Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir (6 page)

She would have a list of questions written out on a lined, yellow legal pad, and as I answered her, she would listen intently, taking voracious notes and interposing questions as they occurred to her. She was savvy and smart, and it was clear that she was eager to make a good impression and wanted to have as much information going into her new role as possible, to avoid making any blunders. I sensed her vulnerability and tried to be as detailed and informative as possible. Our conversations were relaxed and comfortable, and while I enjoyed spending time with Mrs. Kennedy, I missed the camaraderie with the other agents. During those long days at the hospital, I really envied my colleagues who were constantly on the go with the president-elect.

One afternoon she called me in and asked, “Mr. Hill, do you ride horses?”

“I have in the past, as a youngster,” I replied. “One of our neighbors in Washburn, North Dakota, had a Shetland pony.”

She smiled slightly, as if trying to determine whether I was kidding or being serious.

Quickly I added, “Some of my friends had horses on a ranch near my home and I was allowed to ride every so often. A local rodeo cowboy used to give me lessons.”

There was a pause, and then she said, “The reason I ask is that we have arranged to have a place in Middleburg to spend weekends away from Washington, and I’ll have horses there. I love to ride.”

I wondered why they would need a place in Middleburg, Virginia, when the Kennedys would have the use of Camp David—a magnificent property specifically retained as a weekend retreat for the sitting president and his family. I had been there many times with President Eisenhower.

It certainly wasn’t my place to advise the future first lady, but the knowledge that the Kennedys had obtained their own weekend retreat was a surprise to me, and I was quite certain that no one else in the Secret Service knew about it, either. I thought I had better try to get as much information as possible so I could pass it along to my supervisors.

“Middleburg is beautiful,” I answered. “How did you come across this place?”

“Our dear friend Bill Walton found it for us. It’s called Glen Ora, and I haven’t actually seen it myself—just photographs, but I trust Bill’s judgment and it seems perfect for us. It’s a colonial home with a swimming pool, poolhouse, and stables on four hundred acres in the hunt country. Four hundred acres of privacy where the children and I can have a very normal life and the president can get to very easily.”

“It sounds very nice,” I said.

“Well, the grounds are lovely, but the interior of the house needs to be entirely redone. Fortunately, the owner, Mrs. Raymond Tartiere, has kindly allowed me to make some changes so it suits our needs.”

The news of the rented house in Middleburg created a variety of concerns for me. First, how would we adequately protect her while she was riding, yet still give her the privacy she desired? I knew she was an accomplished equestrienne and I was quite certain that my childhood riding experiences would not be enough to keep up with her. In addition, we would have to make sure there was adequate space for helicopter takeoffs and landings, and additional personnel would be required to maintain security at all times.

O
N
D
ECEMBER
8, President-elect Kennedy returned to Washington for the christening. Mrs. Kennedy and the baby were still patients in the hospital, so the service took place in the chapel at Georgetown University Hospital. It was clear that Mrs. Kennedy didn’t have much energy, but she was determined to stand for a few minutes during the service. The press was eager to snap photos of the Kennedys holding their newborn son in his traditional flowing white christening gown, but Mrs. Kennedy, especially, was very concerned about the privacy of her children. The few members of the press who had been invited were very restricted, and although they were only allowed a brief amount of time to photograph and speak with the family, I could tell that even this slight bit of activity was wearing on Mrs. Kennedy.

First Lady Mamie Eisenhower had invited her to come to the White House the following day, December 9, at noon, for a tour of the mansion, including the private living quarters on the second and third floors. Dr. Walsh had agreed to release Mrs. Kennedy and John from the hospital, but everyone was concerned about her ability to go through with the White House tour, since she had struggled to stand during the brief christening ceremony. Mrs. Kennedy herself seemed apprehensive about her physical ability, but she was desperate to see her new home so that she could determine what changes she might want to make once they moved in on January 20, following the Inauguration.

“How about if I call J. B. West, the chief usher of the White House, and ask him to have a wheelchair for you, Mrs. Kennedy?” I asked her. “I know Mr. West well, and I am sure he will want you to be as comfortable as possible during the visit.”

She had been looking rather forlorn, but with this new option, suddenly her eyes lit up.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Mr. Hill,” Mrs. Kennedy said. She smiled and added, “Then I won’t have to worry about fainting and making the headlines.”

“Fine, then. I’ll phone Mr. West and make the arrangements.”

The chief usher holds a prominent position within the administrative staff, as he is responsible for the management of the White House. He must coordinate with the Secret Service and the presidential staff to ensure the effective and efficient day-to-day operation of the residential portion of the White House, known as the executive mansion, as well as the public and historical rooms. Mr. West had held the position of chief usher since 1957, but since the position is a presidential appointment, it hadn’t yet been determined whether he would be retained with the new administration.

The next day, Mrs. Kennedy and John were released from the hospital and we took them to their home in Georgetown. Mrs. Kennedy barely had time to change clothes and freshen up before it was time to depart for the White House.

I pulled the Kennedy’s three-year-old blue station wagon up to the front of the house and got out to help Mrs. Kennedy into the car.

When I went to open the back door, she asked, “Is anyone else coming with us?”

“No, it’s just you and me, I’m afraid,” I answered.

“I’ll sit in the front seat then,” she said.

“Certainly, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said as I closed the back door and opened the
front passenger door for her. I held her elbow as she timidly stepped into the car. She smoothed her dress as she sat down and looked up at me with a smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Hill.”

When we arrived at the White House, J. B. West was there to greet us. He escorted us into the Diplomatic Reception Room, and I watched as Mrs. Kennedy’s eyes took in the details of the décor—the walls, the rug, the flowers, and furnishings—all without saying a word.

We stopped at the elevator that led to the second floor, the private quarters, and Mr. West said, “Mrs. Eisenhower is waiting upstairs.” He looked at me and added, “The first lady would like to take Mrs. Kennedy on the tour in private.”

I nodded and Mrs. Kennedy stepped into the elevator with Mr. West.

I went to the chief usher’s office to stand by, knowing I would be fully aware of Mrs. Kennedy’s activities from this location and not wanting to impinge on the tour of the two first ladies. A few minutes later, Mr. West joined me in his office and we caught up on all that had happened since I’d left President Eisenhower’s detail.

Ninety minutes later, at exactly 1:30
P.M.
, the buzzer in the office sounded twice. Mr. West jumped up from his chair and walked quickly to the elevator. The buzzer system in the White House was set up to keep the usher’s office, the uniformed White House police, and the Secret Service informed as to the first family’s movements. Two buzzes indicated the first lady was moving.

I followed the chief usher and was waiting when Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. Eisenhower appeared in the elevator. Mrs. Kennedy was extremely pale and looked like she was about to faint. I looked her straight in the eyes and raised my eyebrows as if to say,
Are you okay?
She returned my gaze and gave a slight nod.

The two women walked to the south entrance, as Mr. West and I followed several steps behind. The White House photographer took a photograph of the outgoing first lady and her successor smiling and saying good-byes, but I sensed that Mrs. Kennedy was simply being outwardly gracious. Something had happened upstairs.

I helped her into the front passenger seat and took my place behind the wheel of the station wagon, and headed toward the southwest gate. As soon as we turned onto State Place and proceeded to E Street Northwest, Mrs. Kennedy turned to me and asked, “Mr. Hill, did you call Mr. West and request a wheelchair?”

I turned to her and said, “Yes, I called him this morning and he said it would
be no problem at all. He said it would be waiting for you. I assumed they had it upstairs for you.”

“Well, when I got out of the elevator on the second floor, there was just Mrs. Eisenhower and no wheelchair in sight. She never mentioned it, so I assumed it simply hadn’t been arranged.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to make excuses, but I had indeed spoken to J. B. West that morning.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Kennedy. I don’t know what happened.” I felt awful, imagining that somehow I’d done something that had caused her difficulty.

I later found out from J. B. West, whom President Kennedy did indeed retain as chief usher, that the wheelchair had been ordered. The problem was that Mrs. Eisenhower didn’t want anyone to accompany her and Mrs. Kennedy, and she certainly wasn’t going to push the new first lady—her political rival—through the executive mansion. She had told West that the wheelchair would be available, but hidden, and brought out only if Mrs. Kennedy requested it.

Mrs. Kennedy didn’t blame me at all for the mishap. She was intuitive with people and had figured that Mrs. Eisenhower had simply ignored her request. She was far more concerned with the state of the White House.

“So what did you think of your new home, Mrs. Kennedy?” I asked.

“It’s going to need far more work than I’d even imagined,” she said in her soft, breathy voice. “We are going to be busy, Mr. Hill.” After all our earlier conversations about the history and importance of the president’s residence, I could see her mind already working as to how she intended to put her stamp on the White House.

The hour-and-a-half tour had depleted Mrs. Kennedy’s energy and I could tell she needed a rest. Unfortunately, it had previously been decided that she and the president-elect would fly with their newborn son to Palm Beach immediately following the White House visit, so there was no time for her to relax, just yet.

The schedule had been set with little room for delay, so we returned to 3307 N Street to pick up President-elect Kennedy; baby John; Provi; Elsie Phillips, a new nurse and friend of Maud Shaw’s who had been employed to help with John Jr.; Louella Hennessey, the longtime nurse of the Kennedy family, who had come to help Mrs. Kennedy with her recuperation; a mound of luggage for the first lady; and a suitcase each for Jeffries and myself, and headed to Andrews Air Force Base, where the
Caroline
was waiting for our departure.

The wind was blowing and the air was frigid as I followed Mrs. Kennedy up the steps to the plane. When we got on board, the president-elect helped her take off her coat and said, “The weather in Palm Beach has been beautiful. Some time in the warm weather and sunshine will do wonders for your recovery, Jackie.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it,” Mrs. Kennedy said as she sat down gingerly on the sofa-like lounge. She was pale and clearly exhausted from the day’s outing.

I had never been on a private plane before, and as I settled into a seat next to a window, it struck me that the lifestyle that was normal for the Kennedys was beyond anything I’d ever imagined, let alone experienced. This trip on the
Caroline
was the first of countless flights I took with Mrs. Kennedy on the family plane. It soon became normal for me, too.