Clint Hill - Mrs. Kennedy and Me - An Intimate Memoir

“Of course, Mrs. Kennedy. I’ll do the best I can.”

She smiled and said, “I know you will, Mr. Hill. You always do. There is never any question about that.”

13

Another Summer in Hyannis Port

After the Fourth of July weekend at Camp David, Mrs. Kennedy and the children spent the rest of July 1962 in Hyannis Port, with the president joining the family every weekend. Having a separate residence in Palm Beach away from the hubbub of the ambassador’s house during the winter months had worked out so well that this summer they had rented the home of singer Morton Downey, on Squaw Island, which was just about a mile away from the Kennedy compound. Squaw Island wasn’t really an island, but was connected to Hyannis Port by a narrow beach road that was used only by the small group of residents who lived there. The Downey home was larger than President Kennedy’s own house on the compound, was much more secluded, and with little or no traffic between the two locations, it was ideal.

Lunch on the Marlin or the Honey Fitz was almost a daily routine. But frequently the president would sail the Victura , the twenty-six-foot Wianno Senior sailboat that his parents gave him on his fifteenth birthday. He loved that boat. He could maneuver it with such grace and ease that it was almost like it was an extension of himself.

One day at the end of July, the president and Chuck Spalding were sailing the Victura close to shore, just off the dock from the ambassador’s residence. It was a cool summer day, and both were dressed in chino pants and cardigan sweaters. They were in the midst of a deep conversation and didn’t realize they were coming upon some rocks. Suddenly the boat stopped dead in the water, as it got wedged in between the rocks.

I was in a jetboat nearby, watching the scene unfold, fully expecting the president to get the boat moving again with ease, but the boat wasn’t budging. President Kennedy dropped the mainsail to let the wind out of it, stood up, and turned toward me.

“Hey Clint, can you give us a little help? We seem to be stuck.”

“I’ll be right there, Mr. President,” I said as I jumped into the water.

We were so close to shore that the water was only up to my thighs, so I waded over to the stuck sailboat.

There was a glare on the water such that you couldn’t see the problem from above, so I took a deep breath and went under the boat. Sure enough, the hull was jammed into some boulders.

“Looks like you’re wedged in between two big rocks, Mr. President. Let me see if I can rock the boat to get it moving. You may want to sit down.”

The president laughed and said, “Good idea. But I’m more concerned about the boat than Chuck and myself.”

I placed my feet on top of one of the boulders and squatted with my back against the bottom of the hull.

“Hang on, Mr. President,” I said. “Here we go.”

I began to rock up and down and as the boat started to move, I gave one big thrust upward with my body while simultaneously pushing down with my legs. As I did so, the Victura slid off the rocks, causing my feet to slip down each side of the rock on which I was standing. The rock was shaped somewhat like a cone, and that final thrust caused me to go straight down, with the cone-shaped rock crashing into my groin area.

I gritted my teeth to keep from yelling out in pain, as the president immediately raised the sail and turned the tiller.

The boat began drifting away.

“Thanks, Clint!” the president called back to me, completely unaware of what had just occurred under the water.

“No problem, sir,” I replied. “Glad I was able to help.”

I walked gingerly through the water back to the jetboat, and as I climbed over the side, I noticed blood running down my legs. I had almost crushed a very important part of my anatomy. Pained and bloody, I continued on for the rest of the day.

I was completely unaware that Cecil Stoughton, one of the White House photographers, happened to catch the ordeal on film, and apparently word got back to the president that I had been injured. A few days later I received an 8x10 photo of the president and Chuck Spalding standing on the Victura as I waded through the water toward the stuck boat. The president had signed the photo with the inscription:

For Clint Hill

“The Secret Service are prepared for all hazards”

John F. Kennedy

It was a very nice gesture, and that photo is a treasured memento. The Victura and her passengers were unharmed, and while I did walk a bit funny for the next couple of days, I healed without any permanent damage.

It was easy to see why the Kennedys loved Hyannis Port so much. It was quaint and comfortable, and despite the big houses on the ocean with the boats and yachts, it was unpretentious. The Kiddie Detail agents—Bob Foster, Lynn Meredith, and Paul Landis—and I were there the entire time, and we really began to feel like part of the family. If things needed to be hauled onto the boat, we’d grab the baskets of food or towels or whatever needed to be brought aboard. There always seemed to be dozens of children around, and they all knew us by name—it was always “Mr. Hill” or “Mr. Landis.” I often wondered if the younger ones thought we were just a few more uncles. Every Friday afternoon the president would arrive in the helicopter, with even more Secret Service agents, and more activity, and then by Monday morning he would return to Washington and we would return to our more casual routine. Summer in Hyannis Port was a very special time.

Clint Hill holds John, watching Mummy and Daddy aboard the Marlin

In between the constant activity, I was working with Mrs. Kennedy and Secret Service headquarters on plans for her upcoming trip to Italy. Once again I needed to assemble a team of agents to handle the advance, perimeter coverage, vehicles, travel arrangements, and boats, as well as to assist with the personal security coverage of both Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline.

When President Kennedy was in Hyannis Port, he tried to spend as much time with John and Caroline as possible, even though so many others were always vying for his attention. Caroline was now four and a half years old and the president seemed to want to share his passions with her more and more. They had a very close father-daughter relationship and it was precious to see the two of them together. The Saturday prior to our departure for Italy, President Kennedy spent all morning with Caroline. He took her to Hyannis Country Club to watch the golfers tee off, shopped in the pro shop, and then, walking hand in hand, they went to visit the ambassador at his residence. Because we had secured the perimeter of the property, the Secret Service agents tried to give the president and his family as much space as possible when they were on the compound.

As was typical, a lunchtime cruise was planned aboard the ambassador’s yacht, the Marlin. I was down on the dock with a couple of the Navy aides getting the jetboats ready when the president came walking down with Caroline.

His tan had deepened after spending so much time outdoors, and dressed in a golf shirt, trousers, and sunglasses, he looked like any other father with his daughter out here on the Cape. Sometimes in this casual environment you could almost forget he was the President of the United States.