Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

seemed to be having a bit of difficulty with her horse.

“Bit of Irish looks anxious to go,” I added. “Be careful out there.”

She glanced at the horse and said, “Oh, he can be a handful, but I’ll be in control. Don’t worry, Mr. Hill.” Then she broke into a grin and said, “You be careful driving over all that rough terrain trying to keep up with me!”

I laughed and watched as she walked toward the rest of the riders who had gathered in the meadow.

“Good morning, Jackie!” they called. “So great to see you!”

“Good morning!” she replied. She was so relaxed in this environment. Here she was just another rider in the Hunt Club. They didn’t treat her any differently than anyone else, and that is what she loved. Here she could shed the first-lady moniker and just be Jackie.

I watched as she put her foot into the stirrup and mounted the horse. Then I drove the station wagon to place myself in a position where I could observe the group as they started on their ride across the rolling hills of the Mellon property. The whips were cracking, the hounds were yelping, and I wondered how the hell they thought they could sneak up on a fox with all that racket.

The riders set out along the course for the day and one by one they would jump over the rail fences and hedges at various points. Mrs. Kennedy loved to jump, and she was very good at it. I drove slowly along the country roads trying to keep the group in sight, but it wasn’t always easy.

Things were going along well on this particular morning, when I noticed a man crouched down in the field, just ahead of the riders.

Oh crap. As I got a bit closer, I recognized the man as Marshall Hawkins, a local photographer noted for his pictures of horses and the various hunt clubs in the area. He had positioned himself near a fence the group was about to jump. The hounds were running silently, and the only sound you could hear was that of the horses’ hooves hitting the ground as they galloped closer and closer. I was on the road, a good hundred yards from the fence, too far away to do anything other than yell. Yelling, though, I figured, could potentially make matters worse. I didn’t think Mrs. Kennedy was in any danger, but I knew she would be furious if Hawkins managed to get a photograph of her.

I got as close as I could and stopped the car, just as the group began jumping the rail fence, one by one. Hawkins was still crouched in the grass, not making a sound. Then, just as Mrs. Kennedy approached the fence, he suddenly stood up and started snapping away.

The sudden movement and sound of the camera caught Bit of Irish by surprise, and the horse reacted by digging in his front feet in an abrupt stop.

I watched in horror as Mrs. Kennedy went flying off, over the head of her horse, and over the rail fence, headfirst.

I jumped out of the car, and was about to leap over the property fence that bordered the road when Mrs. Kennedy got up, remounted, and rode away with the rest of the group without saying a word. She had put her arms out in front of herself to break her fall, and thank God she appeared to be all right. Now my fear for her safety turned to fury at the photographer.

I ran across the meadow, adrenaline coursing through my body.

“What the hell are you doing?” I screamed.

He hadn’t realized I was watching and seemed startled to see me coming toward him in a rage.

Seconds later I was standing eye to eye with him.

“What the hell are you doing?” I repeated.

“What I always do,” he answered caustically. “Taking photos of the hunts in the field.”

“Damn it! You could have got Mrs. Kennedy seriously injured.”

I reached for his camera and said, “Give me that goddamn film, Marshall.”

“Oh no,” he said as he clutched the camera to his chest. “This is mine and I’m keeping it.”

Unfortunately, this was a personal issue, not a matter of national security, and I was pretty sure he knew that. I would have to bluff him into giving me the film.

“You don’t want to embarrass Mrs. Kennedy, do you?” I asked. “If you use that photo of her falling, she will be humiliated. Is that what you’re after?”

“I’m not giving you this film, Clint.”

I tried to convince him but realized it was futile. He knew he had a valuable shot, and he wasn’t falling for my efforts to get the film. I had to get back to the car and catch up with the hunt, so I just shook my head in disgust and walked away.

“Tell Mrs. Kennedy I’m sorry if I caused her to fall,” he called after me. “I’ll print a copy for her, if she likes.”

I felt like turning around and punching him in the face, but I knew that wasn’t going to solve any issues, so I broke into a jog and made my way back to the station wagon.

I drove down the road that surrounded the Mellon property and saw the hunt just as they were dismounting. Everybody was gathered around Mrs. Kennedy.

Oh God, I hope she’s not hurt. I couldn’t see her facial expression, but she was at least standing.

I jogged up to her just as she was taking off her helmet. With her helmet in one hand, she used the other hand to run her fingers through her hair.

“Mrs. Kennedy, are you all right?”

She turned toward me, and smiled.

“Yes, Mr. Hill, I’m fine,” she said softly.

Then, concerned, she asked, “Did you talk to the photographer? Did you get the film?”

“I’m afraid he won’t give it up. I’m going to see what I can do about it after I get you back to Glen Ora. I’m just glad to hear you’re not hurt. That was quite a fall.”

She laughed and said, “Oh it wasn’t the first time I’ve fallen off a horse, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

Her friends laughed and somebody said, “Who wants breakfast?”

“Enjoy your breakfast, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said. “I’ll be standing by.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hill,” she said as I started to walk away. “I really am all right. But I sure would like to get that film.”

Yeah, me too. I was so relieved she wasn’t hurt, but I knew that I would be typing up a lengthy report on the details of what happened, and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

I contacted Marshall Hawkins several more times, but his position remained the same. The last time we spoke he said, “I’ll print a copy for you, too, Clint.”

I knew he would be attempting to sell that photo to the highest bidder, and that is exactly what he did. Mrs. Kennedy was embarrassed when it came out in Life magazine, and I felt terrible that the incident had happened on my watch and I wasn’t able to confiscate the film.

A few weeks later a poster-sized framed photo of Mrs. Kennedy falling off the horse arrived at the White House to my attention. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I took it home and stuck it in a closet.

THE PRESS, AND probably many Americans, seemed to think that President Kennedy was on a permanent vacation when he was in Hyannis Port or Newport, when in reality the responsibility of the job never leaves the occupant of the office of president. The international situation had deteriorated as the Soviets, together with the East Germans, had begun to tie a noose around West Berlin, tightening the borders and building a wall which caused great concern throughout the Western world. The United States promptly called up some 150,000 reservists to active duty. Then 40,000 regular Army troops were sent to Europe, increasing U.S. strength on the continent to 290,000. Cuba remained a major concern after the Bay of Pigs disaster earlier in the year, while the situation in Southeast Asia including Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam was heating up and required concentrated attention. Domestically, attempted hijacking of commercial airliners necessitated the placing of armed federal personnel on board some flights as air marshals. And racial segregation had become an issue that could no longer be ignored.

Mrs. Kennedy was well aware of the tremendous responsibility and the constant and continued attention the job required. She tried very hard to make the time the president spent with family and friends as comfortable and