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

President Kennedy and Mrs. Kennedy, and indeed every member of the Kennedy family, lived by this philosophy. Whether it was swimming, playing tennis or touch football, horseback riding, waterskiing, or taking a vigorous walk, exercise was part of their daily lives.

In those early months of her pregnancy, when Mrs. Kennedy and I walked together, we talked about all sorts of things, and this was frequently when I found out about her upcoming plans. A few days after telling me she was going to curtail her activities, and that we weren’t going to travel much this year, she informed me that she planned to take Caroline to New York City the first week of February.

“We’ll just visit friends and do some shopping. I think Caroline is old enough now that she will really enjoy it,” she said. The one thing she insisted on, however, was that the trip be kept as quiet as possible. She had always been private, but now that she was pregnant, I sensed a vulnerability in her that I hadn’t seen in the past two years. It went unsaid, but I knew that there was always the underlying fear that she might lose the baby she now carried. And if God forbid it did happen, she certainly didn’t want to have to deal with it in the public eye.

The night before we were to leave for New York City, I was at home, packing for the trip, when I got a phone call from the agent on duty at the White House.

“Clint,” he said, “we just had some unusual activity here that I thought you should know about.”

Unusual activity?

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well, the President and Mrs. Kennedy decided to take a spur-of-the-moment walk outside the White House grounds.”

“Spur of the moment?”

“Yes, that’s right. It was completely unannounced. They just came down the elevator, and walked out the Southwest Gate. We had to scramble all the agents from their posts to provide protection.”

This was highly unusual. In the two years President and Mrs. Kennedy had been in the White House, I’d never known them to walk outside the White House grounds without informing the agent in charge—especially at night.

“Were there any incidents?” I asked.

“No. Everything was fine, and we got them covered by the time they left the Southwest Gate. They simply took a leisurely stroll around the perimeter fence to the Northwest Gate and came back inside. They were only gone about twenty minutes.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but this little spontaneous walk proved to be a predecessor of things to come.

In New York, Mrs. Kennedy stayed at their suite at the Carlyle Hotel, while Caroline stayed at the Smith residence. The president’s sister Jean Kennedy Smith and her husband, Steve Smith, had two young sons, Stephen Jr. and William. Stephen, or “Stevie” as he was called, was about Caroline’s age, and the two were close. The Smiths’ luxurious apartment was located across the street from Central Park, just a couple of blocks from the Carlyle.

The week in New York City was filled with activity—Mrs. Kennedy met friends for lunches at Giovanni’s and Le Pavillon, and one evening at Le Club, the European style nightclub Oleg and Igor Cassini started—but she also spent a lot of time showing Caroline around the city, sharing with her daughter the things she loved about New York. Walks in Central Park, visits to museums, and even a visit to the United Nations. They were having such a wonderful time, and toward the end of the week Mrs. Kennedy informed me that the president would be joining them on the weekend.

“We want to keep it private,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “No police escorts, no motorcades, no official functions. We just want to enjoy the city like we used to.”

When it was just Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline, we were able to come and go without attracting too much attention. But when the president arrived, keeping a low profile was a much bigger challenge. There would always be at least five or six Secret Service agents around the president, and trailing closely behind the president’s limousine was the not so unobtrusive follow-up car.

As soon as the president arrived in New York, he came straight to the Carlyle to see Mrs. Kennedy, and then, surrounded by his Secret Service detail, walked the two blocks to his sister’s apartment to see Caroline. Of course he was instantly recognized, and while he made it to Jean’s place without incident, the word was out that the president was in town, on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

That evening, the president and Mrs. Kennedy had dinner with friends at Le Pavillon, before going to the theater to see Beyond the Fringe, a satirical British comedy featuring Peter Cook and Dudley Moore. The night was capped off by an after-theater party at the Earl E. T. Smith’s residence, a friend from Palm Beach who had been U.S. ambassador to Cuba.

I could see that after two years in the White House, they were yearning for a sense of “normalcy.” It was a real challenge for the Secret Service agents to keep these presidential movements private yet still maintain an adequate amount of protection, without police escorts or the blocking of streets, but we managed. Both the president and Mrs. Kennedy appreciated the effort and they thanked each of the agents personally.

The next morning, the president wanted to take Caroline to Central Park before church. Once again he walked from the Carlyle to the Smith residence, and picked up Caroline and her cousin Stephen. Agents were posted outside the door of the apartment building, which caused some attention, and by the time the president came out with the two children, a crowd had gathered.

This was exactly what the president had hoped to avoid. Not wanting to ruin the children’s outing, he left Caroline and her cousin with Agents Bob Foster and Tommy Wells, and returned to the Carlyle, where he went in the main entrance at Seventy-sixth Street. He was really distraught about not being able to do something so simple as take a walk with his five-year-old daughter in Central Park, so the agents came up with an idea. We took him through the hotel and snuck him out a little-used back door on Seventy-seventh Street, where we had an unmarked car waiting. We drove the short distance to the park, and got the president out without anyone noticing, then met up with Caroline, Stephen, and the Kiddie Detail agents. The president walked around the park with the children for about twenty minutes in complete anonymity. No public interference and no press. President Kennedy loved it.

It was wonderful to see the president able to have this special time—just a father spending time with his daughter in Central Park.

The next item on the agenda was Mass, and the president got back to the Carlyle just in time to pick up Mrs. Kennedy and her sister, Princess Radziwill, to drive to St. Ignatius of Loyola Church. I took my place in a pew directly behind Mrs. Kennedy, while Agent Art Godfrey sat next to me, behind the president. The other agents were scattered around the church.

When it came time for the collection plate to be passed around, we all knew what to expect. The president would reach his hand behind him, holding it out, palm up. Neither he nor Mrs. Kennedy ever carried cash, so one of the agents would put a twenty-dollar bill in the president’s hand for the collection.

Sure enough, the president’s hand came back toward Art Godfrey. Godfrey looked at me, then rolled his eyes, and it was all I could do not to laugh. He pulled out his wallet and put a twenty in the president’s hand. The president took the bill, looked at it, and then, without saying anything, stuck his hand back again. Godfrey turned to me and opened his wallet to show me it was empty. So I pulled out my wallet, and placed another twenty-dollar bill in the president’s hand. 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.