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

The three-hour shore visit was capped off with Turkish coffee in a private reception room, and then we were back to the Christina via the Hacker tenders.

I was relieved this little sojourn was over, but I also realized this was probably how it was going to be wherever we went. Too many people, too little time for preparation, too many of them, too few of us. At least when we were aboard the Christina, there were no unknown outside influences.

We traveled through the night in heavy rain through the Dardanelles, down the coast of Turkey, and anchored off the coast of Lesbos. By morning the storm had passed, and Mrs. Kennedy went for a swim in the crystal clear sea. A short time later we were moving again, this time on the way to Crete, some three hundred miles away. Everybody was in a relaxed mood, and the daylight hours on board were spent sunbathing, reading, and enjoying lively conversation. Mrs. Kennedy spent most of the time chatting with her sister and Princess Irene.

Onassis kept largely to himself in his suite near the bridge. I spent a lot of time on the bridge with the captain, and it seemed that Onassis was constantly on the phone. I couldn’t understand a word he said, but even through the closed door, you could tell that he was rattling off orders to somebody. He would emerge for lunch and then again at cocktail hour, and would intermittently be on the phone barking orders and spending time with his guests, paying no more attention to Mrs. Kennedy than to anyone else.

We arrived in Crete under a cloudless sky and blazing sun. Mrs. Kennedy wanted to tour the Palace of Knossos, so I quickly went ahead to make arrangements. Viewing the frescoes and exploring the ruins of this ancient Minoan civilization, Mrs. Kennedy listened intently to our personal tour guide, and barraged her with questions. It was clear that Mrs. Kennedy knew much about the history already.

About halfway through the cruise, Mrs. Kennedy said she needed to talk to me. We went to the top of the ship near the smokestack for absolute privacy.

“Mr. Hill, I know I told you that King Hassan of Morocco, when he was our guest last spring, had extended an invitation to me to visit Marrakech. I’ve decided to take him up on it. I have already cleared it with the president and we will be going directly there from Athens.”

So now we were adding Morocco to the itinerary. One thing was for sure—Mrs. Kennedy made life interesting.

“That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Kennedy. Have any flights or other arrangements been made?”

“Oh, yes. You won’t have to worry about that at all. King Hassan is sending his personal plane to pick us up in Athens and take us straight to Marrakech. So you see, it won’t be any problem at all.”

I laughed. “No, Mrs. Kennedy, it won’t be any problem at all.”

“I think Pierre is going to announce it to the press in a day or two but I wanted to make sure you knew so you can do the things you have to do—but I don’t want anyone else to know. Only Lee knows and I’ll tell Provi as we get closer to leaving.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

I understood that she didn’t want anyone else on the boat to know where she was going once we got off the yacht in Athens. And there was good reason. There was an ongoing border clash between Algeria and Morocco that had escalated very recently. I knew that if she had cleared the trip with the president, he was monitoring the situation closely. But I needed to get Ken Giannoules on a plane to Marrakech as soon as possible.

“Are you enjoying the cruise so far?” I asked.

“It’s been wonderful, really a dream come true. I hope you and Mr. Landis are enjoying yourselves.”

“Yes, we are having a good time,” I replied. “The Christina really is rather impressive,” I said with a grin. “And you know, I am not easily impressed.”

“Yes, Mr. Hill. I know,” she said with a smile. She stood up and said, “Come, join us for hors d’oeuvres. We’re not going off the yacht tonight, so you can relax. Tomorrow we’re going to Levkas, and Mr. Onassis’s private island, called Skorpios.”

I HAD HEARD that Onassis owned his own island. Who the hell owns their own island? Located in the Ionian Islands, west of mainland Greece, Skorpios was about four and a half miles in circumference, and covered with lovely pine, cypress, and olive trees. It was extremely private, and offered absolute seclusion. We stopped for a swim and walked around the island, but Mrs. Kennedy was eager to return to the yacht and move on to see more historic sights.

We headed back to Glyfada near Athens, stopping at Delphi on the way to see the famous temple of the Oracle of Delphi. As we approached the point of anchorage in the Bay of Glyfada, Onassis decided he wanted to take Mrs. Kennedy and the rest of the party to one of his favorite places. Cars and security had to be arranged, so I contacted the Greek national at the State Department—a guy named Greg—who had been so helpful throughout the trip, and went ashore ahead of the party to get everything set.

Paul remained with Mrs. Kennedy, and once I had everything arranged, he got into one of the Hacker tenders with her, as Onassis took the helm. I had the cars and drivers waiting at our predetermined spot and watched as the boat headed toward me. Suddenly the boat turned sharply, increased speed, and started racing down the coast.

“Goddammit! What the hell is he doing?!” I yelled.

Greg was standing nearby, watching the same thing. He said something in Greek to the drivers, and said, “Clint, get in. Let’s go!”

I jumped into one of the cars and we raced down the coast. He had a pretty good idea where Onassis was going. We arrived at a point and parked the cars, just as the tender came into sight.

Onassis pulled the boat to the dock where we were standing waiting, and glared at me. His normally tanned complexion had gone pale, and he looked like he had just lost the biggest battle of his life. We had outsmarted him and he did not like it one bit.

Paul had a big smile on his face. “Way to go, Clint,” he whispered.

Without the help of Greg and the knowledge of the drivers, I would have been left standing at the seaside wondering where to go. They made me look good. I made sure they knew that and thanked them profusely.

Mrs. Kennedy approached the car and as she got in, she said in a low voice, “Nice save, Mr. Hill.” That was all the thanks I needed. Outsmarting Onassis was a real pleasure.

We remained overnight on the Christina, preparing for our departure for Marrakech the following day.

The next morning, we bade our host a hearty thank-you and good-bye. Onassis gave Mrs. Kennedy and Lee some parting gifts of expensive jewelry to remember the trip, while Paul and I left with nothing but our memories of being on one of the most incredible yachts in the world, and the satisfaction of having helped Mrs. Kennedy have a trip of a lifetime, without incident.

We went straight to the Athens airport and boarded the Royal Moroccan aircraft King Hassan had sent for Mrs. Kennedy. The Caravelle jet, which could hold eighty to one hundred passengers, was all ours—just Lee, Provi, Paul Landis, Mrs. Kennedy, and me. We were on our way to the next adventure.

KEN GIANNOULES HAD gone to Marrakech several days earlier to advance Mrs. Kennedy’s visit to Morocco. It was not an official visit and even though it had been announced to the press, there was no formal motorcade planned. Still, it was clear the people of Morocco were thrilled to have the first lady of the United States as a guest, and the reception was enthusiastic. Once again we witnessed Mrs. Kennedy’s international popularity. Women in long black robes and veils called out with their unique shrill shriek of welcome.