Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir (28 page)

I gritted my teeth to keep from yelling out in pain, as the president immediately raised the sail and turned the tiller.

The boat began drifting away.

“Thanks, Clint!” the president called back to me, completely unaware of what had just occurred under the water.

“No problem, sir,” I replied. “Glad I was able to help.”

I walked gingerly through the water back to the jetboat, and as I climbed over the side, I noticed blood running down my legs. I had almost crushed a very important part of my anatomy. Pained and bloody, I continued on for the rest of the day.

I was completely unaware that Cecil Stoughton, one of the White House photographers, happened to catch the ordeal on film, and apparently word got back to the president that I had been injured. A few days later I received an 8x10 photo of the president and Chuck Spalding standing on the
Victura
as I waded through the water toward the stuck boat. The president had signed the photo with the inscription:

For Clint Hill

“The Secret Service are prepared for all hazards”

John F. Kennedy

It was a very nice gesture, and that photo is a treasured memento. The
Victura
and her passengers were unharmed, and while I did walk a bit funny for the next couple of days, I healed without any permanent damage.

It was easy to see why the Kennedys loved Hyannis Port so much. It was quaint and comfortable, and despite the big houses on the ocean with the boats and yachts, it was unpretentious. The Kiddie Detail agents—Bob Foster, Lynn Meredith, and Paul Landis—and I were there the entire time, and we really began to feel like part of the family. If things needed to be hauled onto the boat, we’d grab the baskets of food or towels or whatever needed to be brought aboard. There always seemed to be dozens of children around, and they all knew us by name—it was always “Mr. Hill” or “Mr. Landis.” I often wondered if the younger ones thought we were just a few more uncles. Every Friday afternoon the president would arrive in the helicopter, with even more Secret Service agents, and more activity, and then by Monday morning he would return to Washington and we would return to our more casual routine. Summer in Hyannis Port was a very special time.

Clint Hill holds John, watching Mummy and Daddy aboard the
Marlin

In between the constant activity, I was working with Mrs. Kennedy and Secret Service headquarters on plans for her upcoming trip to Italy. Once again I needed to assemble a team of agents to handle the advance, perimeter coverage, vehicles, travel arrangements, and boats, as well as to assist with the personal security coverage of both Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline.

When President Kennedy was in Hyannis Port, he tried to spend as much
time with John and Caroline as possible, even though so many others were always vying for his attention. Caroline was now four and a half years old and the president seemed to want to share his passions with her more and more. They had a very close father-daughter relationship and it was precious to see the two of them together. The Saturday prior to our departure for Italy, President Kennedy spent all morning with Caroline. He took her to Hyannis Country Club to watch the golfers tee off, shopped in the pro shop, and then, walking hand in hand, they went to visit the ambassador at his residence. Because we had secured the perimeter of the property, the Secret Service agents tried to give the president and his family as much space as possible when they were on the compound.

As was typical, a lunchtime cruise was planned aboard the ambassador’s yacht, the
Marlin.
I was down on the dock with a couple of the Navy aides getting the jetboats ready when the president came walking down with Caroline.

His tan had deepened after spending so much time outdoors, and dressed in a golf shirt, trousers, and sunglasses, he looked like any other father with his daughter out here on the Cape. Sometimes in this casual environment you could almost forget he was the President of the United States.

“Clint,” he said as he walked toward me, “Mrs. Kennedy will be coming out shortly with my father to go on the
Marlin.
But first, I’m going to take Caroline for a short sail on the
Victura.
Just hang close and when I give you the signal, you can come pick us up and take us to the
Marlin.
”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” I answered.

Once Caroline and the president were on the small sailboat, the Navy aides untied the dock lines and gave the boat a push-off. As I watched the president hoist the mainsail, I could see the pleasure he took in this simple, hands-on task. Aboard the
Victura
was one of the few places where the president could fully relax, his direction determined solely by the wind.

They sailed gently away from the dock and from a distance I could tell that the president was explaining to his four-year-old daughter how the sailboat worked—how to trim the sails to take full advantage of the wind, how to manage the tiller. He was so intent on sharing his love of sailing with her, and she just adored him.

After they had sailed for a while the president pulled in the sail, dropped the anchor near shore, and signaled for me to come pick them up.

I sped over and tied the jetboat loosely to the sailboat for the transfer. I stood up and the president said, “Okay, Buttons, I’m going to hand you to Mr. Hill.”

The president picked up his daughter and held her toward me. I grabbed her firmly by the waist and said, “Okay, Mr. President, I’ve got her.”

Transferring kids and dogs from one boat to another seemed to be a constant activity itself, and Caroline knew the routine. As the president stepped into the boat with us I said, “I was watching you, Caroline. You did a good job with that sailboat.”

She looked up at me with her big blue eyes and grinned. “Thank you, Mr. Hill. But my daddy did most of the work.”

The president and I looked at each other and laughed.

It was a beautiful day on the waters off Cape Cod, as the president, Caroline, and I sped off to join Mrs. Kennedy and the ambassador on the
Marlin
for lunch.

“Clint,” President Kennedy said to me, “I wanted to mention a few things to you before you leave for Italy.”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“You know we aren’t sending staff over with Mrs. Kennedy to handle the press, but obviously there are going to be photographers there and they will be constantly trying to get pictures of her.”

“Yes, sir. Unfortunately that seems to be the case no matter where we go.”

“The beach is not secluded and I don’t want to see photos of her at luncheons with eight different wines in full view or jet-set types lolling around in bikinis. Do what you can to remind her to be aware of that.”

“I’ll do what I can, Mr. President.”

“Jackie has invited Benno Graziani and his wife, Nicole, to stay with her and Lee in Ravello,” President Kennedy continued. “Benno is a lot of fun, but he’s always got his camera in his hand.”

The Italian Graziani had become good friends with Mrs. Kennedy prior to her marriage, when she was a photojournalist for the
Washington Times Herald
, and now he had become a well-known photographer for
Paris Match
magazine.

“Do not let Benno talk Lee and Jackie into letting him take pictures for the magazine,” the president said emphatically. “And above all, no nightclub pictures.”

I had met Benno Graziani several times before. He
was
a lot of fun—always clowning around—and I think he was a relief from the political types that dominated their circle of friends. He was one of the few people with whom Mrs. Kennedy let her guard down, and because they had known each other prior to her becoming the wife of John F. Kennedy, she trusted him.

About this time we reached the
Marlin
, and transferred the president and
Caroline into the bigger yacht from the jetboat. As I slowly pulled away, the president’s words played over and over in my head and I realized that while he wouldn’t be joining his wife on this holiday, he was going to be aware of everything she did. With no other staff or press people on the trip, it was clear that he was counting on me to protect Mrs. Kennedy’s image as well as her physical safety.

Clint Hill leads Mrs. Kennedy through the constant crowds in Italy

O
n August 8, 1962, Mrs. Kennedy, Caroline, Provi, and I departed from New York’s Idlewild Airport on a Pan American World Airways regularly scheduled overnight commercial flight for Rome. The excellent relationship that the White House transportation office and the Secret Service had with the major airlines enabled me to handpick most of the Pan Am crew. There were certain pilots and stewardesses we had flown with before who we trusted to provide not only reliable service but also a confidential environment. Mrs. Kennedy attracted so much attention wherever she went that the last thing I wanted was to have passengers and crew members bothering her on the flight.
For additional privacy and comfort, we had reserved extra seats in the first-class section so that Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline could lie down across four seats. Provi and I sat across the aisle in our own first-class seats, both of us appreciative of the fact that we could never afford to travel like this on our own. There were certainly fringe benefits to our jobs.

We landed in Rome early the next morning and boarded a privately chartered aircraft for the short flight to Salerno. Agent Paul Rundle was there to greet us, along with Prince and Princess Radziwill, a group of cars, a police escort, and, thank God, no press in sight.

Ravello was only about a ten-mile drive from Salerno, but that was an adventure in and of itself over hazardous hairpin-turn roads high atop the cliffs along the Amalfi coast. There were stretches in the road where only a single car could pass, and even though the Italian police had blocked off the route to normal traffic for our arrival, it was still a nail-biter of a ride, as one minor swerve would send you careening into the sea below. The views were spectacular, however, with colorful stucco villas terraced into the steep and rugged terrain, with the sparkling acqua water below. Mrs. Kennedy loved it.