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

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HE CALLED HER MRS. KENNEDY. SHE CALLED HIM MR. HILL. For four years, from the election of John Fitzgerald Kennedy in November 1960 until after the election of Lyndon Johnson in 1964, Clint Hill was the Secret Service agent assigned to guard the glamorous and intensely private Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy. During those four years, he went from being a reluctant guardian to a fiercely loyal watchdog and, in many ways, her closest friend.
Now, looking back fifty years, Clint Hill tells his story for the first time, offering a tender, enthralling, and tragic portrayal of how a Secret Service agent who started life in a North Dakota orphanage became the most trusted man in the life of the First Lady who captivated first the nation and then the world.
When he was initially assigned to the new First Lady, Agent Hill envisioned tea parties and gray-haired matrons. But as soon as he met her, he was swept up in the whirlwind of her beauty, her grace, her intelligence, her coy humor, her magnificent composure, and her extraordinary spirit.
From the start, the job was like no other, and Clint was by her side through the early days of JFK's presidency; the birth of sons John and Patrick and Patrick's sudden death; Kennedy-family holidays in Hyannis Port and Palm Beach; Jackie's trips to Europe, Asia, and South America; Jackie's intriguing meetings with men like Aristotle Onassis, Gianni Agnelli, and AndrÉ Malraux; the dark days of the year that followed the assassination to the farewell party she threw for Clint when he left her protective detail after four years. All she wanted was the one thing he could not give her: a private life for her and her children.
Filled with unforgettable details, startling revelations, and sparkling, intimate moments, this is the once-in-a-lifetime story of a man doing the most exciting job in the world, with a woman all the world loved, and the tragedy that ended it all too soon— a tragedy that haunted him for fifty years.
Review
"With clear and honest prose free of salaciousness and gossip, Hill (ably assisted by McCubbin) evokes not only a personality both beautiful and brilliant, but also a time when the White House was filled with youth and promise.
Of the many words written about Jacqueline Kennedy, these are among the best." --
starred review
"[
] conveys a sense of honesty and proves to be an insightful and lovingly penetrating portrait of the Jacqueline Kennedy that Hill came to know." --
(3 1/2 stars)
"Talk about being unable to put a book down; I was enthralled with this memoir from start to finish." --Liz Smith
About the Author
Clint Hill Lisa McCubbin
New York Times
The Kennedy Detail

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At some point, Paul Landis told me that President Kennedy was airborne from Andrews Air Force Base.

“But he’s not on Air Force One,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Apparently none of the planes were available. He and some staff and the agents are coming in on two JetStars.”

The Air Force had a group of four-engine jet aircraft in its VIP fleet that could be used as Air Force One. A JetStar, which only holds about six or eight passengers, and couldn’t travel at nearly the same rate of speed, would only have been used as a last resort. As it turned out, because the president didn’t have any travel plans on his schedule that day, one of the Air Force planes was in the air on a check flight, and the others were having routine maintenance done. It was bad luck, and damn bad timing. Once again the president was going to miss the birth of his child.

Shortly before one o’clock in the afternoon, while the president was still airborne, Dr. Walsh came out of the surgery room.

“Clint, you can breathe easy. Mrs. Kennedy has delivered a baby boy, and she is doing fine.”

“How is the baby?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “he’s small. He weighs just four pounds, ten and a half ounces.” With a worried look in his eyes, he added, “We have some concern about his breathing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve put him in the incubator and we’ll know more in a little while.”

“Okay, thank you, Dr. Walsh. I’ll make sure the president gets the news immediately. He’s on his way, and should be here soon.”

THE PRESIDENT ARRIVED at Otis about forty minutes later.

“Congratulations, Mr. President,” I said.

“Thanks, Clint. How is Mrs. Kennedy?”

“I believe she’s still under sedation, but you should talk to Dr. Walsh.” I didn’t know how much he knew at that time, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell him there might be a problem with his newborn son.

The president went in to see his wife, and then spent time conferring privately with Dr. Walsh.

President Kennedy walked over to me and said, “Clint, find the base chaplain. We need to baptize the baby right away.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

A short while later, the president and Mrs. Kennedy’s son was baptized Patrick Bouvier Kennedy. The name had been decided in advance—Patrick after President Kennedy’s paternal grandfather and Bouvier for Mrs. Kennedy’s father.

After the baptism, Mrs. Kennedy was moved into the recovery suite that had been prepared for her, and baby Patrick was taken into a separate area where he could be monitored.

This was my first glimpse of the baby. As soon as I saw him, tears welled in my eyes. He had a perfectly shaped head, and the tiniest hands and feet. He was beautiful. But he was clearly fighting for each breath, as his poor little chest struggled to get the oxygen he needed to survive.

He looked so alone in the sterile incubator, with tubes going every which way. Oh, how I wanted to pick him up and hold him close. He was so fragile, and more than anything, I wanted to protect him. But all I could do was hope and pray.

Please, do anything to me, God. But please don’t let Patrick die.

As the doctors continued their tests, it became increasingly clear that Patrick’s respiratory problems were serious. He had a condition known as hyaline membrane disease—a common affliction in premature babies due to incomplete lung development. They didn’t have the capability of treating him at Otis—he needed to get to Children’s Hospital in Boston, where they were better equipped to handle the problem. Time was of the essence, but it was too risky to transport him by helicopter. He had to go by ambulance, and he had to have a Secret Service agent with him. This was the son of the President of the United States.

I wanted to stay with him, to try to protect him, but I needed to be with Mrs. Kennedy when she awoke. I had to be there for her.

“Paul,” I said to Agent Landis, “Mrs. Kennedy would want one of us to be with him.”

He nodded.

“You go with the baby in the ambulance, Paul.”

So Paul got in the ambulance with tiny baby Patrick and the medical crew, and at 5:55 P.M., with a full police escort, they raced to Boston.

I had rushed to Otis that morning without showering or shaving, and by this time, I knew I looked awful. I sent someone to the PX to get me a razor and some shaving cream, and snuck into a bathroom so I could at least splash some water on my face and have a quick shave. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

After visiting with Mrs. Kennedy once more, President Kennedy flew to Hyannis Port to check on Caroline and John. I stayed outside Mrs. Kennedy’s door as nurses went in and out. I was relieved when Louella Hennessey, the wonderful nurse who had helped care for all the Kennedy babies, arrived, because I knew what a comfort she would be to Mrs. Kennedy. President Kennedy returned an hour or so later, and went in again to visit with Mrs. Kennedy.

When he came out, he said, “Clint, I’m going to Boston to be with Patrick. I know you’ll make sure Mrs. Kennedy is well taken care of. Just make sure I’m kept informed.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I will make sure you are fully aware, should anything change.”

All the activity—the constant coming and going of people and staff—was a blessing for me. As long as I was busy, I could keep my emotions in check. Every time I thought about baby Patrick, so small and alone inside the incubator, it nearly tore me apart. Throughout this time, Mrs. Kennedy seldom woke up, but continued to remain in a stable condition.

President Kennedy had brought two of Mrs. Kennedy’s staff with him—Pamela Turnure and Nancy Tuckerman—which was a great relief for me. Now I could focus strictly on security and privacy. My emotions, however, kept taking me back to that incubator leaving Otis Air Force Base with the tiny boy inside, gasping for air, fighting for life. I thought of my own two sons and how much they meant to me. How much I wished I could spend more time with them. How fortunate I was that they were healthy and growing rapidly like youngsters their age do.

If only Patrick can survive this threatening ordeal, he too will be growing and developing before my eyes—just as I’ve watched John and Caroline. Something I have been unable to witness with my own sons.

MRS. KENNEDY WAS still in and out of consciousness, and had not been told of the seriousness of Patrick’s condition—only that he had a lung problem similar to what John had been born with. Taking the baby to Boston was just a precaution.

Once President Kennedy and his Secret Service detail arrived at Children’s Hospital, with the added assistance from the Boston Secret Service Field Office, it was decided that Agent Landis should return to Otis to assist me. He arranged for an official car and got back to Hyannis at 2:20 A.M.

The president remained overnight in Boston with Patrick. I stayed with Mrs. Kennedy.

THE NEXT DAY, August 8, there was nonstop activity. Both Paul and I were at Otis doing whatever we could to ensure Mrs. Kennedy was all right; the president was flying back and forth between Boston and Otis and Hyannis Port; Mary Gallagher, Pam, and Nancy were handling the onslaught of phone calls and messages from friends, relatives, world leaders, and the general public. Everybody was concerned about Patrick. Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennedy was still sleeping most of the time. She had no idea that her son’s life was hanging in the balance.

We were getting limited information from Boston because no one seemed to know Patrick’s exact condition. But it apparently had not improved. We all went to bed that night hoping and praying he would pull through.

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