Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

11

Traveling with Mrs. Kennedy

Pakistan

Ambassador McConaughy, Ayub Khan’s military aide, Clint Hill, and Mrs. Kennedy

When I read the three top secret messages, I was stunned. I called Paul Rundle, the senior agent I had assigned to the advance in Lahore, explained the situation, and told him I’d be on the next flight from Karachi to Lahore.

When I arrived at the Lahore airport to greet Mrs. Kennedy on March 21, I could hardly believe the crowd of people that had already gathered for her arrival. Agent Rundle had done an excellent job of working with the Pakistani security forces in creating a roped-off area for the people, but there had to be at least eight thousand people waiting to greet Mrs. Kennedy. It was like a carnival with balloons and welcome banners, children in school uniforms waving little American flags, and a mass of people packed behind the rope lines waiting just to see Mrs. Kennedy get off the plane.

“My God, Rundle,” I said to Paul. “What did you do? Put a notice in the newspaper saying she was going to hand out twenty-dollar bills?”

Rundle shook his head. “I know. It is unbelievable. Reminds me of the receptions we used to get for Ike, but I’ve never seen anything like this for a first lady.”

In fact the government had declared the day a holiday. A holiday in Pakistan for the arrival of America’s first lady. Unbelievable.

President Mohammad Ayub Khan had sent his personal Vickers Viscount turboprop airplane to pick up Mrs. Kennedy in New Delhi and to have available for her use throughout her stay in Pakistan. When the door of the plane opened and Mrs. Kennedy stepped onto the portable stairwell, dressed in an exquisite blue silk coat with oversized buttons and a straw hat in the same color, the crowd went absolutely nuts.

She had a bubbly smile on her face and I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was thrilled by the enthusiastic reception. There was no hint that anything was wrong. Since receiving the confidential messages, all I had learned was that Jeffries had been called back to Washington. I could only assume that the ongoing personality conflicts between him and Mrs. Kennedy had reached a boiling point and she had requested his removal.

President Ayub Khan and other dignitaries were lined up at the bottom of the steps to greet her. As she walked carefully down the stairwell, she turned to look where she knew I would be, and her eyes said, It’s wonderful to see you, Mr. Hill.

I remained in close proximity to her as she went through the receiving line and entered the waiting convertible Oldsmobile with President Ayub Khan. Mrs. Kennedy and the president got into the backseat, while I squeezed into the front bench seat, between the driver and the president’s military aide.

The lead vehicle in the motorcade was a press truck—an open flatbed truck with rails around the outside—filled with about a dozen photographers. This was typical when you expected large crowds along a motorcade route for a president, but I’d never seen it, prior to this trip, for a first lady. Behind the press truck were six Pakistani policemen on motorcycles, and then the presidential car. Our two Secret Service guys followed in another open-top car, along with the president’s security men, while Princess Radziwill, the U.S. ambassador Walter McConaughy, other officials, and still more press were scattered in cars and trucks behind.

It had rained earlier in the morning, and then, shortly before Mrs. Kennedy’s plane landed, the clouds parted, the rain stopped, and the sun came out. As we drove from the airport to the residence of the governor of West Pakistan, where Mrs. Kennedy would stay, the weather remained clear and pleasant.

The crowds along the route to the governor’s residence were large, dense, and enthusiastically noisy. Bands with booming drums and bagpipes played along the way, as the people cheered and thousands upon thousands of schoolchildren waved small, handheld American flags. The cars were going about ten miles per hour, and the president convinced Mrs. Kennedy to stand up so the people could see her better. So there she was, behind me, standing in an open-top car as we drove through Lahore. The Pakistani flag hung alongside the American flag over the street at one point, and at another, a huge banner read: LONG LIVE THE AMERICAN FRIEND-SHIP.

All along the way, people were throwing handfuls of flower petals at the car—well, mostly they were petals, but every so often I’d see a whole damn bouquet coming at her and have to rise out of my seat to fend it off so it didn’t knock her in the head. By the time we reached the governor’s house, the inside of the car was ankle-deep in a rainbow of flower petals. Mrs. Kennedy was completely taken by surprise by the outpouring of affection from these people more than 7,200 miles from her home. She was ebullient.

Touching Ayub Khan’s arm, she said, “Mr. President, the people in your country are so warm and friendly. Thank you for convincing me to come and visit. It is just wonderful to be here.”

One of the things Mrs. Kennedy had most wanted to do was visit Lahore’s famed Shalimar Gardens, but shortly after arriving at the governor’s residence, the skies opened up with a violent thunderstorm. Mrs. Kennedy took the opportunity to rest, while Agent Rundle and I went to work rearranging the schedule, postponing the visit to the gardens until the next day.

By the next morning, the weather had cleared, and it was going to be a busy day. The schedule called for Mrs. Kennedy to accompany President Ayub Khan to the grand climax of the National Horse and Cattle Show, which was West Pakistan’s biggest social event of the year. When it was first discussed, I had no doubt that Mrs. Kennedy would thoroughly enjoy this—anything that had to do with horses was always at the top of her list—but I had no idea of the surprise President Ayub Khan had planned for her.

Mrs. Kennedy’s entrance to the Horse and Cattle Show was an event in and of itself. Dozens of trumpeters sounded a fanfare as Mrs. Kennedy arrived at the ancient fortress stadium in a gilded, horse-drawn carriage seated next to President Ayub Khan. The president’s elite mounted security force, dressed in bright red military jackets with brass buttons, white jodhpur-type pants, and colorful turbans fashioned high atop their heads, surrounded the carriage in perfect formation, each horse stepping in line with the others.

Satisfied that Mrs. Kennedy was well protected by the presidential security, I watched from the stands, constantly scanning the crowd for anything unusual. The entire audience seemed spellbound by the beaming Mrs. Kennedy, who was wearing an ice-blue long-sleeved silk coat with a matching whimsical beret. As Mrs. Kennedy took her place of honor in the stands, I moved in to be as close but unobtrusive as possible. It was a warm day, and although this was a Muslim country in which the local women dressed conservatively, no one seemed to mind when Mrs. Kennedy took off her coat to reveal a formfitting dress with cap sleeves that exposed her arms and was cut into a deep V that exposed an ample portion of her back.

Sitting with Lee and President Ayub Khan by her side, Mrs. Kennedy watched the spectacular show that was filled with such pomp, ceremony and tradition, it rivaled the show put on by the French during her visit to Paris with President Kennedy the year before. As the red, white, and blue American flag fluttered high above the stands next to the green Pakistan flag with the crescent moon and white star, a huge marching band of bagpipe players and drummers performed along with dancing horses and camels, and mounted troops carrying spears and riding in intricate formations. As specially groomed cattle and show horses of all varieties were paraded in front of the grandstand, Mrs. Kennedy chatted comfortably with the president, who shared her love of horses and animals in general.

Then came the moment of high drama. President Ayub Khan escorted Mrs. Kennedy from the stands onto the grounds, and led her to a beautiful chestnut-colored horse that had been brought out by two of his red-coated guards.

“My dear Mrs. Kennedy, on behalf of the people of Pakistan, I present to you ‘Sardar.’ It is my hope that every time you ride Sardar, you will remember with fondness the time you spent in Pakistan.”

Mrs. Kennedy was stunned. He was beautifully marked, a bay gelding with a diamond-shaped white spot on his forehead, and as she reached her gloved hand up to stroke the horse’s nose, she broke into a huge smile and said, “He is magnificent.”

It was love at first sight. President Ayub Khan explained that he was ten years old, and an award-winning jumper that was a descendant from the horses of Agha Khan. He couldn’t have chosen a more perfect gift for her. As she stood caressing the horse, thanking the president over and over for his thoughtfulness and generosity, all I could think was how the hell are we going to get this damn horse back to Washington?

Clint Hill holds Mrs. Kennedy’s coat as Ayub Khan presents Sardar

There was no time to deal with that problem just yet. After one last spectacular military demonstration on the field, it was time to get Mrs. Kennedy out and on to the next event. Our departure was not going to be as easy as the arrival.

While we had been watching the show, outside the arena hundreds of thousands of people had gathered to see Mrs. Kennedy as she left the horse show. Fortunately we had planned to leave by car rather than horse-drawn carriage. At one point, a group of people became unruly and began fighting among themselves to get a better vantage point as the car approached. I rose up out of the front seat, ready to fend off anybody who got too close to Mrs. Kennedy. However, the police responded to control the people and our driver was able to maneuver us out of the situation with no incident. I looked back to make sure Mrs. Kennedy wasn’t affected by the disruption, and with my eyes I asked, Are you okay?

I could see that she had stiffened up a bit, but as soon as our eyes met, she relaxed and held my gaze as if to say, Thank you.

Along with the press, seven thousand local citizens had shown up to greet Mrs. Kennedy at the Shalimar Gardens when we arrived just before sundown. Covering more than forty acres, the exquisite seventeenth-century terraced gardens were built by Shah Jahan, the same Mughal ruler who had commissioned the Taj Mahal in Agra, India, and they were truly impressive. Marble pavilions stood like thrones amid manicured flower beds overflowing with countless varieties of trees, fruit-bearing plants, and seasonal flowers, all of which were watered by an ingenious canal system. It was truly an oasis on the outskirts of Lahore, with more than four hundred fountains, cascading water, and shallow pools mirroring the brilliant fuchsia, violet, and yellow flowering plants and well-tended lawns.

As the sun began to set, the trees lit up with thousands of twinkling lights, and the effect was magical. President Ayub Khan had walked with Mrs. Kennedy through the gardens and urged her to say something to the people who had come to see her. I was surprised when she obliged, and stepped up to a microphone that had been set up under one of the pavilions.

“I’m so happy to be here today,” she said. “All my life I dreamed of coming to the Shalimar Gardens. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have it happen, especially after yesterday’s thunderstorms. I thought fate would never get me here, but it is even lovelier than I’d dreamed. I only wish my husband could be with me and that we had something this romantic to show President Ayub when he came to our country.”

The press was furiously taking notes and frantically setting up cameras as this was the first public statement Mrs. Kennedy had made since beginning the trip eleven days earlier. She seemed to be very much at ease as she continued to speak to the appreciative crowd that had gathered in the gardens.

“I must say I’m profoundly impressed by the reverence which you in Pakistan have for your art and for your culture and for the use that you make of it now. My own countrymen too, have a pride in their tradition so I think that as I stand in these gardens, which were built long before my country was born, that’s one more thing that binds us together and which always will. We’ll always share an appreciation for the finer things. Thank you.”

Later, at the dinner reception, Mrs. Kennedy couldn’t stop talking about everything that had happened throughout the day, and how it would always remain in her memory.

“Today at the horse show, I was so impressed with the daring riding which took place—all the qualities I have always admired, so daring and brave.” She seemed to be somewhat melancholy, and added, “I bring a message of esteem and friendship from my husband, and I hope I will be forgiven if I say that he has those qualities, too. I am only sorry that he is not here in your country, where he would feel so much at home.”

I was so proud of her. I knew how much she hated being in the spotlight. She would have much preferred to attend the horse show and walk through the Shalimar Gardens as an ordinary tourist, but she accepted her role graciously, and the result was that she had created a respect for America that hadn’t existed before. In the eyes of the Pakistani people, Jacqueline Kennedy represented all Americans. And they loved us.

We were all exhausted by the time we got back to the governor’s residence. But Mrs. Kennedy had one last request of me.

“Oh, Mr. Hill, wasn’t today just wonderful?”

“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, it certainly was special.”

Her eyes were weary, and her makeup had all but been worn off.

“May I ask you to do something?”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“Can you please clear the schedule for tomorrow morning? I just want a day to sleep a little bit late, and more than anything I want to ride Sardar just once before I have to leave him. It’s all I can think about.”

“No problem, Mrs. Kennedy. I’ll take care of it.”

She grabbed my hands and said, “Oh, Mr. Hill, I haven’t had a chance to tell you this, but I’m so very glad you’re now the Agent in Charge. You understand me.”

“I just want you to be happy, Mrs. Kennedy. Happy and safe.”

“Good night, Mr. Hill.”

“Good night, Mrs. Kennedy.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Mrs. Kennedy slept late, got dressed in her riding attire, and rode Sardar for the first time.

I had seen her ride many times, of course, on many different horses, but there was something special about the way she rode Sardar. It was truly like they had a unique connection. Sardar had captured her heart. They understood each other.

When she dismounted, she had a look of sheer joy on her face.

Rubbing his neck, she praised Sardar and kept telling him how wonderful he was.

Then she turned to me and said, “Mr. Hill, Sardar is mine, all mine. No one is going to be allowed to ride him except me.”

THE NEXT STOP was Rawalpindi, the temporary capital of Pakistan. The scene in Rawalpindi along the six-mile motorcade route from the airport was literally wall-to-wall people. The four hundred thousand residents of Rawalpindi apparently had all turned out to welcome this American guest of honor. There were bagpipe bands, marching bands with drums and trumpets, and it seemed like every person along the route was waving an American flag. At various points people held up signs that said, LONG LIVE MRS. KENNEDY.

The welcome was warm, friendly, and loud. Her only other activity for the day was a private dinner, a garden party, with President Ayub Khan celebrating Pakistan Day, similar to our Fourth of July.

The next morning, our gracious hosts—President Ayub Khan, his military aide who had been so helpful throughout the trip, and Ambassador McConaughy—accompanied us to the Rawalpindi airport as we departed for Peshawar.

I had come to really like the Pakistani president—he was gregarious, fun, and sincere. On the day of our departure, he was wearing a black fur cap called a karakul, also known as Jinnah cap, which was common attire for Pakistani men.

“I love your cap, Mr. President!” Mrs. Kennedy exclaimed as soon as she saw it. “Why haven’t I seen you in this before?”

President Ayub Khan took off the cap and playfully placed it on her head. “It’s yours, Mrs. Kennedy.”

She laughed and said, “Oh, thank you. I must get one for President Kennedy, too.”

“I’ll take care of it,” President Ayub said with a laugh. “We’ll have an assortment of karakuls sent to President Kennedy.”

WE LANDED FORTY-FIVE minutes later at an airport near Peshawar that was the same spot from which American Gary Powers had taken off for his ill-fated flight over the Soviet Union—the flight that ended with him a prisoner of the Soviets and the United States embarrassed into acknowledging flying spy planes over that country. It was an event that caused immense tension between our two countries and resulted in Premier Khrushchev refusing to talk to President Eisenhower at a summit meeting in Paris in 1960. This piece of history was not lost on Mrs. Kennedy.

Once again there were large crowds upon our arrival, but in Peshawar there were noticeably fewer women in attendance. The people in this region tended to be far more conservative in their Muslim traditions, and many considered it inappropriate for women to be seen in public. Thus it was the men who came out in droves to welcome Mrs. Kennedy.

As soon as we got settled into our rooms at the governor’s residence, Mrs. Kennedy came to me with a look of grave concern on her face and a piece of paper in her hands.

Ever since President Ayub had presented Sardar to Mrs. Kennedy, Ambassador McConaughy had a staff of people working on the necessary arrangements to get the horse to the United States as soon as possible with as little muss and fuss as possible. To make matters more complicated, I also learned that just prior to Mrs. Kennedy’s departure from India, she had been given two tiger cubs, courtesy of Air India. According to the ambassador, she envisioned keeping them on the White House lawn.

Tigers roaming freely on the White House lawn. I hadn’t yet broached that subject with her or anybody back in Washington.

“Mr. Hill,” she said as she handed me the paper with her handwritten notes on it. “I need to get this message to the president—I think he is in California, in Palm Springs. I don’t want anyone to know about it, but I need him to get it as soon as possible.”

“Sure, Mrs. Kennedy, I’ll take care of it right away.”

I went straight to the embassy, found the ambassador, and requested he send the secure message to President Kennedy immediately.

FROM: THE FIRST LADY

TO: THE PRESIDENT

///SECRETEYESONLY///

DEAR JACK,

IT SEEMS SO RUDE TO PAKISTANIS TO SUGGEST THAT THEIR BEAUTIFUL HORSE HAS HOOF AND MOUTH DISEASE WHEN OBVIOUSLY HE HASN’T A GERM IN THE WORLD.

HE IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND HIGH STRUNG IT WOULD BE CRUEL TO QUARANTINE HIM IN NEW YORK FOR THIRTY DAYS. CANNOT BEAR TO BE PARTED FROM HIM THAT LONG AS COULD SHOW HIM THIS SPRING AND START SCHOOLING HIM IMMEDIATELY.

COULD YOU NOT HAVE VETERINARIAN EXAMINE HIM IN NEW YORK AND SAY HE WAS FREE FROM ALL DISEASE AND HAVE HIM GO STRAIGHT TO GLENORA.

IT WOULD BE LIKE LEAVING LEE IN QUARANTINE TO PART WITH HIM – ESPECIALLY AS HE HAS BEEN SO FRIGHTENED PAST FEW DAYS BY PHOTOGRAPHERS – AND PLANE TRIP WILL UPSET HIM.

YOU CAN LEAVE TIGER CUBS IN QUARANTINE AS THEY ARE TOO FEROCIOUS TO PLAY WITH – SO WARN CAROLINE. PLEASE GET ORVILLE FREEMAN TO LET HIM IN QUICKLY – THEY HAVE PRINCE PHILLIP’S POLO PONIES. PHILLIP TOOK THEM RIGHT HOME – SO REALLY THINK THERE WOULD BE NO CRITICISM AND IT WOULD BE (UNFAIRLY) CRUEL TO ANIMALS IF YOU LET HIM BE LOCKED UP IN NEW YORK FOR THIRTY DAYS. HE WILL GET SICK THERE. ALL PRESS WILL SAY YOU WILL LOSE ASPCA VOTE FOREVER IF HE CAN’T COME STRAIGHT TO GLENORA.

LOVE JACKIE

I could just picture President Kennedy getting this message. He would read it and by the end he’d be laughing hysterically. Leave it to Mrs. Kennedy to find a political reason to convince the president to intervene on behalf of her beloved horse. He would read the note again, shaking his head in comic disbelief, and then he would do exactly what she wanted. There was no doubt in my mind that Sardar would be grazing at Glen Ora within a week. Hell, the damn horse would probably be in Washington before I was.

THE NEXT MORNING, we were off to the legendary Khyber Pass. We traveled from Peshawar up to the pass with a motorcade convoy of about ten cars occupied by staff and press. Riding in one of the cars near the back was Mrs. Kennedy’s personal assistant, Provi Paredes. Poor Provi had a difficult time with heights, so when we began traveling up into the mountains on primitive roads with sheer thousand-foot drop-offs, she panicked. I was told later that she was screaming and carrying on so badly that the driver had no choice but to turn the car around and return her to Peshawar. She never saw the Khyber Pass.

Mrs. Kennedy, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed the thirty-four-mile thrill ride through the rugged mountains. Accompanied by the governor of West Pakistan and President Ayub Khan’s military aide, she was in a cheerful mood as we carefully navigated the hairpin turns. She thought it was a fantastic adventure.

We first arrived at the mud-walled Jamrud Fort, where bearded tribal leaders, wearing gun belts and daggers, greeted Mrs. Kennedy. Our two advance agents had worked out the details of our short visit with the Pakistan government representatives and the tribal leaders, and had agreements as to exactly what would happen. In honor of Mrs. Kennedy’s visit they had erected a large, multicolored tent at the point where the tribal territory began, and had a traditional welcoming ceremony in which they presented Mrs. Kennedy with some special gifts.

Agent Ron Pontius was one of the agents I had assigned to advance this portion of the trip. He was from the south side of Chicago, tough as nails, and I figured his previous experience was as good as any for dealing with these tribesmen. Just as the gift presentation was about to begin, Pontius pulled me aside.

“Clint,” he said. “We have a bit of a problem.”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Well, they had told me they were going to present Mrs. Kennedy with some gifts. They’re going to give her an antique dagger in a decorative case . . . and a lamb. A baby lamb.”

“Oh crap. Not another damn animal to get back to the United States,” I said.

“Well, that’s what I thought. But I just found out that they’re going to present her with the lamb and then sacrifice it in front of her.”

“Oh, God. Kill the lamb in front of her?”

“Yeah. That’s what they said. They consider it an honor.”

If that happened, I’d be on the next plane to Washington, following in Jeffries’s footsteps.

“Ron, listen. We absolutely cannot let that happen. You’ve got to tell them they can present the lamb to her, but they cannot kill the damn thing until after we leave. You guard that lamb with your life, and do not let her know what is going on.”

I stood close to Mrs. Kennedy as they presented the dagger and she accepted it graciously. What the hell do they think she is going to do with a dagger? I thought.

Then they brought out the lamb, all dressed in a colorful silk costume. She touched it on its nose and then thanked them for their thoughtfulness as the tribal chieftain led the animal away.

I hurried Mrs. Kennedy into our car, and as we started back onto the winding road to the Khyber Pass, I could hear the poor animal bleating as it was sacrificed in her honor.

As we progressed over the winding mountain roads, armed tribesmen and members of the Khyber Rifles, the Pakistan army’s paramilitary force responsible for securing the border, escorted us. It was a crystal clear day and you could see for hundreds of miles across the rugged terrain that formed the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan. Our convoy was being carefully watched throughout our journey to the Khyber Rifle outpost, and off in the distance, at various intervals, I could discern men with rifles standing guard as we passed the various checkpoints. The Pakistan government wanted to make sure that nothing would happen to mar the visit to the Khyber Pass.

We drove through the town of Torkham, to the border separating Pakistan and Afghanistan, to the Khyber Pass, where the Pakistan and Afghanistan military faced each other eyeball to eyeball. It was here that the Khyber Rifles maintained control. Looking out from this point at the Hindu Kush mountains, one can feel the presence of Genghis Khan and his horde of Mongol tribesmen as they rode through these mountains. The soldiers of Alexander the Great had passed this way, and based on the number of blue-eyed people we saw along the way, it was apparent they had left descendants behind.

Mrs. Kennedy was wearing the cap President Ayub Khan had given her, and I was sure it was the first time anyone had ever worn the cap with a tailored jacket, skirt, and pumps.

Mrs. Kennedy commented on what a beautiful sight the view was and we then went to Landi Kotal, the headquarters of the Khyber Rifles, to have lunch at the Khyber Rifles Mess. Ron Pontius and I exchanged glances when they brought out a big platter of roast lamb—thankfully not the same animal that had been presented as a gift a few miles back.

Our last night in Pakistan was spent back in Karachi and there was one last thing Mrs. Kennedy wanted to do. The year before, Vice President Lyndon Johnson had visited Pakistan and made a big deal out of meeting a camel cart driver named Bashir, whom he had stopped to shake hands with by the side of the road. In typical LBJ fashion, the vice president casually remarked, “Why don’t y’all come see me sometime?” Bashir accepted the invitation, and the friendship between the American vice president and the Pakistani camel cart driver turned into a media spectacle as Bashir toured the United States and became an overnight celebrity.

Mrs. Kennedy had brought a letter from Vice President Johnson and wanted to personally deliver it to Bashir. So it was arranged for Bashir to bring his family and his now famous camel to visit her at the president’s residence in Karachi, with the full ranks of press in attendance.

Of course the press wanted a photo of Mrs. Kennedy with Bashir and the camel. They were snapping away like mad when Mrs. Kennedy suddenly turned to Bashir and asked, “May we ride your camel, Bashir?”

Oh dear God. Riding the camel was not in the program. Mrs. Kennedy and Lee were both wearing knee-length sleeveless dresses with high heels—not exactly camel-riding attire—and I thought, that’s all we need is for you to fall off a camel with the press catching it all on film.

Bashir looked nervously at the president’s military aide for permission. Then the military aide turned to me. “What do you think? Is it okay, Mr. Hill?”

Mrs. Kennedy and Lee were laughing and having such a good time, I thought, what harm can it do?

“If Mrs. Kennedy wants to ride the camel, go ahead and let her ride the camel,” I said.

So Bashir got the camel to kneel, and while Lee required some assistance getting on the camel’s back sitting sidesaddle, Mrs. Kennedy turned her back to the camel, put her hands on the saddle, and effortlessly hoisted herself up. Sitting side by side, Lee and Mrs. Kennedy were just laughing and laughing. But this wasn’t enough for them. No, they wanted to ride the camel, not just sit on it.

“Up, up!” Mrs. Kennedy said as she motioned with her hands to Bashir. “Make him stand up!”

Bashir was so nervous he was sweating. He knew that a camel does not get up very gracefully and with the two women sitting sidesaddle, they were perched rather precariously on the camel’s back. He looked at me again, and I nodded.

“Go ahead,” I said.

As the camel slowly got up—first its back legs, and then its front legs—I called out to Mrs. Kennedy, “Hold on!”

So there they were high atop the camel, Lee in front and Mrs. Kennedy at the back, laughing and just having the best time as the photographers were snapping away like crazy. Bashir led the camel around at a slow pace, and then Mrs. Kennedy said to Lee, “Hand me the reins, Lee.”

Fortunately Bashir did not let go of the lead, and despite Mrs. Kennedy’s best efforts to get the camel to take off in a gallop, Bashir retained control. I stood there and watched with amusement, not saying a word, as Mrs. Kennedy laughed and laughed.

THE TRIP TO India and Pakistan had been tremendously successful for Mrs. Kennedy personally as well as politically. Ambassador McConaughy would write a note to President Kennedy expressing the enormous impact she had: “She has won the confidence and even the affection of a large cross section of the Pakistani populace who feel that they know her and know that they like her. I believe benefits to our relations with Pakistan will be reflected for a long time in ways intangible as well as tangible.”