“Tish Baldridge will be the senior staff advance person, so you’ll be working directly with her,” Behn said. “She used to work in Paris—knows everybody and all the locations—and she speaks fluent French.”
Tish Baldridge was extremely organized and paid close attention to detail. She was exactly the kind of person I liked to have with me on an advance because I didn’t have to worry about things falling through the cracks. She would handle everything with regards to Mrs. Kennedy’s agenda, gifts, seating arrangements, and menus, so that I could focus on logistics and security. This was a huge relief because I had seen how involved visits to foreign governments could become. Protocol always played a big part in these visits and the further I could stay away from those issues, the better. The last thing I needed was to become involved in a squabble over someone’s hurt feelings because they weren’t seated at the table with the president and first lady.
I had been in Paris twice with President Eisenhower—the first time in December 1959, and again during his failed summit meeting with Khrushchev in May 1960—and I was excited for the opportunity to return. Paris had enchanted me like no other city I had visited. There was something about the way its architectural and cultural history had been preserved and maintained that really appealed to me. From the grandeur of the Champs-Elysees to the meandering side streets lined with sidewalk cafes that were filled with couples lingering over a glass of Bordeaux at lunchtime, Paris had matchless charm.
In 1959, I had flown directly from Athens to Paris, a few days ahead of President Eisenhower, along with a few other Secret Service agents and some of the president’s staff. We weren’t there on advance, but had been sent ahead due to space limitations as the president traveled from Athens to Tunis to Toulon, and finally by train to Paris. Thus we had some rare free time. A member of the French police took us under his wing and gave us the “locals” tour of the city. He took us down to Les Halles—which was an open-air farmers’ market where all the farmers came into the city at three o’clock in the morning to set up and sell their produce. There was one vendor who sold homemade onion soup that was piping hot, layered with thick slices of baguette, and mounds of Gruyere cheese that crusted over the top. We would go down to Les Halles around 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning, and have the soup for breakfast. The mere thought of it made my mouth water with anticipation.
“Sounds great,” I replied to SAIC Behn. “When do we leave?”
“The trip is scheduled for the end of May, so you and Tish will go the week before. The president and Mrs. Kennedy will spend three days in Paris, followed by a trip to Vienna, where he’s going to meet with Premier Khrushchev. After that, they’re going to London for a few days. The president will return to Washington, but Mrs. Kennedy is going to Athens with her sister, Lee, and Lee’s husband, Prince Radziwill.”
Mrs. Kennedy’s younger sister Lee had married Stanislaus “Stash” Radziwill, who was a Polish prince. I had never met him before. It sounded like an ambitious trip, to say the least.
Behn continued, “I’m going to need you to go directly from Paris to Athens to do the advance for Mrs. Kennedy.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. I remained cool on the outside, but inside I was already getting excited about the trip. Going to Europe as an agent on the First Lady’s Detail wasn’t something I had anticipated—especially just a few months into a new administration.
“I’m going to have Ken Giannoules do the advance with you.”
Giannoules was a Special Agent on President Kennedy’s detail. I had worked with him a few times when the president was in Middleburg, and we got along.
“He’ll be in Paris with the president,” Behn said, “so the two of you can fly directly to Athens from there. He’s fluent in Greek and apparently has relatives still living in Athens, so he should be a big help.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “We’ll take care of it.”
“Okay. Thanks, Clint. Stay loose.”
Stay loose. That was one of Jerry Behn’s favorite expressions and it sure was descriptive of the attitude you had to have as a Secret Service agent. Don’t be too rigid. Expect the unexpected and be ready to adjust to the situation. You never know what’s around the corner.
JUST A FEW weeks later, I was headed to Paris with Tish Baldridge and a couple of agents from the President’s Detail to conduct the complex advance for President Kennedy’s first trip to Europe since taking office. There were a million details to work out, and we had just one week to have all the logistics solidified before President and Mrs. Kennedy arrived.
Ever since this trip to Paris and Vienna had been announced, anybody that had ever been associated with the White House was vying for a place on Air Force One or the press plane. It was not just President and Mrs. Kennedy’s arrangements that needed to be worked out, but hotel and transportation for the dozens of accompanying staff that included Provi, National Security Advisor McGeorge Bundy, and everybody in between. I worked with Tish and conferred with members of the U.S. Embassy, but mostly dealt with government officials, especially the Surete Nationale—France’s national police force.
The biggest problem I had was that I could not speak the language. When Tish and I were in meetings together, she would carry on in fluent French while I sat there and tried to pick up the gist of what was being said from hand gestures and various common words. In most cases, I wouldn’t find out until after the meeting was over what had actually been agreed upon. Fortunately, when I dealt with the law enforcement officials, the U.S. Embassy provided an interpreter. There were times when I felt at an extreme disadvantage, but I had no choice other than to rely on the people who could translate for me.
The Surete Nationale was extremely competent, but they were very set in their ways. The French slang for their own presidential bodyguards was “gorillas” and I was fearful that their intense and smothering approach to personal protection would completely overwhelm Mrs. Kennedy. Over the previous six months, with all the time we had spent together, I had learned that the best way to deal with Mrs. Kennedy was to give her as much space as possible, so that she almost forgot you were there. Sometimes Agent Jeffries would hover a bit too close, and it had become evident to me that she wasn’t nearly as comfortable with his style as she was with mine. The last thing I wanted was for something to happen on this trip that would hinder the trust she had in me. I explained to them her shy nature and desire for as much freedom as possible. They seemed to understand and I could only trust that the interpreter was being accurate when he translated, “Yes, Mr. Hill, we will do as you suggest.” They could just as easily have been saying, “Hell no, you can shove it up your ass” and I wouldn’t have known the difference.
The details and logistics were endless, so there was little time for anything other than work. I never did get a chance to get back to Les Halles for that French onion soup, but finally, with all the minor details worked out, and everyone satisfied with the plan that had been laid out, we were ready for President and Mrs. Kennedy’s arrival on May 31, 1961. The biggest concern was on the diplomatic side. President de Gaulle had a reputation of being distant and arrogant with foreign leaders, and it was feared that he would be tough on President Kennedy, largely because the new American president was so much younger, and had limited political experience. I was glad I didn’t have to worry about that—I just had to make sure nothing happened to Mrs. Kennedy.
THERE WAS A chill to the air, but the sun was shining when President and Mrs. Kennedy arrived at Orly Airport promptly at 10:30 A.M. Thousands of enthusiastic spectators stood behind the fence line waving American flags as President and Mrs. Kennedy descended the stairs of Air Force One to full military honors. A police motorcycle escort that numbered at least one hundred strong led the motorcade through the streets of Paris. Waiting at the Place des Pyramides were a hundred Republican Horse Guards in full regalia to replace the motorcycles and lead the procession the rest of the way to the Quai D’Orsay, where President and Mrs. Kennedy would be staying in the royal suite. It was a sight to behold. The French put on an incredible spectacle that rivaled any state visit I had seen. But nobody loved it more than Mrs. Kennedy.
More than two hundred thousand Parisians lined the streets, most of them waving little American flags. There were people hanging out of windows and packed on balconies, eager to catch a glimpse and snap a photo of the handsome American president and his glamorous wife. All along the route people held up welcoming signs and cheered, “Vive le president Kennedy!” But more frequently you would hear the voices in the crowd yelling, “Vive Jac-qui! Vive Jac-qui!” She waved graciously, smiling the entire way, and the French fell madly in love with her.
After a formal luncheon and a visit to a child care center, Mrs. Kennedy returned to the Quai d’Orsay so that she could have a rest and prepare for the state dinner at the Elysee Palace a few hours later. She was tired, but elated.
“Oh, Mr. Hill, wasn’t it magnificent? All the horses and the pageantry! Can you believe they have done this
