“Sure,” I said. “What do you want?”
“We need some protein,” Chuck said. “How about some steaks?”
“Come morning a glass of champagne with some orange juice would be nice,” added Stash.
This was obviously not your average fifty-mile hike. So, periodically, we would stop for a short rest, a cigarette—the three of us were all smokers—and I would radio back to the house and request certain things be sent out to us.
Steaks, orange juice, bottled water, champagne. When I asked, people responded. Everyone seemed to be in on this little jaunt and was eager to help.
We walked through the night, and shortly after the sun came up, Paul Landis brought Mrs. Kennedy and Lee out to see how we were doing. They walked with us for a while, verbally challenging Stash and Chuck Spalding to go faster. I was determined to stay ahead of the pack, and that just led to more jokes, more laughter. After about thirty minutes, they got back into their car to return to Palm Beach.
“We’ll be back to check on you!” Mrs. Kennedy called out. “Don’t give up!”
Every so often we would stop to eat, relieve ourselves, and rest. Chuck and the prince had come prepared with foldout mats to spread out on the grass, and a few hours later, they happened to be resting when Mrs. Kennedy and Lee returned, along with President Kennedy. Everybody was in good spirits, and the visit by the president gave us all renewed determination to finish what we had started.
By this time, the word had spread and soon the Florida State Police stopped by to encourage us. On and on we walked down the Sunshine State Parkway. Mile after mile after mile. Prince Radziwill and Chuck started to have problems with their feet, and when they took off their boots, big blisters were forming. I could feel the same thing happening to me, but I didn’t dare mention it. All of us were bound and determined to carry on.
At one point, Dr. Jacobson administered oxygen to Stash and Chuck to give them a boost. I declined the oxygen, but made the mistake of sitting down in the front seat of the station wagon during one of our breaks, and fell sound asleep. It lasted just long enough for Mark Shaw to take a photo, and then they woke me up and we were back to the walk.
Throughout the journey, I would radio back to the command post to advise of our progress. Somewhere around the forty-five-mile point, President and Mrs. Kennedy returned again to encourage us.
Finally, at about eight o’clock on the evening of February 23, we reached the fifty-mile point, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The adrenaline that had been flowing for the past twenty hours now stopped and I could feel the effects. Aches and pains in my back and legs, blisters on my feet. But, by God, we had finished.
On the drive back to the Paul residence, all I could think about was getting in a hot shower and going straight to bed. But when we pulled up, I was informed that the president and Mrs. Kennedy wanted me to come inside.
They were entertaining a small group of friends, and as soon as I walked in, President Kennedy handed me a tall glass filled with champagne.
“Congratulations, Clint!” he said.
Then he pulled out a handmade medallion made of purple construction paper that was attached to a ribbon of yellow crepe paper. As President Kennedy placed the mock medal around my neck, he read the inscription he had handwritten on the front:
“For Dazzle. February 23, 1963. The Order of the Pace Maker, He whom the Secret Service will follow into the Battle of the Sunshine Highway. John F. Kennedy.”
He looked at me and with a twinkle in his eyes, he added, “I even drew the presidential seal on there to make it official.”
Everybody laughed, and I was beaming. I was so impressed that the President of the United States had taken the time to prepare a handmade, personally inscribed medallion to me. It had been an arduous—some might say frivolous—task, but this simple, sincere gesture by President Kennedy made every step worth it.
A few weeks later, a package arrived for me at my office in the White House. Inside was a leather-bound photo album. Engraved on the front in simple gold letters, it read:
FOR C.H. FROM M.S.
And on the spine:
THAT PALM BEACH 50
Inside were thirty original photos by Mark Shaw, all printed on heavy card stock, chronicling the fifty-mile hike.
It’s been fifty years since that momentous hike, and still that leather-bound book, and the handmade paper medal presented to me by President John F. Kennedy, are two of the most precious mementoes I have.
19
One day, we were walking alone together in Palm Beach along the beautiful Lake Trail, which overlooks the Lake Worth Lagoon, when Mrs. Kennedy told me her plans for the upcoming months.
“When we get back to Washington, I told the president I plan on attending as few events as possible,” she said. “You know, only if there’s a state dinner or a reception or something for somebody important.”
“I understand, Mrs. Kennedy.”
I realized that she still wanted to keep the news of her pregnancy quiet, and at the same time, she was concerned about overexerting herself. I got the sense that the fear of losing this baby was always in the back of her mind.
“We have to move everything out of Glen Ora, you know,” she said, “but the new house at Rattlesnake Mountain isn’t finished yet.”
She paused, and turned to me with a questioning look on her face. “The president suggested we spend weekends at Camp David.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Mrs. Kennedy.” Truly, I was so glad to hear that she was considering Camp David. I had no doubt she would love it.
As we walked, with the smell of the ocean and the balmy breeze surrounding us, I tried to explain what it was about Camp David that was so unique. She had a keen sense of history, and I figured that she might be more excited about the prospect of spending time there once she understood how the retreat had been utilized by previous presidents.
The heavily wooded property is about 125 acres and sits on one of the highest elevations in the Catoctin Mountains in Maryland. Originally developed in the 1930s by the Works Progress Administration as a camp for federal government employees and their families, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt requested it be converted to a presidential retreat in 1942 and named it “Shangri-La.”
Roosevelt brought Winston Churchill there, and it was in this secluded environment that they planned the Allied invasion of Europe during World War II. When Eisenhower became president, he changed the name from Shangri-La to Camp David, after his firstborn grandson.
“The reason I think you will enjoy it, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, “is because it is so private—much more so than Glen Ora.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. It’s operated by the U.S. Navy and the entire property is surrounded by a high wire fence that’s closely patrolled by armed Marine guards, as well as constant electronic surveillance. It is so secure and so private
