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

Her lips quivered as a tear streamed down her face. Closing her eyes, she nodded faintly, but I could tell she didn’t believe it at all.

It was hard for all of us to comprehend how just hours earlier, the ambassador had been a vibrant, energetic seventy-three-year-old man, proudly accompanying his son, the President of the United States, to Air Force One, and now he lay helpless in a hospital bed, completely dependent on the assistance of others. I couldn’t help but think how ironic it was that the president’s severe cold had resulted in his being able to see his father one last time while the ambassador was still fully communicative. Those memories would have to sustain him for the rest of his life.

Life can change in an instant, I thought. Just like that. In an instant.

The president had returned to Washington and was now obviously eager to get back to Palm Beach as soon as possible. Unfortunately, a heavy fog had blanketed the area and he was unable to depart for several hours. We were waiting at the hospital when the president; his brother Bobby, the attorney general; and their sister Jean arrived later that evening. None of them said a word as they walked through the corridor of the hospital to their father’s room, but their faces revealed grave concern.

Throughout the evening the president together with his mother, siblings, and Mrs. Kennedy alternated between the ambassador’s hospital room and the hospital chapel. There had been some hopeful moments when it was clear that the ambassador recognized his family members, but he wandered in and out of consciousness. Finally, after midnight, one of the nurses urged everyone to go home and get some sleep, and allow the patient to do the same.

I got back to my room at Woody’s sometime after 1:00 A.M. It had been an emotionally draining day for everyone, and I should have been able to sleep, but somehow sleep evaded me. I kept seeing Mrs. Kennedy’s sad eyes in my mind, and feeling like I should have been able to do something to ease her pain.

The next day, it was back to the hospital, as the rest of the Kennedy children arrived one by one. Another long, emotional day.

In the days that followed, Ambassador Kennedy’s condition did not improve a great deal. The president and Mrs. Kennedy visited him daily, with stops at St. Ann’s Church or the chapel at St. Mary’s in between. The responsibilities of the president do not cease during periods of personal crisis, however, and on Thursday, December 21, President Kennedy flew to Bermuda to meet with Prime Minister Macmillan, as previously planned. He remained in Bermuda overnight, returning to Palm Beach on Friday, December 22.

While the president was away, I was in the Secret Service Command Post at the Paul residence when a call came through the switchboard.

“Call for Mr. Hill,” said the switchboard operator.

While all calls to the president or Mrs. Kennedy went through the switchboard, Mrs. Kennedy had requested that calls from certain people go through me.

“This is Clint Hill,” I said.

“Mr. Sinatra on the line for you, Mr. Hill.” I had anticipated he would call.

“Put him through,” I said.

“Hi, Clint. It’s Frank.”

“Hello, Mr. Sinatra, what can I do for you?”

“I heard the terrible news about the ambassador and I wanted to see how Jackie is doing. Is she there?”

“No, she isn’t available now,” I said. The same thing I always said.

“Well, it’s just terrible, isn’t? How serious is Joe’s condition?”

I told him what I could about Ambassador Kennedy’s condition—basically the information the family had already made public.

“And how is Jackie?”

“She’s doing very well, Mr. Sinatra. As well as can be anticipated under the circumstances.”

The conversation went on for about twenty minutes, as it usually did, with Sinatra trying to find out what he could about Mrs. Kennedy’s activities, and me giving him the barest of information in return. I didn’t enjoy these conversations, but I knew that I was saving Mrs. Kennedy the uncomfortable position of having to go through them herself.

“Well, please tell Jackie I called,” he said, as he always did.

“Oh, yes, I will, Mr. Sinatra.”

I hung up the phone and called Mrs. Kennedy.

“I just got off the phone with Mr. Sinatra, Mrs. Kennedy.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“We had a very pleasant conversation and he wanted me to relay to you his concern about the ambassador as well as his concern for you and the president.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Hill. I’ll talk to him myself one of these days.”

THE APPROACHING CHRISTMAS Day caused Mrs. Kennedy some concern regarding gifts and the appropriate attitude considering the Kennedy patriarch’s condition. She decided to once again venture out to Worth Avenue, hoping to regain the celebratory feeling of a normal Christmas. Once again the store employees were in awe and soon people were gathering and gawking through store windows. Agent Jeffries and I worked as a team, with one of us walking in front of Mrs. Kennedy, parting the way through the crowd, constantly saying, “Excuse us, please. May we get through here please?” while the other walked behind her. We tried to be as respectful as possible, and usually people responded positively to our requests, but every so often, we’d have to extend an arm or use our body to fend off an overzealous individual trying to reach Mrs. Kennedy. We managed to keep the people away so that she could purchase some gifts for Caroline and John, and other family members, but it was not the pleasant experience she had hoped for.

Later she pulled me aside and said, “Mr. Hill, it seems I can’t go anywhere anymore without causing a scene. It is so difficult to do the rather simple things I enjoy, like buying a gift, without it becoming a front-page story.”

She wasn’t complaining, just stating the facts. Then she looked up at me with wistful eyes and asked, “Isn’t there something you can do about it, Mr. Hill?”

A thought entered