Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

7

A Summer in Hyannis Port

President and Mrs. Kennedy leave church in Hyannis Port, escorted by Clint Hill (right)

In the seven months since I had been assigned to Mrs. Kennedy, I had spent eighty percent of the time away from Washington, D.C., and from my family. Palm Beach, Middleburg, Paris, Greece. Now I had to tell my wife, who was pregnant with our second child, that I would be gone all summer, with Mrs. Kennedy, in Hyannis Port. This did not go over well.

I had come to realize that the Kennedy family had a regular routine when it came to holidays. Christmas, New Year’s, and Easter were always in Palm Beach; May 29, the president’s birthday, was usually celebrated in Hyannis Port, marking the beginning of the summer; Labor Day weekend was often spent at Hammersmith Farm in Newport, Rhode Island, the home of Jacqueline Kennedy’s mother and stepfather; then, Thanksgiving it was back to Hyannis Port.

The summer months were all about Hyannis Port. For the extended Kennedy family, this was home, and this was where all the activity took place. And boy was there activity. Rose and Joe, their children, and God knows how many grandchildren—the number was always rising—were gathered together, and there was always something going on. Touch football, waterskiing, swimming, tennis, golf, sailing. I had never seen such a close family, or a family with so much energy and competitiveness. Their laughter and cohesiveness was contagious, and there I was, right in the middle of it all.

Hyannis Port is a sleepy village on the south side of Cape Cod, about seventy miles from Boston. President Kennedy’s father owned a large, rambling, white shingled house that was the centerpiece for the family’s gatherings. Located at the very end of Marchant Avenue, overlooking the entrance to Lewis Bay off Nantucket Sound, the home was three stories, plus a lower basement level that opened to the expansive lawn leading down to the beach. A covered porch wrapped around the house from the front door to the ocean side of the house, providing an outdoor living area with a great view of the frequent family football games, sailing, and beach activities. There was a circular driveway with a tall flagpole in the middle, where the American flag was proudly displayed, constantly flapping with the ocean breeze. When the president was in residence, the presidential flag was also raised. Alongside the driveway was a large, flat piece of lawn that was ideal for landing the presidential helicopter.

Ambassador Kennedy residence, Hyannis Port

Just behind the main house was a smaller—yet still quite large—Cape Cod–style gray shaker home that belonged to Bobby Kennedy, his wife, Ethel, and their seven children. Backing up to Bobby’s house was the president and Mrs. Kennedy’s house—smaller, yet in the same style as Bobby’s house. Next door to JFK’s house was the Shriver home, which belonged to the president’s sister, Eunice Kennedy Shriver, her husband, Sargent “Sarge” Shriver, and their three children. The four houses all backed up to each other, and the kids of all the families were constantly running from one house to another. Jointly the properties became known as the “Kennedy Compound.”

My first visit to Hyannis Port was on June 30, 1961, which was Mrs. Kennedy’s first trip there since becoming first lady. The agents had been notified that Hyannis Port would be designated as the “Summer White House” because President Kennedy planned to spend nearly every weekend there during the summer months. Like the residences in Palm Beach and Middleburg, the Secret Service had to set up semipermanent security for the frequent comings and goings of the president and his family, and the agents had to find accommodation that fit our budgets.

The press set up headquarters at the Yachtsman Motor Inn and someone found a group of small cottages nearby that the agents got together and rented for the summer. We shared expenses and chores—it was kind of like summer camp with shared bathrooms and bedrooms. We had to make do on our twelve-dollar per diem, so we all chipped in on food and other necessary items to make our money go as far as possible. Having grown up during wartime, we all had similar values and strived to live within our means. Fortunately, a couple of the agents were good cooks and would make home-style meals, leaving leftovers in the fridge for the on-duty agents. We all worked as a team, whether on duty or off.

The First Lady’s Detail was provided two cars—a Lincoln convertible and a Mercury station wagon—so as one of the two agents assigned to Mrs. Kennedy I had the luxury of an automobile at my disposal most of the time. One car would be used to transport Mrs. Kennedy and the other was used as a security car or transportation for advance assignments in the area. The agent going to the compound early in the morning would take the car to be used by Mrs. Kennedy so that vehicle was available throughout the day, while the other car was shared getting agents to and from the compound and other necessary errands and assignments.

We set up the Secret Service Command Post in a little guest cottage between Bobby’s and the president’s house. I’ll never forget that first Fourth of July weekend, when President Kennedy brought the agents several cartons of clam chowder from Mildred’s Chowder House. I had never had clam chowder before—there wasn’t a whole lot of seafood in North Dakota—but from the first taste, I realized why the president loved it. The creamy soup was loaded with fresh clams with a hint of bacon and potato chunks, and on a cold, damp afternoon, nothing tasted better. From that point on, Mildred’s chowder became a dietary staple for the Secret Service agents in Hyannis Port.

After the Fourth of July holiday weekend, the activity for the rest of the summer was fairly predictable. From noon Mondays to noon Fridays, the president would be in Washington, while Mrs. Kennedy, John, and Caroline stayed in Hyannis Port. Mrs. Kennedy would spend part of each day doing some kind of physical activity—usually playing tennis or waterskiing. Much of the rest of the time, she’d be in her house on the phone with her staff arranging future White House events, or following up on fund-raising and specific antiques for the White House renovation project she had initiated.

Mrs. Kennedy had the company of her sisters-in-law at Hyannis Port, and while she was closest to Jean Kennedy Smith, her husband’s youngest sister, she got along well with all the Kennedy women. There was a beautiful, well-maintained tennis court behind Ambassador Kennedy’s house, where I spent many hours watching the Kennedy women compete. Mrs. Kennedy most frequently played singles with Jean, but often there would be doubles matches with Eunice and Ethel, Bobby’s wife. The Kennedy sisters were fiercely competitive, but Ethel beat them all in terms of her desire to win. The competitive nature of the family seemed to annoy Mrs. Kennedy at times, but she did her best to hide it. She was much more relaxed and happy while playing for fun or exercise. She was not a blood-and-guts player hoping to leave her competition completely annihilated on the courts, as some of the ladies were. She loved the give-and-take of long volleys and the way strenuous exercise gets your heart pumping and your blood flowing.

On the water, Mrs. Kennedy was a daring water-skier and excellent swimmer. Jim Bartlett, a U.S. Navy enlisted man, took care of the boats the Navy provided for us to use in water sports. We used jetboats as security patrol units and Jim drove one of them as the tow for Mrs. Kennedy’s waterskiing adventures, while I’d ride in the back, ready to jump in should she require assistance. Truth be told she was a far better swimmer than me. In those days, water-skiers didn’t wear life jackets, and at the time, I had had no in-water lifesaving training. It wasn’t until partway through the Kennedy administration that someone realized, with all the time the first family spent in the water, the agents protecting them should probably be capable of saving someone if they were drowning. Fortunately, the Kennedys all seemed to be born with gills, and we never had any incidents that caused concern.

Mrs. Kennedy loved to slalom water-ski and was always seeking a partner to ski in tandem. One day we were out in the boat on a beautiful sunny day, when the waters were fairly calm. We were in the back of the boat—both of us in our bathing suits—when she turned to me with a glint in her eyes and said, “Mr. Hill, why don’t you ski with me? It would be a lot of fun.”

I had never been on water skis in my life and when I had seen her water-ski in Greece, it was the first time I’d ever seen this sport in person.

“Mrs. Kennedy, I hate to tell you, but I have never water-skied before.”

She looked at me incredulously. “Oh my goodness, I thought everyone water-skied.”

She was dead serious. I laughed and said, “There wasn’t a lot of water for such activities where I grew up, but after watching you, I really would like to learn.”

At the helm, Jim Bartlett was snickering, trying to pretend not to listen to our conversation. Mrs. Kennedy turned to him and said, “Mr. Bartlett will help you learn, won’t you Mr. Bartlett?”

Grinning, Jim said, “Well, I’m not sure that Clint is teachable, Mrs. Kennedy, but I’ll certainly give it a try.”

With that I became the student and Jim Bartlett became the instructor. After I was off duty for the day, Jim and I practiced and practiced. My first attempts were disastrous. Mrs. Kennedy made it look so easy, I had thought for sure I’d pop right up out of the water just as she did. When Jim put the boat in gear, however, instead of being pulled upright, I fell forward and ended up holding on to the rope for dear life, being dragged on my stomach, as the salt water hit my face like a fire hose. My feet came out of the skis, and when I finally let go of the rope, it was all I could do to tread water before Jim came around to pick me up. I wasn’t about to give up so I tried it again and again, but still I was unable to get up on the water and glide along like I’d seen Mrs. Kennedy do—and she did it on one ski. It was humiliating. Fortunately, Mrs. Kennedy was not a witness to my learning experience.

Jim had been patient for a long while, starting the boat, then stopping and coming back around when I let go of the rope and slapped down in the water, my arms flailing as I tried to remain afloat, with the skis feeling like awkward, heavy appendages. Finally, his frustration started to show.

“Clint, damn it! Keep the tips of the skis above the waterline when you start, or you’re going straight to the bottom.”

Somehow, something finally clicked. It was a great moment when I finally got the gist of it, popped up out of the water, with my two skis gliding along behind the jet boat.

“Way to go, Clint!” Jim yelled from the boat.

“Yee ha!” I yelled as I edged in my skis and cut across the wake, the speed picking up dramatically as Jim turned the boat. I loved the feel of the wind on my face, the adrenaline pumping through my body as we sped around the cove. It was thrilling. I couldn’t stop smiling. Now I understood why Mrs. Kennedy enjoyed it so much. It was just plain fun.

The next time we went out, I attempted to ski on one ski. I assumed that since I’d mastered two skis, getting up on one would be no problem. Wrong again. Poor Jim Bartlett. He was so patient with me, working overtime trying to teach a Secret Service agent to water-ski. I finally managed to get up on one ski and was able to hold my own.

I tandem skied with Mrs. Kennedy several times, but I was no match for her. I fell far more frequently than she did and I finally told her that, as the person responsible for her protection, I was probably better off staying in the boat. I sure as hell didn’t want to get in a situation where she had to come rescue me.

Every so often Ethel would come and ski with Mrs. Kennedy, and on one occasion the astronaut John Glenn skied in tandem with her, as the president—and the press—watched with delight. But usually, when we were water-skiing in Hyannis Port, it was just Jim, Mrs. Kennedy, and me.

During the weekdays when the president was in Washington, Mrs. Kennedy spent a considerable amount of time with Ambassador Kennedy, the president’s father, who was then seventy-two years old. Joseph P. Kennedy had been the U.S. ambassador to Great Britain during Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s administration, and while he no longer served in that capacity, as is customary, he was still referred to as “Ambassador.” He was a jovial man, with a great smile, and while he had plenty of enemies, he and Jacqueline Kennedy had a tremendous fondness for each other, a special relationship of mutual respect and admiration. They would spend hours sitting on the big porch of the ambassador’s residence talking and laughing, just the two of them.

On noon Friday, the whole routine changed. For the next forty-eight hours, activity on the compound was at its maximum. Almost like clockwork, President Kennedy would arrive at Otis Air Force Base on Air Force One. From there he would transfer to an Army or Marine helicopter—military green with a white top denoting it was a presidential chopper—and fly to Hyannis Port, landing in the front yard of Ambassador Kennedy’s residence.

The helicopter arrival was a huge event for the children. What a thrill to have a helicopter land at Grandpa’s house! They also knew what would happen next. The kids would all come running when they heard the distinctive sound of the rotors getting louder and louder overhead. We would have a golf cart waiting in the driveway. As soon as the chopper touched down, the door would open and the president would bound down the steps. Caroline would be first in line, followed by all her cousins, running to meet him. President Kennedy would be laughing, a look of sheer joy on his face, as if the sight of the children and his beloved Hyannis Port made all the worries of his office disappear for one brief moment. He would stride straight to the golf cart, hop behind the wheel, and yell, “Anyone for ice cream?”

“Yay! Ice cream!” the kids would yell, as they piled onto the golf cart around him. There might be ten or twelve piled onto that cart, sitting, standing, hanging off the sides. The president would take off down the driveway, a huge grin on his face, and cut across the lawn behind Bobby’s house, toward his house, in an effort to lose the Secret Service follow-up car. He’d end up in the driveway of his own house, which fed onto Irving Avenue, hang a right, and then a left onto Longwood.

You could hear the kids screaming, “Go faster! Go faster!” from two blocks away.

At the corner of Longwood and Wachusett Avenue, next door to the post office, there was a tiny news store that had ice cream and candy. Everybody would pile out and order their ice-cream cones.

President and Mrs. Kennedy on the Marlin, Hyannis Port

Saturday meant going aboard the Marlin, Ambassador Kennedy’s personal yacht, for lunchtime cruises. The fifty-two-foot motor yacht was just large enough to accommodate the president, Mrs. Kennedy, a few guests, a small crew, and a couple of Secret Service agents. Lunch meant clam chowder or fish chowder, from a favorite family recipe made by the Kennedys’ cook. The aroma drove me crazy, and the whole time I was out on the boat, I’d be hoping one of the agents had gone to Mildred’s that day and there’d be some leftover chowder in the fridge at the cottage for my dinner.

We would put a security perimeter around the yacht, consisting of one or two Coast Guard boats and two Navy jetboats, all operated by military personnel under the direction of Secret Service agents on board. I always worked one of the speedy jetboats with Jim Bartlett at the helm ready to intercept someone when necessary or to take Mrs. Kennedy water-skiing if she so desired. The press would usually have a charter boat of their own, to follow and observe the presidential party. We kept them outside the security perimeter, much to their dismay.

JUST PRIOR TO that first trip to Hyannis Port, shortly after Mrs. Kennedy and I returned from Greece, Mrs. Kennedy was taking her usual morning walk on the oval driveway on the White House south grounds. As always, I was in close enough proximity in case anything were to happen, yet trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. She had been walking in silence, as she often did, her pace brisk, her head held high and her posture erect. When she was silent like this, I knew she had something on her mind that she was trying to sort out. Suddenly she stopped and turned to me with a look of excitement in her eyes, like she’d just come up with a brilliant idea.

“Mr. Hill?” she asked. “Do you know if there has ever been a state dinner held away from the White House?”

The question took me by surprise. I could practically see the wheels spinning inside her head.

“I don’t know for sure, Mrs. Kennedy. Why do you ask?”

“Say we were to have a state dinner somewhere like Mount Vernon—would that be an issue for the Secret Service?”

“I don’t see that it would be a problem from our perspective. It would require some advance planning, but we would do everything we could to secure the area and make the location as safe as having a function on the White House grounds.”

“Oh good,” she said, with excitement in her voice. “The dinner that President de Gaulle held for us at Versailles was so magical, I have been trying to think where we could do something just as special. I think George Washington’s home would be perfect.”

With that, she resumed her exercise pace, and spoke not another word about it.

I had no idea as to exactly what she had in mind, or when or for whom she had this dinner planned. However, just like when she had told me about Middleburg, I alerted Jerry Behn’s office about the conversation, and added, “Knowing Mrs. Kennedy as I do, unless the president vetoes the idea, there is going to be a state dinner at Mount Vernon sometime in the not too distant future.”

Thus it was not a surprise to the Secret Service when the announcement was made that an official state dinner was going to be held on July 11, 1961, for the visiting president Mohammad Ayub Khan of Pakistan—not at the White House, but at Mount Vernon, the historic home of President George Washington. Situated on the banks of the Potomac a few miles south of the nation’s capital, the setting was stunning. It was also a logistical nightmare.

Mrs. Kennedy’s interest in history and keen sense of pageantry was never so evident as it was, fresh on the heels of her visit to Paris and the spectacular dinner at Versailles, when she proposed and planned this elaborate state dinner—the first one ever held off White House grounds. Mrs. Kennedy saw the dinner as an opportunity to remind people of the revolutionary beginnings of the United States and how we as a people had fought to acquire freedom and independence. She wanted this occasion to be so different, so special, that it would be long remembered, and set a standard for future state dinners. From the moment she got the idea into her head, it was like she was directing a Broadway play, preparing for opening night.

The eighteenth-century estate of Mount Vernon was not equipped to accommodate such a large, elaborate event, as there was no electricity or indoor plumbing. But Mrs. Kennedy had a vision, and once she put her mind to something, there was no stopping her. From the guest list to the menu to the entertainment, she had specific ideas as to how everything should look and feel.

“We’re going to have a reenactment of a Revolutionary War battle with muskets and bugle players,” she informed me at one point.

Great, I thought. A bunch of costumed actors with guns will be within shooting distance of you and the president. I made a mental note to alert the Agent in Charge.

“And the president made a brilliant suggestion that the guests could arrive by boat. Wouldn’t that be magical?” she asked me.

“Magical,” I replied. “How many guests are you expecting?”

“Oh . . . probably between one hundred thirty to one hundred fifty.”

One hundred and fifty people—presumably including many high-ranking government officials—cruising slowly down the Potomac. This was going to be a major undertaking for the Secret Service, not to mention a menagerie of government services.

A cast of hundreds would be required to pull it off. Mrs. Kennedy’s vision for an early American historical state dinner required cooperation and coordination between various people and organizations that were not necessarily used to working together, including Tish Baldridge’s staff, the office of the Military Aide to the President, the National Park Service, the State Department, the White House usher’s office, the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association, the Secret Service, and René Verdon, the White House chef.

Every day Mrs. Kennedy would come up with a new idea, sending people scurrying around to get the necessary permits. If anyone raised the possibility that something might not be able to be accomplished, Mrs. Kennedy would reply softly, in her most convincing tone, “Of course it can be done.” She was in complete control of the countless details to make her production come together, and had steadfast confidence in her staff and their willingness to do whatever it took. I don’t think she ever knew how several behind-the-scenes incidents nearly turned the evening into a disaster.

The guests were split up between the Sequoia, the Honey Fitz, a PT boat, and a Navy yacht. They boarded at the Washington docks and sailed down the Potomac to the Mount Vernon dock. It was decided that they would make the return trip by car, which in and of itself was confusing and logistically difficult, as there needed to be far more cars than boats. Then there was the mosquito infestation problem. There had been a lot of rain, and the mosquitoes were rampant. So, on the day of the event, the area was sprayed with mosquito repellant once in the morning, once around midday, and again one hour prior to the guests’ arrival.

Chef Verdon had worked with Mrs. Kennedy to come up with a menu that could be prepared largely at the White House and then transported in military vehicles to the estate. As the food was being offloaded, he saw the repellant being sprayed and became concerned that the noxious spray would poison the food. He was terrified that the guests would become ill and he would be blamed. It was too late to prepare more food. René was beside himself. Fortunately, Tish Baldridge came up with a solution.

“Why don’t we have some Secret Service agents taste the food?” Tish suggested. “If they don’t become sick and die, then we know the food is fine for our guests.”

René acquiesced so two agents were given the task of gorging themselves on samples of every item of food that was to be served. They started with the George Washington Mint Julep, then the Avocado and Crabmeat Mimosa Salad, moved on to the Poulet Chasseur, to the Couronne de Riz Clamart, to the Framboises à la Crème Chantilly, and finally the Petits Fours Secs. There wasn’t much time, so they had to eat and drink quickly. As it turned out, the food was not tainted, but the agents felt sick simply from the mass quantity of food they had each consumed. This satisfied René that all was well and he could safety serve the president, first lady, and all the guests without danger of his reputation being damaged beyond repair.

It was a beautiful evening and by the time the guests arrived, everything was in place. Mrs. Kennedy looked regal in a white lace sleeveless Oleg Cassini dress with a wide green sash around her waist and elbow-length white gloves, as she and President Kennedy escorted President Ayub Khan and his daughter, Begum Nasir Aurangzeb.

After a tour of Washington’s home, it was time for the battle reenactment. The Army’s Colonial Color Guard and Fife and Drum Corps performed a military drill, and then a group of musket-carrying soldiers, wearing powdered wigs, aimed their muskets and fired. It just so happened that the sixty or so members of the press corps were right in the line of fire, and even though the guns were loaded with blanks, the noise and smoke were realistic, causing more than a few members of the press to jump at the sudden gunshots. I glanced at Mrs. Kennedy, and when I saw the smile on her face, I had little doubt that the placement of the press, directly in the line of fire, was all part of her master plan.

I stayed off to the side, always near Mrs. Kennedy, observing everything going on around her. I had noticed the table settings with several forks, spoons, and knives, of different sizes, lined up in a particular order outside the plates. Growing up in Washburn, North Dakota, I had never been to a restaurant or event that required so many different types of cutlery. As I watched Mrs. Kennedy confidently choose the appropriate utensil for each course, I took mental notes should I ever be in a situation myself that would require me to know which fork was for salad, and which spoon was for dessert.

Everybody commented on the ambience, the delicious food, and the extraordinary theater of the evening. By all accounts the dinner for President Ayub Khan was a smashing success. President Kennedy knew how much effort his wife had put into the occasion and he seemed particularly proud of her.

Mrs. Kennedy and Ayub Khan at Mount Vernon dinner

Mrs. Kennedy was beaming the entire evening. She was seated next to Ayub Khan, and while I couldn’t hear the conversation, it was clear they were truly enjoying each other’s company. She later told me that they spent much of the evening discussing a shared passion—their love of horses. Mrs. Kennedy was enthralled with Ayub Khan’s captivating stories of life in Pakistan—and intrigued by this part of the world that she had never visited. Naturally, Ayub Khan had offered an open invitation to President and Mrs. Kennedy to visit him in his homeland. As crazy as it sounded, I had a feeling that Mrs. Kennedy might find a way to take him up on the invitation.