that she really wanted to improve and was going to work hard to do so.

The weather in Newport had been very pleasant with crisp temperatures, and a mixture of sun and clouds. But as is typical along the New England coast, the weather can change rapidly, and in the early evening hours of Friday, September 29, a cold, dense fog settled in, and decided to stay.

We had just returned to Hammersmith Farm from an outing when I got a call that my wife had gone into labor and had been taken to Alexandria Hospital in Alexandria, Virginia. I was taken by surprise because the baby wasn’t due for at least another two weeks.

I immediately informed Mrs. Kennedy.

“Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, “I just got word that my wife has gone into labor, so I’m going to need to get back to Washington as soon as possible.”

“Oh, Mr. Hill,” she said with a look of sincere concern, “yes, absolutely. You must get there right away. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Unfortunately, getting back to Washington on this particular night was going to be next to impossible. The closest commercial airport was in Warwick, but the fog was so dense that flights were grounded. The next option was the Naval Air Station at Quonset Point, which handled a variety of aircraft. They weren’t flying, either. We contacted the U.S. Coast Guard and they said they could see what they could do, but they got back to me with the same report: nothing was coming in or going out. There was nothing anybody could do. I was stuck in Newport.

The next day, the weather cleared, and I was finally able to get a flight out. An agent from the White House Detail met me and we raced to the hospital, where I got to see and hold my son, Corey Jonathan, for the first time. He was a bit premature, but healthy, and I was thrilled to now be the father of two sons.

The Kennedys’ hectic schedule was difficult for all the agents and their families. President Kennedy traveled far more than Eisenhower had, so the agents on his detail were often gone, too. The difference was that Mrs. Kennedy was rarely in Washington, which made my absences lengthier and more frequent. Fortunately the Secret Service wives had a good support network, and I was thankful for that. Many of us lived in the same area and had children around the same ages, so when the guys were traveling, the women stuck together.

When we returned to the White House on October 27, I presumed our time in Newport and on the Cape was pretty much finished for the year. Only Thanksgiving left. I was really looking forward to sleeping in my own bed each night for a month, and spending some time with my family. But, that wasn’t to be. It was back to Hyannis Port the next weekend, and then back to Newport, before returning to Washington for a few days to entertain the visiting prime minister of India, Jawaharlal Nehru, and his daughter, Indira Gandhi. I was realizing that Mrs. Kennedy made every effort to be away from the White House as much as possible. It turned out that she no more wanted to attend ladies’ luncheons and tea parties than I did. She really abhorred being in the spotlight, and having to make small talk. She would pick and choose which events were important to her, yet there were plenty of times she committed and then changed her mind. It was frustrating to Tish Baldridge, who would have to find replacement hostesses when Mrs. Kennedy told her she felt ill or had changed her plans—only to learn that we had gone off to Middleburg.

When it came to visiting heads of state, however, Mrs. Kennedy would throw herself into the planning of an event. I think the success of the dinner at Mount Vernon really boosted her confidence, and also showed her that she could think big when it came to entertaining on behalf of the White House. One of the most important and memorable events was the night Pablo Casals came to play.

“Mr. Hill, do you enjoy music?” Mrs. Kennedy asked me one day when we were up in Newport.

“I love music, Mrs. Kennedy,” I replied. “In fact, one thing you probably don’t know about me is that I used to sing in a quartet in college.”

“Really?”

She looked like she was about to burst into laughter, as if the idea of me, the tough Secret Service agent, singing in a quartet was beyond her comprehen-sion.

“Yes, really,” I said, with a smile. “And I also played the trumpet. I wasn’t bad, if I do say so myself.”

She laughed and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Hill. I don’t mean to laugh, but you are always so serious—I never thought of you as being someone who would sing and play an instrument.”

“I am serious about my job, Mrs. Kennedy, that’s for sure. But I can have fun every now and then, too, you know.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you don’t have