Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

20

Losing Baby Patrick

JFK conducts business during family photo session on Squaw Island, August 1963

On June 22 1963, President Kennedy departed on a two-week trip to Europe, with stops in England, Ireland, Italy, and Germany. It was history in the making and I have to admit that I was disappointed not to be able to join my colleagues on what I knew would be a challenging and significant trip.

When I saw the news reports about President Kennedy delivering what would forever be known as his “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech, all I could think about was the complex challenge faced by the Secret Service agents assigned to protect him. The photos showed hundreds of thousands of unscreened people—many watching from balconies and rooftops—as President Kennedy spoke, all alone at a podium on an open stage. He was a sitting duck.

How do you protect someone in that environment? All it takes is one lucky shot—and that first shot is free. You never know it’s coming. After that, all you can do is react.

This scene played itself over and over as the president traveled to Rome, Naples, and Dublin. I knew the guys on the detail had to have been living on pure adrenaline.

ONCE AGAIN THIS summer, the president and Mrs. Kennedy had rented a house on Squaw Island—very close to the house they’d rented the year before—still less than a mile from the Kennedy compound. The large, rambling, gray-shingled house was at the end of the narrow, one-lane gravel road on Squaw Island, set back on a heavily wooded piece of property so that you could barely see it from the road. A simple wooden sign hung over the front door with the moniker: BRAMBLETYDE. The home had ample space for the children to play outdoors, a stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean from the entire backside of the house, and a private beach. Plenty of privacy, and close enough—but not too close—to the rest of the family.

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.

THE 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.”

THE 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.

Please, do anything to me, God. But please don’t let Patrick die.

As the doctors continued their tests, it became increasingly clear that Patrick’s respiratory problems were serious. He had a condition known as hyaline membrane disease—a common affliction in premature babies due to incomplete lung development. They didn’t have the capability of treating him at Otis—he needed to get to Children’s Hospital in Boston, where they were better equipped to handle the problem. Time was of the essence, but it was too risky to transport him by helicopter. He had to go by ambulance, and he had to have a Secret Service agent with him. This was the son of the President of the United States.

I wanted to stay with him, to try to protect him, but I needed to be with Mrs. Kennedy when she awoke. I had to be there for her.

“Paul,” I said to Agent Landis, “Mrs. Kennedy would want one of us to be with him.”

He nodded.

“You go with the baby in the ambulance, Paul.”

So Paul got in the ambulance with tiny baby Patrick and the medical crew, and at 5:55 P.M., with a full police escort, they raced to Boston.

I had rushed to Otis that morning without showering or shaving, and by this time, I knew I looked awful. I sent someone to the PX to get me a razor and some shaving cream, and snuck into a bathroom so I could at least splash some water on my face and have a quick shave. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

After visiting with Mrs. Kennedy once more, President Kennedy flew to Hyannis Port to check on Caroline and John. I stayed outside Mrs. Kennedy’s door as nurses went in and out. I was relieved when Louella Hennessey, the wonderful nurse who had helped care for all the Kennedy babies, arrived, because I knew what a comfort she would be to Mrs. Kennedy. President Kennedy returned an hour or so later, and went in again to visit with Mrs. Kennedy.

When he came out, he said, “Clint, I’m going to Boston to be with Patrick. I know you’ll make sure Mrs. Kennedy is well taken care of. Just make sure I’m kept informed.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I will make sure you are fully aware, should anything change.”

All the activity—the constant coming and going of people and staff—was a blessing for me. As long as I was busy, I could keep my emotions in check. Every time I thought about baby Patrick, so small and alone inside the incubator, it nearly tore me apart. Throughout this time, Mrs. Kennedy seldom woke up, but continued to remain in a stable condition.

President Kennedy had brought two of Mrs. Kennedy’s staff with him—Pamela Turnure and Nancy Tuckerman—which was a great relief for me. Now I could focus strictly on security and privacy. My emotions, however, kept taking me back to that incubator leaving Otis Air Force Base with the tiny boy inside, gasping for air, fighting for life. I thought of my own two sons and how much they meant to me. How much I wished I could spend more time with them. How fortunate I was that they were healthy and growing rapidly like youngsters their age do.

If only Patrick can survive this threatening ordeal, he too will be growing and developing before my eyes—just as I’ve watched John and Caroline. Something I have been unable to witness with my own sons.

MRS. KENNEDY WAS still in and out of consciousness, and had not been told of the seriousness of Patrick’s condition—only that he had a lung problem similar to what John had been born with. Taking the baby to Boston was just a precaution.

Once President Kennedy and his Secret Service detail arrived at Children’s Hospital, with the added assistance from the Boston Secret Service Field Office, it was decided that Agent Landis should return to Otis to assist me. He arranged for an official car and got back to Hyannis at 2:20 A.M.

The president remained overnight in Boston with Patrick. I stayed with Mrs. Kennedy.

THE NEXT DAY, August 8, there was nonstop activity. Both Paul and I were at Otis doing whatever we could to ensure Mrs. Kennedy was all right; the president was flying back and forth between Boston and Otis and Hyannis Port; Mary Gallagher, Pam, and Nancy were handling the onslaught of phone calls and messages from friends, relatives, world leaders, and the general public. Everybody was concerned about Patrick. Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennedy was still sleeping most of the time. She had no idea that her son’s life was hanging in the balance.

We were getting limited information from Boston because no one seemed to know Patrick’s exact condition. But it apparently had not improved. We all went to bed that night hoping and praying he would pull through.

By this time, field office agents had been brought in to supplement Paul Landis and me, so we didn’t have to work twenty-four hours a day.

I had not left Otis since we arrived the morning of August 7, and had taken over one of the bedrooms in the suite so I could at least try to get some sleep. I wanted to make sure that if Mrs. Kennedy needed anything in the middle of the night, though, that there was a familiar agent there to help her, so I asked Tommy Wells from the children’s detail to stand outside her door throughout the night.

I lay in bed, rarely sleeping, my mind going over and over the possibilities should Patrick not make it. At 4:15 A.M. on Friday, August 9, I was awakened by the sound of the phone ringing.

“Clint Hill,” I answered.

“Clint . . .” It was Jerry Behn, the Special Agent in Charge of the White House Detail. “We have just been informed that Patrick has passed away.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I tried to keep my voice steady.

“He died at four-oh-four this morning. The president wants Dr. Walsh to tell Mrs. Kennedy. Fortunately, you don’t have to do that. But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Jerry.”

Before I could even digest what had happened, I heard the phone ringing outside my room in the area we had set up as the Secret Service Command Post. I could hear Tom Wells on the phone, getting the same awful news I had just received. A few minutes later, I heard Agent Wells call Dr. Walsh. There was no going back to sleep, so I got up and walked into the hallway.

I looked at Tom and could tell that he too was having a tough time holding it together.

“I guess you heard the news,” he said to me.

“Yeah. Behn called to tell me.”

“You know, Clint,” Tom said, “Nurse Lumsden—the night duty nurse—was going in and out of Mrs. Kennedy’s room all night. And each time she came out I’d ask, ‘How is she doing?’ And every time the answer was the same. She’d say, ‘Mrs. Kennedy is really having a tough time tonight. She’s been so restless all night, just tossing and turning. She just can’t seem to get to sleep.’ It happened all night long.”

Tom paused. He looked down, and gulped as he fought the emotions.

“Then, at four o’clock, Nurse Lumsden came out and said, ‘She’s finally gone to sleep. Just now. She just fell asleep.’”

He looked up at me to see if I understood what he was saying.

I nodded.

“And then,” Tom said, “it wasn’t but a few minutes later that I got the call.”

“Thank you, Tom. I’m so glad you were out here. I know she appreciated it, too.”

My heart ached. My whole body ached. I wanted to go in and hold Mrs. Kennedy, to tell her how sorry I was. How much I felt her loss. But she needed to sleep. She had been fighting all night, just as her baby son was fighting for his life.

I went back to my room, closed the door, and put my head in my hands.

This was the third child she had lost. It was far more than any woman should ever have to bear.

AT 6:30 A.M., Dr. Walsh arrived and broke the tragic news to Mrs. Kennedy.

She was devastated. It was heartbreaking to see her in such emotional pain, and I felt so helpless. I was supposed to protect her. But there was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do to protect her from the pain of losing a child. I was thankful that Nancy Tuckerman and Pam and Mary and Louella Hennessey were there to comfort her. It was all I could do to stand outside the door, and hold my feelings inside.

When President Kennedy arrived later that morning, he looked like he had been to hell and back. The doctors had called him, knowing death was imminent. They had released Patrick from the lines and tubes, and President Kennedy was able to hold his son in his arms, for the first and last time.

I looked at the president and said, simply, “My condolences, Mr. President.”

“Thank you, Clint,” he said.

I turned the knob and opened the door to Mrs. Kennedy’s room. He walked in and I quietly closed the door again. My heart wrenched with anguish as I stood outside the room, knowing the pain the president and Mrs. Kennedy were sharing inside.

THE FUNERAL SERVICES for Patrick Bouvier Kennedy were held on Saturday, August 10, in Boston, with Cardinal Cushing presiding. Paul Landis and I stayed with Mrs. Kennedy at Otis for, still weak from the Caesarian operation, she was unable to attend. She couldn’t attend the funeral of her baby son.

On Sunday, August 11, the president brought Caroline in the morning, and John in the evening, which seemed to boost Mrs. Kennedy’s spirits more than anything. The next day he brought the two of them together, before he had to return to Washington to get on with his job as President of the United States.

My heart ached for her as she continuously tried to maintain her composure. Nancy, Pam, and Mary, all close friends, attempted to support her as best they could. Her sister, Lee, finally arrived from Europe, and she seemed to help Mrs. Kennedy more than anyone did.

The president continued to come and visit as often as possible, while juggling his own grief, visiting Caroline and John, and dealing with world issues, which didn’t stop for the death of a president’s son.

Clint Hill with President Kennedy and children as they exit Otis AFB Hospital

I had been with Mrs. Kennedy through the births of two sons and the death of one. I couldn’t imagine anything more difficult.