Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir (17 page)

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.

J
UST 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.