Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir (40 page)

This was now the seventh house the Kennedys had occupied on a regular basis, outside the White House, in the two and a half years since Kennedy was elected. So once again the Secret Service and the White House Communications Agency had installed the extensive communications and surveillance equipment to ensure the security of the president and his family while in residence. A semipermanent trailer was placed at the base of the driveway to serve as the Secret Service Command Center and secretarial office. It had everything we needed—radios, telephones, and a typewriter to write up our daily reports—but unfortunately, not even a hint of an ocean view.

Once President Kennedy returned from Europe, he began the usual summer schedule in which he arrived at Hyannis Port on Friday afternoons, and left Monday mornings. There was always such a hubbub of activity during the weekends that when the president and his entourage left, the atmosphere during the week would return to a much slower, relaxed pace. Mrs. Kennedy continued to walk regularly, and often we would walk together from Brambletyde to the ambassador’s residence, where she would visit with her father-in-law on the porch—sometimes for hours at a time. He couldn’t speak, but you could
see the joy in his eyes as she chatted away, or read aloud from magazines and newspapers.

She didn’t want to be seen in public at this time, so she would frequently send me to Lorania’s Toy & Book Shop in Hyannis to buy candy or inexpensive toys for the children. She’d give me a list of things and then, as I was walking out the door, she would add, “Oh, and Mr. Hill, why don’t you pick up a few magazines for me while you’re there, too.”

I knew what she meant. She loved to read the tabloids—especially if there were articles or photos of her in them—but she certainly didn’t want anyone to see her buying them.

Other than quiet outings, Mrs. Kennedy spent a great deal of time secluded in her upstairs bedroom and adjoining office, from which she could hear the sound of the waves, and look out to the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. She was spending a lot of time doing early planning of events for fall entertaining at the White House, and was consumed with preparations for the baby. Chief Usher J. B. West had been given instructions on transforming a small room in the private residence into the new nursery, using John’s white crib, and adding some new drapes and a new rug.

This was the first year her personal secretary, Mary Gallagher, had come up to the Cape for the entire summer, and Mrs. Kennedy kept her busy with dictation, correspondence, and detailed requests to J. B. West, Oleg Cassini, and Nancy Tuckerman, who was now handling the social side of things. Provi was there, of course, and Paul Landis and I worked closely with both her and Mary to ensure that the things Mrs. Kennedy requested were accomplished. We, along with the White House switchboard operators, became experts in locating people with whom Mrs. Kennedy wanted to speak, wherever they were. Everybody’s joint mission was to keep the first lady happy, and to keep anxiety levels to a minimum.

T
HE BABY WAS
due in September, and while Mrs. Kennedy planned to return to Washington to deliver the baby by Caesarean section at Walter Reed Army Hospital, we had to have an alternate plan in case of an emergency while we were at the Cape. A representative from the Boston Secret Service office and I accompanied Drs. John Walsh and Janet Travell to visit the various hospitals in the Hyannis Port area, and we determined that Otis Air Force Base Hospital, which was less than twenty miles from Hyannis Port, was the best option in terms of proximity, security, and facilities. As one final precaution, Dr. Walsh
agreed to stay in Hyannis Port for the duration of the summer so that he could assist Mrs. Kennedy with any problems.

July 28, 1963, was Mrs. Kennedy’s thirty-fourth birthday, and she was adamant that it be celebrated in a low-key way. There was the standard noontime cruise on the
Honey Fitz,
and then a quiet family dinner that evening at Brambletyde. Quite different from the wild celebration on the
Sequoia
for President Kennedy’s birthday in May, but that’s what she wanted.

Mrs. Kennedy on the
Honey Fitz,
Hyannis Port, July 1963

During this extended period of time at Squaw Island, Agent Landis and I managed to arrange our schedule so that we could each have a day off every week. The weekends were filled with a flurry of activities when the president was in residence, but during the week, as long as one agent on duty worked a sixteen-hour day, the other could have the day off. It was a real treat to have an entire day completely to ourselves.

Wednesday, August 7, 1963, happened to be my designated day off.

Caroline, who was now five years old, had a riding lesson scheduled that morning, and Mrs. Kennedy decided to go along and watch, as she often did. So Paul Landis drove Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline to the stables, while Agent Lynn Meredith from the Kiddie Detail followed in a separate car.

Shortly after they arrived at the farm, Mrs. Kennedy was standing by the fence outside the riding ring. Suddenly, she turned to Paul.

“Mr. Landis, I don’t feel well. I think you better take me back to the house.”

“Of course, Mrs. Kennedy,” Paul said.

Agent Meredith was standing nearby, but before Paul could tell him what was going on, Mrs. Kennedy said, “
Right now
, Mr. Landis.”

There was no doubting her sense of urgency so Paul got Meredith’s attention and said, “I’m taking Mrs. Kennedy back to Squaw Island. You stay here and take care of Caroline.”

As Paul helped Mrs. Kennedy into the backseat of the car, she got a worried look on her face, and repeated, “We better hurry, Mr. Landis.”

As soon as they pulled away, Paul radioed the command center.

George Dalton, an assistant to the president’s naval aide, who worked closely with us at Hyannis Port, was on duty in the Secret Service trailer.

“George,” Paul said. “I’m bringing Mrs. Kennedy back to the house. Get Dr. Walsh to come immediately, and put a helicopter on standby.” He looked over at Mrs. Kennedy and added, “And call Clint. Tell him we’ve got an emergency.”

The two-lane country road back to Hyannis Port was filled with dips and bumps, and Paul was driving as fast as he felt he could without causing Mrs. Kennedy any discomfort, but she kept urging him to go faster.

“Mr. Landis, please go a little faster.
Please
go faster!”

As Paul sped up to eighty miles per hour on the windy, bumpy road, he thought,
Please God, don’t let her have this baby in the car. Please let me get to the house in time.

Fortunately, as Paul pulled into the driveway at Brambletyde, Dr. Walsh was just arriving. They helped Mrs. Kennedy inside and after a brief examination, Dr. Walsh said, “We need to get her to the hospital right away.”

I
HAD RENTED
a tiny cottage on the other side of Hyannis Port for the summer and was sound asleep when the phone rang. It was George Dalton.

“Clint,” George said, “Mrs. Kennedy is going into labor. You better get over here.”

Oh God. The baby isn’t due for another five weeks. She can’t have the baby now, it’s too early.

I got dressed as fast as I could, grabbed my commission book and my revolver, and just as I was walking out the door, the phone rang again.

“Clint, they’re taking the helicopter to Otis.”

Oh God.

“Okay. I’ll meet them there.”

As I raced to Otis, I radioed the Secret Service Command Center and told them to contact SAIC Behn’s office at the White House. The president needed to know his wife was about to have the baby.

It was about a ten-minute flight to Otis Air Force Base, and normally a twenty-five-minute drive. I arrived just as the helicopter was landing.

As soon as I saw Mrs. Kennedy, I could tell she was deeply worried.

“It’s going to be okay, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, as we rushed her into the special wing that had been prepared just for such an emergency. I placed my hand on her arm and tried to reassure her with my eyes, but we both knew what the other was thinking.

Please God,
I prayed,
please let the baby be all right.

As Mrs. Kennedy went into emergency surgery, Agent Landis immediately took control of the security around the hospital wing, while I waited outside the operating room.

I tried to keep my mind occupied by thinking about everything that needed to be arranged in the aftermath of the delivery:
Who needs to be contacted? What will she need and want from the house? How do we keep the damn press away?

I found myself pacing back and forth, as if I were the expectant father, just as I had done when John was born two and a half years earlier.

So much had changed in those two and a half years. At that time, I had just met her a few weeks earlier. Now we were so close, and had spent so much time together, we could practically read each other’s minds. I knew how much this baby meant to her, and I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her, or to the child.

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.”

T
HE 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.