Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir

just perfect.”

Under normal circumstances, I would never interject myself into a conversation like this, but I had to quell my curiosity.

“Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, “you got such an ovation that I have to ask . . . what exactly did you say?”

She and the president laughed and before she could answer, President Kennedy said, “Great question, Clint. I’d like to know myself.”

I knew that, more than likely, Mrs. Kennedy had shown her husband her intended remarks prior to the speech, so he was just ribbing her, and she knew it.

We reached the helicopter and as soon as we got aboard, Mrs. Kennedy pulled out the piece of lined yellow paper on which she had handwritten her remarks, and read them, in English: “It is an honor to stand here today with some of the bravest men in the world—and to share in the joy of their families who have hoped and prayed and waited so long. I am proud that my son could meet your officers. He is too young to realize what you did—but I will tell him your story as he grows up. My hope for him is that he will be a man a fraction as brave as the members of Brigade 2506.”

It was a lovely and heartfelt sentiment. Brief, but extremely meaningful and personal. Finally, it seemed, the president could put the failed invasion behind him, and move forward with a renewed sense of purpose and pride.

On New Year’s Eve, President and Mrs. Kennedy attended a lavish party, for the second year in a row, at the residence of Charles and Jayne Wrightsman. It was the social event of the season. The Dom Perignon was flowing, and the party lasted until three o’clock in the morning. As we entered 1963, it seemed there was much to celebrate.

There was something different about Mrs. Kennedy, though. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but there was a sparkle in her eyes, like she was keeping a secret.

PART FOUR

1963

17

Mona Lisa and New York City

On January 8, 1963, we returned to Washington on Air Force One, and arrived back at the White House by helicopter just a few hours before President and Mrs. Kennedy were due at the French Embassy for an eight o’clock dinner in honor of the unveiling of the Mona Lisa at the National Gallery. I barely had time to go home, shower, and change into my tuxedo before returning to the White House.

When Mrs. Kennedy came out of the elevator from the residence on the arm of the president, she looked more stunning than I had ever seen her before. She wore a flowing, pale pink gown and no jewelry but for a pair of exquisite diamond earrings that hung like sparkling raindrops from her ear to her jaw. The dinner at the French Embassy was an elegant affair for about one hundred people, hosted by Ambassador Herve Alphand and his wife. The guests included France’s minister of culture, Andre Malraux, and his wife, as well as many members of the Kennedy family, among them the president’s mother, Rose. After the dinner, the schedule called for everyone to be transported to the National Gallery of Art, where more than one thousand other invited guests were waiting to see the unveiling of the most famous smile in the world.

Everything was going like clockwork until we got into the elevator at the gallery. The poor elevator operator took one glance at Mrs. Kennedy, and I could tell he was really flustered. He pushed the wrong button and then got even more flustered and somehow the elevator wouldn’t budge. We were on a tight time schedule, and the president said, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to walk up the stairs.”

Mrs. Kennedy’s dress was designed so that it hung nearly touching the floor in the front, and actually had a short train in the back that dragged along the ground. She had on high heels, and I was worried that she was going to trip.

“Mrs. Kennedy,” I said as we approached the narrow stairwell, “I’m going to hold your dress up in the back to make sure you don’t step on it, okay?”

I could tell that she was a bit put out by having to climb the stairs, but as soon as I said this, she seemed to relax.

Smiling, she said, “Oh, thank you Mr. Hill,” and we proceeded up the stairs, with me behind her, uncomfortably holding her dress like an attendant at a wedding.

Mona Lisa’s visit to the United States was an enormous success, both politically and culturally. After three weeks in Washington, she was transferred to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, and by the time she returned to France, more than one and a half million Americans had personally viewed Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece. Mrs. Kennedy was absolutely delighted with the outpouring of interest in this important work of art. Her lobbying efforts with President de Gaulle and Minister Malraux had paid off, and the result was that there was a renewed appreciation of culture and fine arts in America.

A few weeks after the Mona Lisa’s arrival, I was walking with Mrs. Kennedy at Glen Ora when she shared some exciting news with me.

“Mr. Hill, I suppose you have noticed that I haven’t been horseback riding like I normally do.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, I had noticed that.” I looked at her and smiled. “And also that you didn’t water-ski when we were in Palm Beach.”

She broke into a big grin and said, “I can’t keep any secrets from you, Mr. Hill, can I?”

“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Kennedy. I know you too well. I’m so happy for you. When will the blessed event occur?”

“Doctor Walsh says sometime in mid-September.”

“That’s wonderful news, Mrs. Kennedy.”

And that’s how I found out that the president and Mrs. Kennedy were expecting their third child.

Nineteen-sixty-two had been an amazing year—filled with wonderful memories and historic events which I had the privilege of witnessing. With the political successes of the previous months, and now the news of the impending birth of the Kennedys’ third child, it seemed that 1963 was only going to be even better.

Mrs. Kennedy had informed me that she wanted to keep the news of her pregnancy quiet for the time being, so few people outside the close family knew about it beyond Paul Landis and myself. She did make it clear, however, that she was planning to curtail her activities quite a bit.

“Sorry, Mr. Hill,” she told me one day, “but I don’t foresee any trips to Ravello or Greece in the near future.” Then, smiling, she added, “You’ll just have to suffer with me in Palm Beach and Hyannis Port.”

I laughed. “That will be just fine, Mrs. Kennedy.”

The trips we had taken over the past two years had been wonderful, but I was glad to hear that she planned to take it easier now that she was pregnant. What I did notice, however, was that she was walking more than she ever had before. Any time she could find an opportunity to walk, she would walk. I didn’t ask her directly, but I assumed that since she could no longer water-ski, ride horses, or play tennis, she was concerned about keeping fit, and not gaining excess weight. Thus, she walked. And when she walked, I walked.

Being physically fit was something that was important to President Kennedy as well. Shortly after he was elected, he published an article in Sports Illustrated titled “The Soft American,” in which he noted how the television set, the use of cars to travel everywhere, and a myriad of other modern conveniences had resulted in a generation of people who were not used to strenuous physical activity. He ended the article noting that parents must be responsible for instilling this in their children. “We do not want our children to become a generation of spectators. Rather, we want each of them to be a participant in the vigorous life.”