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

As soon as she saw me, she said, “Oh Mr. Hill, these photographers are horrible. Can’t you do something about them?”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about. Apparently they are upset that Benno has almost unlimited access to you, while they are restricted to distant shots. They’ve agreed to stop this aggressive behavior, and promise to give you some privacy if you will just pose for one good photo in your bathing suit.”

“Do you really think they’ll do as they say with just one photo session?”

“I honestly don’t know, but I will tell them that one session is what they get and then they must withdraw and quit harassing you. If they don’t comply, we will make their lives miserable.”

“Oh Mr. Hill, can’t you make their lives miserable without me having to pose?” she asked.

I knew this was asking a lot of her, and was so outside of her comfort zone, but there didn’t seem to be an alternative, other than have her spend the entire holiday inside the villa.

“I think in all fairness, Mrs. Kennedy, you have to give them something or the harassment will only continue to get worse and worse.”

This still didn’t satisfy her. She looked at me pleadingly.

“Can’t you just round them all up and have them sent away somewhere?”

I wanted to laugh, but she was dead serious.

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Kennedy, they have a right to be here, too, because it’s public property.”

Remembering President Kennedy’s instructions to me, I knew he wouldn’t be thrilled about seeing his wife posing for the cameras in her bathing suit, but the alternative was that someone was going to get a shot of Mrs. Kennedy in an awkward position, and that would be even more embarrassing and potentially humiliating.

“All right, if you think it will work, I’ll allow a brief photo session.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said. “I’ll arrange it and we’ll try to just get it over with.”

A short while later, Mrs. Kennedy posed on the landing area just below the beach house, in front of a big Welcome Jacqueline! sign the locals had hung from the rocks. The photographers had a field day. She was very cooperative and when they asked for photos of her with the children and Lee, she even agreed to that.

Agent Rundle even got into the action and posed in his bathing suit next to Mrs. Kennedy, the children, Benno Graziani, and the caretaker of the beach cottage.

The next day, hoping the photographers were going to be less intrusive, Mrs. Kennedy decided to go water-skiing.

Mrs. Kennedy poses for paparazzi with Tony, Caroline, and Lee

“It’ll just be Caroline and me,” she said.

Pointing to the water skis and motioning out to the water, I tried to explain to the Italian boat captain what we wanted to do. I spoke in English with my best Italian accent, hoping that perhaps some of the words might sound familiar. Mrs. Kennedy was doubled over with laughter as both of our hand motions got bigger and our voices louder in an effort to communicate. Finally, Mrs. Kennedy interpreted, and off we went.

The police had closed a stretch of water near the beach house so that other boats wouldn’t be a nuisance, and we had Secret Service agents in another couple of boats, but this in itself created attention, and soon traffic was snarled on the hilly road overlooking the bay. I kept watch in the back of the Pretexte as Mrs. Kennedy, wearing a one-piece black bathing suit, easily popped up out of the water on a slalom ski. She skied back and forth across the wake, pulling tight on the rope, leaning back, in complete control, as the growing audience ashore whooped and hollered.

Not wanting to encourage the crowd, Mrs. Kennedy simply ignored them. We made a few loops around and then she gracefully let go of the rope and slid into the water. We raced around to pick her up, but instead of climbing into the boat, she looked at Caroline and said, “Do you want to ski with me, Caroline?”

“Yes! Yes!” Caroline squealed.

Oh God.

“Mrs. Kennedy, I’m not so sure this is a good idea. How are you going to do this?”

“Oh, Mr. Hill, don’t worry. She can stand on top of the skis. Toss me the other ski.”

I knew there was no way I was going to talk her out of this, so I motioned to the agents in the other boat that Caroline was getting in the water.

Little Caroline was such a good swimmer that even though the water was a bit choppy, she had no problem treading water while the driver slowly pulled the boat around to get the rope taut. Mrs. Kennedy put Caroline in front of her on the skis, and, with bended knees, leaned slightly forward so Caroline could hold on to the wood handle of the towrope.

When the rope was taut and straight, I called out, “Are you ready?”

“Ready!” Mrs. Kennedy yelled.

The captain put the boat in gear, and as he accelerated, Mrs. Kennedy popped out of the water with Caroline balanced on the top of the two skis. It was a photo-perfect picture and the press who witnessed it were having the time of their lives.

The ski duo didn’t last but a few seconds, though, as they hit a small wave and both of them toppled into the water. Caroline wasn’t keen to try again, but she didn’t want to get back in the boat, either.

“I’m going to swim all the way to shore, Mummy,” she proclaimed.

Not wanting to squelch her daughter’s enthusiasm, Mrs. Kennedy agreed to let her go, provided she have the inflatable ring, and of course a Secret Service agent.

I motioned to the other boat and yelled, “Caroline wants to swim back.”

Agent Paul Landis immediately jumped into the water and swam with Caroline back to shore, while Mrs. Kennedy did a bit more water-skiing.

Sure enough, one of the press photographers with a very long telescopic lens on his camera had caught Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline together on water skis, and the next morning they were front-page news around the world. It ended up causing quite a controversy, especially in Great Britain, where one London newspaper ran the headline:

PLEASE MRS. KENNEDY, DON’T DO IT AGAIN!

The article proclaimed that mothers everywhere were cringing at the picture, and “water skiing is hazardous for grown-ups. For a 4-year-old girl it’s madness.”

I knew what an accomplished water-skier Mrs. Kennedy was, and how strong a swimmer Caroline was, so I never felt they were in any danger. Just as the president wanted to pass along his love of sailing to his daughter, Mrs. Kennedy wanted to expose Caroline to the sport that she loved. Nonetheless, I got the feeling that Mrs. Kennedy may have received some strongly worded advice from her husband either by telegram or telephone shortly thereafter. Caroline did not water-ski with her mother again during our stay in Italy.

It became our routine to go to the beach house around ten o’clock each morning, and have a swim and then lunch, followed by an afternoon activity ashore or on the boat. When Mrs. Kennedy was at the beach house, the Italian caretaker and his wife handled everything. This middle-aged Italian couple adored the children and were eager to do anything for their famous guests. The wife cooked lunch every day while her husband hauled the beach toys, towels—and often the children—up and down the steps.