had something this romantic to show President Ayub when he came to our country.”
The press was furiously taking notes and frantically setting up cameras as this was the first public statement Mrs. Kennedy had made since beginning the trip eleven days earlier. She seemed to be very much at ease as she continued to speak to the appreciative crowd that had gathered in the gardens.
“I must say I’m profoundly impressed by the reverence which you in Pakistan have for your art and for your culture and for the use that you make of it now. My own countrymen too, have a pride in their tradition so I think that as I stand in these gardens, which were built long before my country was born, that’s one more thing that binds us together and which always will. We’ll always share an appreciation for the finer things. Thank you.”
Later, at the dinner reception, Mrs. Kennedy couldn’t stop talking about everything that had happened throughout the day, and how it would always remain in her memory.
“Today at the horse show, I was so impressed with the daring riding which took place—all the qualities I have always admired, so daring and brave.” She seemed to be somewhat melancholy, and added, “I bring a message of esteem and friendship from my husband, and I hope I will be forgiven if I say that he has those qualities, too. I am only sorry that he is not here in your country, where he would feel so much at home.”
I was so proud of her. I knew how much she hated being in the spotlight. She would have much preferred to attend the horse show and walk through the Shalimar Gardens as an ordinary tourist, but she accepted her role graciously, and the result was that she had created a respect for America that hadn’t existed before. In the eyes of the Pakistani people, Jacqueline Kennedy represented all Americans. And they loved us.
We were all exhausted by the time we got back to the governor’s residence. But Mrs. Kennedy had one last request of me.
“Oh, Mr. Hill, wasn’t today just wonderful?”
“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, it certainly was special.”
Her eyes were weary, and her makeup had all but been worn off.
“May I ask you to do something?”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“Can you please clear the schedule for tomorrow morning? I just want a day to sleep a little bit late, and more than anything I want to ride Sardar just once before I have to leave him. It’s all I can think about.”
“No problem, Mrs. Kennedy. I’ll take care of it.”
She grabbed my hands and said, “Oh, Mr. Hill, I haven’t had a chance to tell you this, but I’m so very glad you’re now the Agent in Charge. You understand me.”
“I just want you to be happy, Mrs. Kennedy. Happy and safe.”
“Good night, Mr. Hill.”
“Good night, Mrs. Kennedy.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Mrs. Kennedy slept late, got dressed in her riding attire, and rode Sardar for the first time.
I had seen her ride many times, of course, on many different horses, but there was something special about the way she rode Sardar. It was truly like they had a unique connection. Sardar had captured her heart. They understood each other.
When she dismounted, she had a look of sheer joy on her face.
Rubbing his neck, she praised Sardar and kept telling him how wonderful he was.
Then she turned to me and said, “Mr. Hill, Sardar is mine, all mine. No one is going to be allowed to ride him except me.”
THE NEXT STOP was Rawalpindi, the temporary capital of Pakistan. The scene in Rawalpindi along the six- mile motorcade route from the airport was literally wall-to-wall people. The four hundred thousand residents of Rawalpindi apparently had all turned out to welcome this American guest of honor. There were bagpipe bands, marching bands with drums and trumpets, and it seemed like every person along the route was waving an American flag. At various points people held up signs that said, LONG LIVE MRS. KENNEDY.
The welcome was warm, friendly, and
The next morning, our gracious hosts—President Ayub Khan, his military aide who had been so helpful throughout the trip, and Ambassador McConaughy—accompanied us to the Rawalpindi airport as we departed for Peshawar.
I had come to really like the Pakistani president—he was gregarious, fun, and sincere. On the day of our departure, he was wearing a black fur cap called a karakul, also known as Jinnah cap, which was common attire for Pakistani men.
“I love your cap, Mr. President!” Mrs. Kennedy exclaimed as soon as she saw it. “Why haven’t I seen you in this before?”
President Ayub Khan took off the cap and playfully placed it on her head. “It’s yours, Mrs. Kennedy.”
She laughed and said, “Oh, thank you. I must get one for President Kennedy, too.”
“I’ll take care of it,” President Ayub said with a laugh. “We’ll have an assortment of karakuls sent to President Kennedy.”
WE LANDED FORTY-FIVE minutes later at an airport near Peshawar that was the same spot from which American Gary Powers had taken off for his ill-fated flight over the Soviet Union—the flight that ended with him a prisoner of the Soviets and the United States embarrassed into acknowledging flying spy planes over that country. It was an event that caused immense tension between our two countries and resulted in Premier Khrushchev refusing to talk to President Eisenhower at a summit meeting in Paris in 1960. This piece of history was not lost on Mrs. Kennedy.
Once again there were large crowds upon our arrival, but in Peshawar there were noticeably fewer women in attendance. The people in this region tended to be far more conservative in their Muslim traditions, and many considered it inappropriate for women to be seen in public. Thus it was the men who came out in droves to welcome Mrs. Kennedy.
As soon as we got settled into our rooms at the governor’s residence, Mrs. Kennedy came to me with a look of grave concern on her face and a piece of paper in her hands.
Ever since President Ayub had presented Sardar to Mrs. Kennedy, Ambassador McConaughy had a staff of people working on the necessary arrangements to get the horse to the United States as soon as possible with as little muss and fuss as possible. To make matters more complicated, I also learned that just prior to Mrs. Kennedy’s departure from India, she had been given two tiger cubs, courtesy of Air India. According to the ambassador, she envisioned keeping them on the White House lawn.
Tigers roaming freely on the White House lawn. I hadn’t yet broached that subject with her or anybody back in Washington.
“Mr. Hill,” she said as she handed me the paper with her handwritten notes on it. “I need to get this message to the president—I think he is in California, in Palm Springs. I don’t want anyone to know about it, but I need him to get it as soon as possible.”
“Sure, Mrs. Kennedy, I’ll take care of it right away.”
I went straight to the embassy, found the ambassador, and requested he send the secure message to President Kennedy immediately.
FROM: THE FIRST LADY
TO: THE PRESIDENT
///SECRETEYESONLY///
DEAR JACK,
IT SEEMS SO RUDE TO PAKISTANIS TO SUGGEST THAT THEIR BEAUTIFUL HORSE HAS HOOF AND MOUTH DISEASE WHEN OBVIOUSLY HE HASN’T A GERM IN THE WORLD.
HE IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND HIGH STRUNG IT WOULD BE CRUEL TO QUARANTINE HIM IN NEW YORK FOR
