The president had returned to Washington and was now obviously eager to get back to Palm Beach as soon as possible. Unfortunately, a heavy fog had blanketed the area and he was unable to depart for several hours. We were waiting at the hospital when the president; his brother Bobby, the attorney general; and their sister Jean arrived later that evening. None of them said a word as they walked through the corridor of the hospital to their father’s room, but their faces revealed grave concern.
Throughout the evening the president together with his mother, siblings, and Mrs. Kennedy alternated between the ambassador’s hospital room and the hospital chapel. There had been some hopeful moments when it was clear that the ambassador recognized his family members, but he wandered in and out of consciousness. Finally, after midnight, one of the nurses urged everyone to go home and get some sleep, and allow the patient to do the same.
I got back to my room at Woody’s sometime after 1:00 A.M. It had been an emotionally draining day for everyone, and I should have been able to sleep, but somehow sleep evaded me. I kept seeing Mrs. Kennedy’s sad eyes in my mind, and feeling like I should have been able to do something to ease her pain.
The next day, it was back to the hospital, as the rest of the Kennedy children arrived one by one. Another long, emotional day.
In the days that followed, Ambassador Kennedy’s condition did not improve a great deal. The president and Mrs. Kennedy visited him daily, with stops at St. Ann’s Church or the chapel at St. Mary’s in between. The responsibilities of the president do not cease during periods of personal crisis, however, and on Thursday, December 21, President Kennedy flew to Bermuda to meet with Prime Minister Macmillan, as previously planned. He remained in Bermuda overnight, returning to Palm Beach on Friday, December 22.
While the president was away, I was in the Secret Service Command Post at the Paul residence when a call came through the switchboard.
“Call for Mr. Hill,” said the switchboard operator.
While all calls to the president or Mrs. Kennedy went through the switchboard, Mrs. Kennedy had requested that calls from certain people go through me.
“This is Clint Hill,” I said.
“Mr. Sinatra on the line for you, Mr. Hill.” I had anticipated he would call.
“Put him through,” I said.
“Hi, Clint. It’s Frank.”
“Hello, Mr. Sinatra, what can I do for you?”
“I heard the terrible news about the ambassador and I wanted to see how Jackie is doing. Is she there?”
“No, she isn’t available now,” I said. The same thing I always said.
“Well, it’s just terrible, isn’t? How serious is Joe’s condition?”
I told him what I could about Ambassador Kennedy’s condition—basically the information the family had already made public.
“And how is Jackie?”
“She’s doing very well, Mr. Sinatra. As well as can be anticipated under the circumstances.”
The conversation went on for about twenty minutes, as it usually did, with Sinatra trying to find out what he could about Mrs. Kennedy’s activities, and me giving him the barest of information in return. I didn’t enjoy these conversations, but I knew that I was saving Mrs. Kennedy the uncomfortable position of having to go through them herself.
“Well, please tell Jackie I called,” he said, as he always did.
“Oh, yes, I will, Mr. Sinatra.”
I hung up the phone and called Mrs. Kennedy.
“I just got off the phone with Mr. Sinatra, Mrs. Kennedy.”
“Oh? What did he say?”
“We had a very pleasant conversation and he wanted me to relay to you his concern about the ambassador as well as his concern for you and the president.”
“Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Hill. I’ll talk to him myself one of these days.”
THE APPROACHING CHRISTMAS Day caused Mrs. Kennedy some concern regarding gifts and the appropriate attitude considering the Kennedy patriarch’s condition. She decided to once again venture out to Worth Avenue, hoping to regain the celebratory feeling of a normal Christmas. Once again the store employees were in awe and soon people were gathering and gawking through store windows. Agent Jeffries and I worked as a team, with one of us walking in front of Mrs. Kennedy, parting the way through the crowd, constantly saying, “Excuse us, please. May we get through here please?” while the other walked behind her. We tried to be as respectful as possible, and usually people responded positively to our requests, but every so often, we’d have to extend an arm or use our body to fend off an overzealous individual trying to reach Mrs. Kennedy. We managed to keep the people away so that she could purchase some gifts for Caroline and John, and other family members, but it was not the pleasant experience she had hoped for.
Later she pulled me aside and said, “Mr. Hill, it seems I can’t go anywhere anymore without causing a scene. It is so difficult to do the rather simple things I enjoy, like buying a gift, without it becoming a front-page story.”
She wasn’t complaining, just stating the facts. Then she looked up at me with wistful eyes and asked, “Isn’t there something you can do about it, Mr. Hill?”
A thought entered my head, but rather than respond right away, I paused and said, “Let me think about the problem, Mrs. Kennedy, and I’ll see what I can come up with.”
Thus it was that I became a frequent shopper on Worth Avenue, buying swimwear for the president, toys for the children, and personal items for Mrs. Kennedy. This was not in the job description the Secret Service had for me, but it was just one more way to make life a lot easier and less confrontational for Mrs. Kennedy. She appreciated my efforts, and I considered it a good protective move to remove her from public exposure as much as possible.
Christmas came and went, as the remaining time in Palm Beach became somewhat routine, day after day. Go to St. Mary’s Hospital to see the president’s father; stop by the chapel and pray or go to St. Ann’s Church in West Palm Beach or St. Edward’s in Palm Beach; have a lunchtime cruise aboard the
Late one evening, Paul Landis and I were driving back to Woody’s Motel together, discussing the day’s events and how incredibly sad the situation was. By this point the doctors had said there was nothing they could do. Ambassador Kennedy would be paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. They said that he had retained full cognizance and intellectual capacity, but it was unlikely he would ever speak again. He would be a prisoner in his own body, unable to have the influence that he had thrived upon, and on which President Kennedy had relied.
It seemed like there was nothing to feel good about, when Paul suddenly remembered a bright spot in the day.
“I did see the president smile one time today,” Paul said.
“Oh really?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine what could have possibly made the president smile throughout this terrible ordeal.
“He had just taken Caroline in to visit the ambassador, and when we walked out of the elevator, on the ground floor, there was a gumball machine there. Caroline saw it and asked, ‘Daddy, may I please have a gumball?’
“The president looked at her and said, ‘Oh, Buttons, I’m sorry, you need a penny for the gumball machine. I don’t have a penny.’”
I shook my head in amusement. It was so typical of JFK—he never carried money. Here he was the President of the United States and he didn’t have a penny for the gumball machine.
Paul continued, “Poor Caroline looked like she was going to crumble. So the president turned to me and
