Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

9

Another Palm Beach Christmas

The president and Mrs. Kennedy had realized the previous year that the Secret Service somewhat hindered the activities of the rest of the family when the president stayed at his father’s house in Palm Beach, so they had made arrangements to rent the nearby home of family friends Colonel and Mrs. C. Michael Paul for the winter of 1961–62.

“It will be so much better for us,” Mrs. Kennedy told me. “It has a beautiful heated swimming pool, and eight bedrooms, so there’s plenty of room for our own guests. It’s not far from the ambassador’s house, so it will be very convenient.”

“It sounds ideal,” I responded. Then, teasing, I said, “You don’t think you’ll get bored with the peace and quiet?”

She laughed and said, “Mr. Hill, you know as well as I do that peace and quiet when the Kennedys are all together is something that is next to impossible. But at least I’ll have a place to which I can escape and spend time with Caroline and John.”

John had turned one year old on November 25, and had become quite active. A typical little boy, he loved to climb and jump, and as soon as he learned to walk, he rarely walked—he ran. Because John and Caroline began doing more activities separately, it was decided that an additional Secret Service agent was needed permanently on the Kiddie Detail to assist Bob Foster and Lynn Meredith. Paul Landis was the perfect man for the job.

At twenty-six years old, Paul Landis was the youngest agent on the White House Detail, and previously had been assigned to the Eisenhower grandchildren. Born and raised in Ohio, he came from a close family with a strong work ethic, and he took his protective duties extremely seriously. Even though he was unmarried and had no children of his own, he had a warm, playful personality that endeared him to the children. He was five foot, nine inches tall, slender, and physically fit—as all of us were required to be—had sandy brown hair, brown eyes, and a boyish look about him that made him appear younger than he actually was. The rest of us couldn’t help but tease him about his youth—and when he joined the Kiddie Detail, he was given the code name “Debut.”

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

THE 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.

THE 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.

“Well, it’s just terrible, isn’t? How serious is Joe’s condition?”

I told him what I could about Ambassador Kennedy’s condition—basically the information the family had already made public.

“And how is Jackie?”

“She’s doing very well, Mr. Sinatra. As well as can be anticipated under the circumstances.”

The conversation went on for about twenty minutes, as it usually did, with Sinatra trying to find out what he could about Mrs. Kennedy’s activities, and me giving him the barest of information in return. I didn’t enjoy these conversations, but I knew that I was saving Mrs. Kennedy the uncomfortable position of having to go through them herself.

“Well, please tell Jackie I called,” he said, as he always did.

“Oh, yes, I will, Mr. Sinatra.”

I hung up the phone and called Mrs. Kennedy.

“I just got off the phone with Mr. Sinatra, Mrs. Kennedy.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“We had a very pleasant conversation and he wanted me to relay to you his concern about the ambassador as well as his concern for you and the president.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Hill. I’ll talk to him myself one of these days.”

THE APPROACHING CHRISTMAS Day caused Mrs. Kennedy some concern regarding gifts and the appropriate attitude considering the Kennedy patriarch’s condition. She decided to once again venture out to Worth Avenue, hoping to regain the celebratory feeling of a normal Christmas. Once again the store employees were in awe and soon people were gathering and gawking through store windows. Agent Jeffries and I worked as a team, with one of us walking in front of Mrs. Kennedy, parting the way through the crowd, constantly saying, “Excuse us, please. May we get through here please?” while the other walked behind her. We tried to be as respectful as possible, and usually people responded positively to our requests, but every so often, we’d have to extend an arm or use our body to fend off an overzealous individual trying to reach Mrs. Kennedy. We managed to keep the people away so that she could purchase some gifts for Caroline and John, and other family members, but it was not the pleasant experience she had hoped for.

Later she pulled me aside and said, “Mr. Hill, it seems I can’t go anywhere anymore without causing a scene. It is so difficult to do the rather simple things I enjoy, like buying a gift, without it becoming a front-page story.”

She wasn’t complaining, just stating the facts. Then she looked up at me with wistful eyes and asked, “Isn’t there something you can do about it, Mr. Hill?”

A thought entered my head, but rather than respond right away, I paused and said, “Let me think about the problem, Mrs. Kennedy, and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

Thus it was that I became a frequent shopper on Worth Avenue, buying swimwear for the president, toys for the children, and personal items for Mrs. Kennedy. This was not in the job description the Secret Service had for me, but it was just one more way to make life a lot easier and less confrontational for Mrs. Kennedy. She appreciated my efforts, and I considered it a good protective move to remove her from public exposure as much as possible.

Christmas came and went, as the remaining time in Palm Beach became somewhat routine, day after day. Go to St. Mary’s Hospital to see the president’s father; stop by the chapel and pray or go to St. Ann’s Church in West Palm Beach or St. Edward’s in Palm Beach; have a lunchtime cruise aboard the Honey Fitz; back to St Mary’s Hospital in the afternoon. The days were long, and the laughter that had once been constant in the bustling Kennedy household had all but disappeared.

Late one evening, Paul Landis and I were driving back to Woody’s Motel together, discussing the day’s events and how incredibly sad the situation was. By this point the doctors had said there was nothing they could do. Ambassador Kennedy would be paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. They said that he had retained full cognizance and intellectual capacity, but it was unlikely he would ever speak again. He would be a prisoner in his own body, unable to have the influence that he had thrived upon, and on which President Kennedy had relied.

It seemed like there was nothing to feel good about, when Paul suddenly remembered a bright spot in the day.

“I did see the president smile one time today,” Paul said.

“Oh really?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine what could have possibly made the president smile throughout this terrible ordeal.

“He had just taken Caroline in to visit the ambassador, and when we walked out of the elevator, on the ground floor, there was a gumball machine there. Caroline saw it and asked, ‘Daddy, may I please have a gumball?’

“The president looked at her and said, ‘Oh, Buttons, I’m sorry, you need a penny for the gumball machine. I don’t have a penny.’”

I shook my head in amusement. It was so typical of JFK—he never carried money. Here he was the President of the United States and he didn’t have a penny for the gumball machine.

Paul continued, “Poor Caroline looked like she was going to crumble. So the president turned to me and asked, ‘Mr. Landis, do you happen to have a penny?’

“I pulled out the change in my pocket, and fortunately, I did have a penny.

“‘As a matter of fact I do,’ I said as I handed Caroline the penny.

“Her eyes got big and she said, ‘Oh, thank you, Mr. Landis!’

“You’d think I had given her a diamond ring,” Paul added with a laugh.

We were both laughing now. I could see little Caroline, just as excited as could be over such a simple thing as a gumball.

Paul continued. “So she struggled a bit to get the penny into the machine, but she finally did it, and the president helped her turn the knob, and when the gumball rolled out, she just grabbed it and popped it in her mouth, and began chewing away, a big smile on her face.

“I turned to look at the president and he had a big grin on his face.

“Then he said, ‘Thank you, Mr. Landis. I owe you a penny.’”

EVEN AFTER THE president returned to Washington, Mrs. Kennedy stayed in Palm Beach with John and Caroline, and continued to visit the ambassador in the hospital on a daily basis. It was clear to me that these visits were not out of obligation, but came from her deep love and devotion to her father-in-law. She would often bring Caroline, whose innocent, exuberant spirit was uplifting not only to Mr. Kennedy, but to members of the hospital staff as well. Caroline would help the nurse push her grandfather’s wheelchair down the hospital corridor, chattering on about what had happened on the morning’s walk on the Lake Trail, completely undaunted by his inability to respond.

It was a rough Christmas on all of us—for the Kennedy family, who were struggling to understand what the future would be like without Joe’s ability to offer advice; for Mrs. Kennedy, trying to deal with the ever-growing pressures of being in the public eye; and for the agents, spending another holiday away from our own families.

Everybody was looking forward to turning a new page in 1962. Little did we know it would be one of the best years of our lives.