Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir (21 page)

As a matter of security, code names were used for all radio communication. To make them easier to remember, each group of people had names beginning with the same letter, and we tried to come up with names that described the individual in some way. Each administration had code names designated beginning with a letter used only for that administration, chosen at random, with no significance. The Eisenhowers had been “S,” while the code names for the Kennedys all began with the letter “L.” JFK was “Lancer,” Mrs. Kennedy was “Lace,” Caroline was “Lyric,” and John was “Lark.”

Not all the Secret Service agents had code names—only the chief, the supervisors on the president’s detail, and those of us with Mrs. Kennedy and the kids. The code names for the Secret Service all began with the letter
D.
Bob Foster on the Kiddie Detail was “Dresser”—because he was always impeccably dressed and took great care with his appearance; Lynn Meredith was “Drummer”—he was the musician in the group. My code name was “Dazzle.” I have no idea who came up with it, or why, but from the time I started on Mrs. Kennedy’s detail, I was “Dazzle” and that remained my code name for the rest of my Secret Service career.

Paul Landis comforts John after a fall

T
HE SUN WAS
shining and the temperature was pleasantly balmy when we landed at Palm Beach International Airport at 7:30
A.M.
, Monday, December 18, after a whirlwind three-day visit to South America and Puerto Rico.

“Look, Jack, your father came to meet us,” Mrs. Kennedy said as she waved out the window.

Ambassador Kennedy was standing on the tarmac, and when he saw
Mrs. Kennedy wave, he broke into a huge smile and waved back. They adored each other and in many ways, I thought the senior Kennedy had a closer, more intellectual connection to his daughter-in-law than to his own daughters.

It was obvious he was the boss, the patriarch of the family. No question about it. His children loved and respected him, and always made the effort to spend time with him whenever possible. All three of his sons frequently went to him for advice and listened to what he had to say. Because there had been a lot of scrutiny surrounding Joe Kennedy’s influence over Jack’s election to the presidency, the ambassador rarely came to the White House. Thus he relished the time he could spend with the president and Mrs. Kennedy at Hyannis Port and Palm Beach.

By the time we hit the ground in Palm Beach, however, President Kennedy was really under the weather. It seemed the pressure from the frequent takeoffs and landings had caused him a great deal of pain in his ears, due to a head cold—and he wanted to go directly to the Paul residence to rest. Dr. George Burkley, the president’s personal physician, had accompanied us to South America, and was concerned enough that an ear, nose, and throat specialist was called to examine him.

When we arrived at the Paul residence, the president went straight to bed. The children were still at the ambassador’s house, and I presumed Mrs. Kennedy would also want to rest.

I was exhausted but remained on duty while Agent Jeffries went to Woody’s Motel to check in. A few hours later, Mrs. Kennedy called down to the command post.

“Mr. Hill, I want to go to Worth Avenue and do some shopping. I haven’t had a chance to do any Christmas shopping, and I’d like to see what is in the stores this season. The press is concerned about the president’s health at the moment, so hopefully no one will pay any attention to me.”

“Okay, Mrs. Kennedy. I’ll get the car ready.”

The spur-of-the-moment shopping trip was typical of her. I knew there was no chance she would go unnoticed, but I sensed that she just wanted to go out and try to be a “normal” person. She knew that Agent Jeffries was not on duty, and I realized that, more and more, she would call me specifically for things, rather than following the protocol of going through Jeffries, who was the Agent in Charge of her protection. It was pretty evident to everybody that she and I had a comfortable rapport, while she and Jeffries just didn’t connect.

We drove to Worth Avenue, and I parked the car on a side street, hoping to at
least avoid immediate attention. I got out, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door for her, taking her hand gently as she stepped out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr. Hill,” she said with a smile. “I do hope I can raise John to be such a gentleman.”

The sun felt good as we walked down Worth Avenue. I stayed close to her to make it appear as if we were a couple, which would look less conspicuous than if she were walking a few steps ahead of me. My eyes, hidden behind dark sunglasses, constantly scanned the other people on the street. At first no one noticed us, and I thought maybe she was right after all.

She stopped in front of a store window and asked, “What do you think of that dress, Mr. Hill?”

It looked like something she would wear, and would look attractive on her tall, slim figure.

“It’s very nice. That color would look great on you. Do you want to go in?”

“Yes, let’s go have a look.”

I opened the door, scanned the store quickly, and then allowed her to walk in ahead of me.

As soon as she walked in, the woman behind the checkout counter dropped whatever she was holding and put her hands up to her mouth, gasping in utter shock. There was a chain reaction, and within seconds, everyone in the store was staring at us—at her.

It’s Jackie!

Oh my God! Jackie Kennedy is in the store!

Mrs. Kennedy tried to ignore the gasps and stares, going from one rack to the next, but soon it became too uncomfortable for her. She grabbed my arm and whispered, “Let’s go.”

We proceeded to walk into a few more shops, but everywhere we went the reaction was the same. Word spread like wildfire and soon there were people gathering on the sidewalk. I felt sorry for her and wished there was something I could do.

It wasn’t long before we were back in the car, headed back to the Paul residence, having got very little shopping done.

President Kennedy was supposed to have flown back to Washington right away to prepare for a critical meeting in Bermuda with Prime Minister Harold Macmillan of the United Kingdom, but because of his severe cold, he decided to stay overnight in Palm Beach.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, the president felt well enough to return to Washington, and the ambassador, never able to get enough time with his son, joined the president in the car for a last-minute chat on the way to the airport.

A short while later, Mrs. Kennedy informed me she wanted to go to the ambassador’s residence.

“The ambassador has gone golfing and I’m going to go swimming with Caroline,” Mrs. Kennedy said.

“I’ll get the car,” I said. Paul Landis came along for Caroline’s protection.

The ambassador’s residence was still well secured, so Paul and I tried to give Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline as much space as possible, while staying within eyesight in case there were any problems.

Not long after we arrived, Ambassador Kennedy returned to the residence.

I knew he couldn’t have finished a round of golf in that time, and he appeared to be walking more slowly than usual, like he was completely worn-out.

He walked toward the house and Mrs. Kennedy called out to him, “You’re home early. Is everything all right?”

“I’m just feeling very tired,” the ambassador said. “I’m going to go upstairs and lie down.”

Shortly after one
P.M.
, Mrs. Kennedy called the command post and said, “Please call an ambulance right away. Something is wrong with Mr. Kennedy.”

An ambulance arrived within several minutes and the president’s father was whisked to St. Mary’s Hospital in Palm Beach.

I could tell Mrs. Kennedy was deeply concerned about her father-in-law. She kept her thoughts to herself, but there was worry written all over her face.

When we got to St. Mary’s Hospital, we were notified that the ambassador had suffered a stroke, a blood clot in the brain. He was partially paralyzed and his speech was severely impaired.

Mrs. Kennedy’s eyes welled with tears as she walked into the ambassador’s hospital room to join Rose Kennedy and his beloved niece Ann Gargan by his bedside.

Mrs. Kennedy stayed in there for nearly an hour, conferring with the doctors. When she came out of the room, I could see the emotional strain on her face, and I sensed that the ambassador’s condition was even worse than she had expected. She looked so incredibly sad, standing there alone, and it pained
me because I knew what a special relationship she had with her father-inlaw. I walked toward her and looked into her eyes. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to reach out and hug her, like I would any friend in a time of need, but I knew it wasn’t appropriate.

“It’s going to be okay, Mrs. Kennedy. It’s going to be okay.”

Her lips quivered as a tear streamed down her face. Closing her eyes, she nodded faintly, but I could tell she didn’t believe it at all.

It was hard for all of us to comprehend how just hours earlier, the ambassador had been a vibrant, energetic seventy-three-year-old man, proudly accompanying his son, the President of the United States, to Air Force One, and now he lay helpless in a hospital bed, completely dependent on the assistance of others. I couldn’t help but think how ironic it was that the president’s severe cold had resulted in his being able to see his father one last time while the ambassador was still fully communicative. Those memories would have to sustain him for the rest of his life.

Life can change in an instant
, I thought.
Just like that. In an instant.

The president had returned to Washington and was now obviously eager to get back to Palm Beach as soon as possible. Unfortunately, a heavy fog had blanketed the area and he was unable to depart for several hours. We were waiting at the hospital when the president; his brother Bobby, the attorney general; and their sister Jean arrived later that evening. None of them said a word as they walked through the corridor of the hospital to their father’s room, but their faces revealed grave concern.

Throughout the evening the president together with his mother, siblings, and Mrs. Kennedy alternated between the ambassador’s hospital room and the hospital chapel. There had been some hopeful moments when it was clear that the ambassador recognized his family members, but he wandered in and out of consciousness. Finally, after midnight, one of the nurses urged everyone to go home and get some sleep, and allow the patient to do the same.

I got back to my room at Woody’s sometime after 1:00
A.M.
It had been an emotionally draining day for everyone, and I should have been able to sleep, but somehow sleep evaded me. I kept seeing Mrs. Kennedy’s sad eyes in my mind, and feeling like I should have been able to do something to ease her pain.

The next day, it was back to the hospital, as the rest of the Kennedy children arrived one by one. Another long, emotional day.

In the days that followed, Ambassador Kennedy’s condition did not improve a great deal. The president and Mrs. Kennedy visited him daily, with stops at
St. Ann’s Church or the chapel at St. Mary’s in between. The responsibilities of the president do not cease during periods of personal crisis, however, and on Thursday, December 21, President Kennedy flew to Bermuda to meet with Prime Minister Macmillan, as previously planned. He remained in Bermuda overnight, returning to Palm Beach on Friday, December 22.

While the president was away, I was in the Secret Service Command Post at the Paul residence when a call came through the switchboard.

“Call for Mr. Hill,” said the switchboard operator.

While all calls to the president or Mrs. Kennedy went through the switchboard, Mrs. Kennedy had requested that calls from certain people go through me.

“This is Clint Hill,” I said.

“Mr. Sinatra on the line for you, Mr. Hill.” I had anticipated he would call.

“Put him through,” I said.

“Hi, Clint. It’s Frank.”

“Hello, Mr. Sinatra, what can I do for you?”

“I heard the terrible news about the ambassador and I wanted to see how Jackie is doing. Is she there?”

“No, she isn’t available now,” I said. The same thing I always said.