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

ocean, and when he looked at you, it was like he scooped you into his universe, paying attention to you and you alone in that moment. He immediately reached out his hand and gave me a firm, vigorous handshake.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Clint,” he said as an infectious grin spread across his cheeks. “Jackie tells me you are a devoted walker and that she has been well taken care of these past couple of weeks. I do appreciate it.”

He spoke with enthusiasm and sincerity, his words rolling out in that unmistakable Boston accent so quickly that you really had to pay attention.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. President-elect,” I said.

Caroline would turn three years old on November 27 and he had brought some wrapped gifts, along with a rather unique present for his daughter, for an early birthday celebration. The nine-year-old daughter of a West Palm Beach city councilman had given him a cage containing two live white ducks to present to Caroline for her birthday, and he had brought them back to Washington, eager as could be to see his daughter’s reaction. Those ducks were just the beginning of what would be a never-ending flow of animals into the Kennedy household.

Even in that brief meeting, I got a sense of John F. Kennedy, and it was easy to see how he had been able to connect with the voters. He was energetic, friendly, a people person. And charming as hell. But I also saw a man who really cared about his family as well as the people around them. I liked him, and I knew from that first meeting that this was going to be a very interesting administration to work with and observe.

The next day, the family had their Thanksgiving dinner early in the afternoon. In addition to a traditional Thanksgiving menu of turkey, bread stuffing, creamed onions, string beans, and both apple and pumpkin pies for dessert, Pearl Nelson, the Kennedys’ cook, made homemade clam chowder, a family favorite. The smells coming from the kitchen made my stomach growl, but as an agent, that is something you get used to. You might dress up in a tuxedo to attend a black-tie dinner with the president, but you are there to do a job, not partake in the wining, dining, and socializing.

I remained on the residence perimeter, along with the agents on the president-elect detail, guaranteeing a safe environment in which the Kennedy family could enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday in peace.

I had thought the president-elect would stay in Washington to meet with various people about the transition, as well as be there for Mrs. Kennedy in her last few weeks before the birth of their child, so I was surprised to learn that he was actually returning to Palm Beach for another week or so. The plan was that he would come back in mid-December prior to Mrs. Kennedy’s due date, for which there was a planned Caesarean section. It seemed an odd arrangement, since most of the people he was interviewing for cabinet and staff positions were based in Washington. It wasn’t my business, but I felt empathy for Mrs. Kennedy.

At 8:25 P.M. Thanksgiving evening, the president left to return to Florida on the Kennedys’ family plane, the Caroline. The Caroline was a twin-engine Convair 240 that had originally been used as a commercial plane with seating for about forty-four passengers. Bought by Ambassador Joseph Kennedy in 1959, it had been customized so that it had living-room style seating, along with an actual bed, and could still accommodate fifteen to twenty passengers. The Caroline was the first private plane to ever be used by a candidate in a presidential election, and it had allowed Jack Kennedy great freedom to effectively campaign all around the country. It wasn’t nearly as fast as a jet aircraft, but the plane was a comfortable and convenient way for Kennedy to commute between Washington and Palm Beach.

Once the president-elect had departed, Mrs. Kennedy advised me she was not planning to leave the house. With the field agents posted outside the residence, I went home to my two-bedroom apartment in Arlington, hoping my wife might have left me some turkey, stuffing, and gravy in the refrigerator.

A couple of hours later, I had just got into bed when the phone rang.

It was Jeffries. “Clint, Mrs. Kennedy was having labor pains and has been rushed to Georgetown Hospital in an ambulance. Get over there as fast as you can.”

Oh God.

The baby wasn’t due until December 15. The president was en route to Florida. Mrs. Kennedy had already lost two babies. I jumped in my car and raced to the hospital.

When I arrived, Jeffries informed me that Mrs. Kennedy had been taken to a fourth-floor surgical room, where her personal obstetrician, Dr. John Walsh, was performing the Caesarean section—nearly three weeks early.

“The president-elect is on his way back,” Jeffries said. “We got the word to him just as he landed in Palm Beach and it was decided he should come back on the press plane to get here faster.”

The press had chartered a four-engine DC-6 to follow Kennedy to Palm Beach, and it could make the return trip at least thirty minutes quicker than the Caroline.

While Jeffries made phone calls and helped coordinate the logistics for the president-elect’s arrival, I waited outside the door of the operating room as the procedure went on, pacing as if I were the father to be, anxious for the outcome.

I had missed the birth of my firstborn son, Chris, because when I took my wife, Gwen, to the hospital when she went into labor, I was told it would be a number of hours yet before the baby would arrive. As it turned out, I got a call in the middle of the night that my wife had delivered a baby boy, and there were complications, requiring him to have a blood transfusion. I knew the anxiety President-elect Kennedy must have been feeling on that long flight