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

Once again he looked at it and then stuck his hand back. Now Godfrey was cracking up. All I had left was a ten, so I placed that in the president’s hand and hoped he didn’t reach back again. Fortunately, fifty dollars was sufficient on this particular Sunday.

We would always get reimbursed by the president’s secretary, Evelyn Lincoln, but providing cash to the President of the United States for the collection plate was one of those things we all joked about.

After the services, the president, Mrs. Kennedy, and Mrs. Radziwill got into the unmarked Secret Service car we were using, and we proceeded to the restaurant Voisin, where they were going to meet Prince Radziwill and Chuck Spalding for lunch. I was in the follow-up car, and suddenly, at Sixty-seventh Street and Park Avenue, the president’s car stopped.

Agent Roy Kellerman jumped out of the front passenger seat of the president’s car and said, “The president and Mrs. Kennedy would like to walk the rest of the way to the restaurant.”

Walk? In New York City? In broad daylight?

I knew Kellerman didn’t think this was a good idea, either, but I guessed that this was at Mrs. Kennedy’s urging. It was a beautiful day in New York City, and I knew how she hated being driven anywhere when there was the possibility of walking. So we got out and walked with the president and Mrs. Kennedy to Voisin. It was just four and a half blocks, but it was rather unnerving to have the president and first lady so exposed, without any advance preparations.

I had a feeling the same thing would happen on the way back to the Carlyle after lunch, and sure enough it did. The president and Mrs. Kennedy walked partway back to the Carlyle, talking and laughing as they walked briskly down Park Avenue. It was challenging for the agents to cover this extemporaneous activity, but it was wonderful to see them thoroughly enjoying themselves—like they were just an ordinary couple—thrilled to be expecting a child, with so much to look forward to.

On the flight back to Washington later that afternoon, I thought about the spontaneous activity that had taken place in New York City and outside the grounds of the White House. This was inevitably going to be the new standard.

Our jobs just became a little more difficult.

18

The Sunshine Highway

Mrs. Kennedy, Chuck Spalding, Lee, Clint Hill, and Prince Radziwill

The next weekend it was back to Middleburg, where the new home was under construction on Rattlesnake Mountain, then back to Washington by helicopter for a couple of days. I had just enough time to get my laundry done, retrieve clothes from the cleaners, and repack. Now we were off to Palm Beach for a few days in the sun.

Once again, President and Mrs. Kennedy returned to the C. Michael Paul residence, which they had rented for the winter of 1962–63. By the time we got to the Paul residence it was after eleven o’clock, and when my head hit the pillow in my room at Woody’s Motel, it was after midnight.

Fortunately, Mrs. Kennedy took the next morning easy, while the president played with John on the beach and took Caroline and some friends out on the Honey Fitz. That evening they had a dinner invitation at the Wrightsman residence. Paul Landis had relieved me, and I was comfortable that Mrs. Kennedy was in a secure environment. I was looking forward to getting to bed early for once, and getting a full night’s sleep.

A White House phone had been installed in my room so that I had a direct line to the Palm Beach White House switchboard in case of an emergency. I had barely gotten out of my clothes, and was sitting on the bed in boxers and a T-shirt when the White House phone rang.

I picked up the phone.

“This is Clint.”

“Oh, Mr. Hill,” the breathy familiar voice said, “the president and I would like you to do something for us.”

I looked at my watch. It was eight o’clock. Paul Landis was there, as well as the President’s Detail agents. What could they possibly need me to do? I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

The previous month, President Kennedy had unwittingly started a fad that had by this time spread from coast to coast, and of which I was about to become a spontaneous participant. It all began when the president came upon a 1908 executive order in which President Theodore Roosevelt set forth rules for Marine officers to be able to complete a fifty-mile hike. President Kennedy sent a memo to Marine Corps commandant David Shoup suggesting that a similar fifty-mile challenge would be a good test to see how the present-day officers could perform the task.

Concerned that the average American was becoming more and more unfit, President Kennedy announced that he would put his White House staff to the fifty-mile test as well. It was meant to be a publicity stunt to kick-start a national fitness campaign, and the press ate it up. Poor Pierre Salinger, who was himself a poster child for the “soft American,” declined the challenge but publicly vowed to increase his daily dose of exercise. Meanwhile, the president’s brother, Attorney General Robert Kennedy, readily accepted the challenge and completed his own fifty-mile hike in just seventeen hours.

Now, two weeks later, Mrs. Kennedy was calling me at eight o’clock in the evening with a special request—not just from her but from the president as well.

“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“You know Stash and Chuck Spalding are here with us, and they are going to go on a fifty-mile hike.”

“Oh really?” This was news to me.

“Yes, they’re going to walk on the new Sunshine Parkway, and the president and I plan to go out and check on them from time to time, so we would like for you to be there to make sure everything is okay. The president wants to make sure nothing happens