Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

as Mrs. Kennedy, wearing a one-piece black bathing suit, easily popped up out of the water on a slalom ski. She skied back and forth across the wake, pulling tight on the rope, leaning back, in complete control, as the growing audience ashore whooped and hollered.

Not wanting to encourage the crowd, Mrs. Kennedy simply ignored them. We made a few loops around and then she gracefully let go of the rope and slid into the water. We raced around to pick her up, but instead of climbing into the boat, she looked at Caroline and said, “Do you want to ski with me, Caroline?”

“Yes! Yes!” Caroline squealed.

Oh God.

“Mrs. Kennedy, I’m not so sure this is a good idea. How are you going to do this?”

“Oh, Mr. Hill, don’t worry. She can stand on top of the skis. Toss me the other ski.”

I knew there was no way I was going to talk her out of this, so I motioned to the agents in the other boat that Caroline was getting in the water.

Little Caroline was such a good swimmer that even though the water was a bit choppy, she had no problem treading water while the driver slowly pulled the boat around to get the rope taut. Mrs. Kennedy put Caroline in front of her on the skis, and, with bended knees, leaned slightly forward so Caroline could hold on to the wood handle of the towrope.

When the rope was taut and straight, I called out, “Are you ready?”

“Ready!” Mrs. Kennedy yelled.

The captain put the boat in gear, and as he accelerated, Mrs. Kennedy popped out of the water with Caroline balanced on the top of the two skis. It was a photo-perfect picture and the press who witnessed it were having the time of their lives.

The ski duo didn’t last but a few seconds, though, as they hit a small wave and both of them toppled into the water. Caroline wasn’t keen to try again, but she didn’t want to get back in the boat, either.

“I’m going to swim all the way to shore, Mummy,” she proclaimed.

Not wanting to squelch her daughter’s enthusiasm, Mrs. Kennedy agreed to let her go, provided she have the inflatable ring, and of course a Secret Service agent.

I motioned to the other boat and yelled, “Caroline wants to swim back.”

Agent Paul Landis immediately jumped into the water and swam with Caroline back to shore, while Mrs. Kennedy did a bit more water-skiing.

Sure enough, one of the press photographers with a very long telescopic lens on his camera had caught Mrs. Kennedy and Caroline together on water skis, and the next morning they were front-page news around the world. It ended up causing quite a controversy, especially in Great Britain, where one London newspaper ran the headline:

PLEASE MRS. KENNEDY, DON’T DO IT AGAIN!

The article proclaimed that mothers everywhere were cringing at the picture, and “water skiing is hazardous for grown-ups. For a 4-year-old girl it’s madness.”

I knew what an accomplished water-skier Mrs. Kennedy was, and how strong a swimmer Caroline was, so I never felt they were in any danger. Just as the president wanted to pass along his love of sailing to his daughter, Mrs. Kennedy wanted to expose Caroline to the sport that she loved. Nonetheless, I got the feeling that Mrs. Kennedy may have received some strongly worded advice from her husband either by telegram or telephone shortly thereafter. Caroline did not water-ski with her mother again during our stay in Italy.

It became our routine to go to the beach house around ten o’clock each morning, and have a swim and then lunch, followed by an afternoon activity ashore or on the boat. When Mrs. Kennedy was at the beach house, the Italian caretaker and his wife handled everything. This middle-aged Italian couple adored the children and were eager to do anything for their famous guests. The wife cooked lunch every day while her husband hauled the beach toys, towels—and often the children—up and down the steps.

One day I was standing on the boat landing, when the husband came down the stone steps, carrying a big bowl.

“Buongiorno!” he said with a huge smile.

“Buongiorno!” I replied.

That was about the extent of our ability to converse with each other, so I just smiled and let him do whatever he needed to do. I watched as he knelt down on the concrete landing and peered into the water below. All of a sudden he thrust his right arm into the water and when his hand came out he had hold of a baby squid.

Mama mia! Did he really just do that?

He immediately put the squid’s head into his mouth, bit it off and spit it out. I couldn’t believe it. Never in my life had I seen such a thing.

He put the headless squid into the bowl and proceeded to repeat the procedure four or five times. He looked at me, and smiling broadly, said something in Italian, and then took the bowl of fresh squid and raced up the stairs.

A short while later, a wonderful aroma came wafting down the stairs. I looked up and saw the caretaker coming down the steps with a pasta bowl in his hands. He handed me the bowl, with a fork and big spoon, and indicated that I should eat it now. The homemade linguine was drenched in a flavorful garlic and olive oil sauce, all mixed together with a generous portion of fresh calamari. It was absolutely delicious. Just thinking about the slightly sweet, nutty flavor of the freshly caught baby squid in that garlic sauce still makes my mouth water.

THE PAPARAZZI WERE much less intrusive after Mrs. Kennedy posed for the bathing suit photos, but they never completely went away. They really resented the continued presence of Benno Graziani, and the situation became even more complicated when a man named Gianni Agnelli arrived.

We were up at the villa when a magnificent yacht sailed into the Bay of Salerno. The eighty-two-foot-long, two-masted yawl glided in like a prima ballerina making her grand entrance onstage, with its spinnaker flying. It was unlike any other sailboat I had ever seen. The mainsail, spinnaker, and smaller mizzen sail were all a deep red color, like a fine Chianti, and as the yacht cut through the water, its sails stood out against the blue sea like beautiful scarves, flying in the wind.

I soon learned that this was the Agneta, and she belonged to the chairman of Fiat corporation, Gianni Agnelli. Agnelli and his wife, Marella, ran in the same circles as the Kennedys, and had known them for several years, but I had no previous knowledge that the Agnellis were meeting up with Mrs. Kennedy in Ravello. The yacht was anchored quite a ways from the shore, and it was then that Mrs. Kennedy came to tell me her plans.

“My friends the Agnellis have arrived on their yacht, and Lee and Stash and I are going to go aboard. They’re sending a small boat to the dock to take us out to it.”

“Okay, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said. “I’ll alert the police and let them know.” I tried to play it cool, but I was really looking forward to getting on that beautiful yacht.

I had never met Gianni Agnelli before, but he had a reputation for being a man with great charisma and impeccable style, a trendsetter. The Agneta with her long, lean lines, teak decks, and magnificent, richly varnished mahogany hull was every bit as sleek and classy as her owner.

Gianni Agnelli was standing on the deck of his yacht as we approached. Once we boarded, he gave Mrs. Kennedy and Lee each warm hugs. He was gracious and kind, and immediately introduced me to the three crew members, who gave me a tour of the yacht so that I could familiarize myself with the layout of the boat. They treated me like a guest as they showed me the master suite with a small marble fireplace, the two twin cabins and a Pullman berth, the main salon, galley, and several heads. The interior was as elegant as the exterior. When I returned to the deck, Mrs. Kennedy was so relaxed, laughing with her sister, Stash, Gianni, and his wife, Marella. It seemed her entire demeanor changed as soon as she boarded the yacht. It was so peaceful being out on the water, so far from the crowds and the constant flashes from the ever-present cameras. I had the feeling we were going to be spending considerable time aboard the Agneta.

Mrs. Kennedy and Gianni Agnelli followed by Clint Hill

As it turned out, Agnelli offered Mrs. Kennedy the use of the Agneta for the rest of her stay in Italy, and while he and his wife would join Mrs. Kennedy on occasion, much of the time he wasn’t there