She boarded her horse, a bay gelding named Bit of Irish, at the nearby farm of her good friends Eve and Paul Fout. The Fouts would bring the horse by trailer to Glen Ora so she could ride him as she pleased when she was in residence there. The Fouts were also members of the Orange County Hunt Club, which had extended an invitation for Mrs. Kennedy to join.
When I first heard her talk about “riding the hunt” I envisioned a group of friends trotting on their horses across the rolling hills of the fenced estates, stopping for tea and crumpets after an hour or so. There was talk at Secret Service headquarters of sending me and a couple of other agents to riding school so that we could adequately protect Mrs. Kennedy on these outings. It soon became clear, however, that that was not a feasible option.
Fox hunting in Virginia, it turned out, was a serious sport. It was well organized, highly structured, and very expensive. The participants were all excellent riders, seriously chasing an elusive fox across the countryside, jumping over hedges and fences, surrounded by a pack of well-trained foxhounds that barked and yelped all along the way, making a tremendous racket. I had never seen or heard anything like it.
The hunt clubs were organized like a well-run business, with the master of the hunt at the top of the organizational chart. The master of the hunt organized the sporting activities of the club, maintained the kennels for the dogs—always referred to as “hounds”—and was responsible for accounting for the money raised by the club. Next came the kennelman, who looked after the hounds and helped with the kennel, and the huntsman, who was responsible for directing the hounds. Assisting the huntsman were the whippers-in. These riders carried long whips and had the job of keeping the pack together to prevent straying or “rioting”—the term used when the foxhounds chased something other than the fox. Finally, there were the followers, who rode at the back of the group.
Special attention was paid to the type of equipment one used, and proper attire was mandatory. The official hunt season in Virginia is between October and March, and during this time the huntsman, masters, former masters, and whippers-in wear scarlet-colored coats. They are sometime called pinks. The rest of the riders wear black or dark blue jackets, with the ladies’ jackets distinguished by colored collars. Tight-fitting britches and knee- high leather boots are worn to prevent getting caught up in the branches; brown or black leather gloves are worn to protect the hands; a helmet to protect the head; and a tie, which can double as a bandage in case of injury. During the off season, “rat catcher,” or informal, attire is allowed. That means a tweed jacket, natural or tan britches, shirt with colored tie or shirt with collar and stock pin, and a tattersall vest.
I couldn’t imagine myself in one of these getups, and after seeing Mrs. Kennedy ride I sure as hell knew I couldn’t keep up with her. This was a brand-new problem for the Secret Service. Mrs. Kennedy realized this as well, and it seemed to amuse her.
“Mr. Hill, there is some concern that there will be Secret Service agents riding along with the hunt, and this presents a variety of problems. First, there are time-honored rules and traditions that go along with the sport—and no one is allowed to ride, who is not a member. I don’t want any exceptions to be made for me, simply because I’m the wife of the president.”
“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, the issue of your protection while riding is something we are trying to address.”
“I know you have experience riding, Mr. Hill,” she said, as she tried to suppress a smile, “and I’m certain you would find a way to keep up with us, but I’m not so sure that any of those other agents would have a chance.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I could tell that she had something up her sleeve. “Do you have any suggestions as to how we might handle this?”
“Actually I do think I have a solution to the problem. Eve and Paul Fout are both highly experienced and I trust them completely. Perhaps you could assign them the role of being my ‘guardians’ during the hunts. They could ride on either side of me, thus blocking me from view of anyone who might try to sneak up on us.”
It wasn’t an altogether bad idea. “Let me discuss it with my supervisors, Mrs. Kennedy, and perhaps we can give it a try. We certainly want you to be able to do the things you want to do, without imposition.”
In the end, it was decided that the Secret Service policy would be not to ride with Mrs. Kennedy but rather to surveil her from a vehicle, utilizing the existing network of roads and trails to attempt to keep up with the horde of riders as they participated in the “hunt.” If Eve and Paul Fout were willing to also ride on either side of Mrs. Kennedy, that was fine, but nobody expected them to take protective measures should a problem arise. Proximity was going to be a major problem and just keeping up with the pack was going to be a challenge. This was far from an ideal situation, and I knew I had my work cut out for me.
The decision had been made mostly because of the cost issue. The purchase or rental of horses, and you had to have more than one, was only the beginning expense. There was the housing, feeding, and other maintenance costs. The cost of equipment, including proper attire. The expense and problem of transporting the horses to the various locations from which Mrs. Kennedy would ride. It would have required training not only for me, but several other agents as backup. Then there was the possibility of an accident and injury to the agent. All of these things weighed into the decision to go with vehicular surveillance when Mrs. Kennedy went riding. I was somewhat disappointed that I wouldn’t get to participate in what was certainly a thrilling and adventurous sport, but it was the most sensible option.
The perimeter security at Glen Ora was provided by Secret Service agents brought in on temporary assignments from field offices all over the country, and so when they were off-duty they didn’t have the option of returning home. A few of them searched the area for sleeping rooms they could afford, and became acquainted with Bill and Jane Waddell, a wonderful couple who owned a large home on the western edge of Middleburg. The property was right on Route 50 with a large yard, and the house was set back a considerable distance from the highway. The long driveway provided ample room to accommodate the vehicles agents drove to and from Glen Ora. They had a number of extra bedrooms and agreed to rent them to the agents at an acceptable rate. Those of us who were in Middleburg on an almost continuous basis—the drivers for the president, the agents assigned to the children, and me—decided it was better to stay at the Waddell’s than to endure the daily trips to and from the Washington metropolitan area to Glen Ora. This also provided us with the rapid-response capability required in the event that became necessary. Most of the agents had to share rooms, but I was fortunate to have a room to myself.
President Kennedy was not nearly as enamored with Middleburg as Mrs. Kennedy was, so his visits were usually a quick in and out. He would fly in by helicopter on a Saturday afternoon and leave on Sunday after attending Mass at the Middleburg Community Center. Saturday evenings would be casual dinner parties—usually with the Fouts or other friends who had arrived with the president. Mrs. Kennedy would tend to stay in Middleburg until Monday or Tuesday, depending on her obligations in Washington.
I could understand why she preferred the quiet of Middleburg, and the privacy it offered. For even though she did not encourage or invite publicity, the public was insatiable when it came to news about Mrs. Kennedy or John or Caroline. And, unfortunately, the more she resisted the spotlight, the more ravenous the press and the public became. Members of the media would rarely come out to Middleburg unless the president was in town, so when Mrs. Kennedy was there by herself, she could lead somewhat of a normal life. I was fortunate to be able to share these times with her.
Mrs. Kennedy’s focus those first few months as first lady was to restore and refurbish the White House public rooms to their eighteenth-century splendor. Over the years, the White House had been modernized and there were few antiques or authentic furnishings in the mansion. Mrs. Kennedy found this almost beyond belief.
“The White House belongs to all Americans,” she told me at one point. “It should be the finest house in the country—something that people will be proud of—a living museum of our nation’s history. Don’t you agree, Mr. Hill?”
Admittedly, I’d never given it much thought, but Mrs. Kennedy was so intent on this project, almost to the point of being obsessed with it. I also knew, from J. B. West, that the entire fifty-thousand-dollar appropriation given to incoming presidents for redecorating the White House had already been used up on the family quarters.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea, Mrs. Kennedy. The problem is, getting the money to do what you want to do. The Secret Service can barely buy a new car without Congress signing off on it.”
“Yes, the president has told me the same thing. But . . .” She turned to me with a glint in her eye. “I have an idea. I’m going to form a committee.”
“Well, Washington loves committees,” I said with a laugh. “You’ll be in good company.”
It turned out to be a brilliant idea. Mrs. Kennedy developed the Fine Arts Committee for the White House, which was basically a fund-raising committee to purchase antiques and period furnishings as permanent gifts to the
