it was from, I couldn’t have been more surprised. The arrangement had been sent by Frank Sinatra.
The baby boy was named John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr. and despite being premature, he was thriving. The president-elect would visit Mrs. Kennedy and their newborn son each day, in between the never-ending meetings with staff and advisors in preparation for the start of his administration. Each time he came to the hospital, he was extremely cordial and always called me by name.
“How are you doing today, Clint?” he’d ask.
“I’m fine, Mr. President-elect. Thank you.”
“And how did Mrs. Kennedy fare through the night?”
I’d tell him whether she had slept well or had called for the nurses on occasion. He wanted to have as much information as possible before striding into her room. It was obvious he was sincerely concerned, and despite the endless decisions that needed to be made as he prepared for the presidency, the well-being of his wife and son was uppermost in his mind. The more I got to know him, the more I liked him, which made the fact that I was not on his protective detail all the more disappointing.
A week after his son’s birth, on December 2, the president-elect flew back to Palm Beach, taking young Caroline and the nanny, Maud Shaw, with him, while Mrs. Kennedy and young John remained as patients in the hospital. Both Mrs. Kennedy and the baby were recovering well, but there wasn’t much activity other than the comings and goings of visitors. Mrs. Kennedy was largely confined to the bed in her room, and spent most of her time poring over reference materials about the White House. Frequently she would ask for me to come in to the room because she had some questions. Since Agent Jeffries had not worked on the White House Detail prior to this assignment, he had little knowledge of the type of information she wanted. So, she asked for me.
I’d go into her room and she’d be sitting in bed, propped up with pillows. Dressed in her bedclothes, with no makeup on, she looked younger and more fragile than she had prior to John’s birth, and I could tell she was physically drained. Still, her thick eyebrows and eyelashes framed her big brown eyes against the pallor of her skin, and even in the drab hospital room, she exuded a natural, timeless beauty. With me, she had no need to impress. She had already become accustomed to my constant presence and realized I would see her at her best and her worst.
She was focused on learning as much as possible about the White House—its history, its decor, and how everything worked on a daily basis. Who did the grocery shopping? Who handled the housekeeping? Where would the family eat their private meals? Was there any privacy? What about functions and dinner parties? What were the various rooms—the Red Room, the Green Room, the Blue Room—used for?
She would have a list of questions written out on a lined, yellow legal pad, and as I answered her, she would listen intently, taking voracious notes and interposing questions as they occurred to her. She was savvy and smart, and it was clear that she was eager to make a good impression and wanted to have as much information going into her new role as possible, to avoid making any blunders. I sensed her vulnerability and tried to be as detailed and informative as possible. Our conversations were relaxed and comfortable, and while I enjoyed spending time with Mrs. Kennedy, I missed the camaraderie with the other agents. During those long days at the hospital, I really envied my colleagues who were constantly on the go with the president-elect.
One afternoon she called me in and asked, “Mr. Hill, do you ride horses?”
“I have in the past, as a youngster,” I replied. “One of our neighbors in Washburn, North Dakota, had a Shetland pony.”
She smiled slightly, as if trying to determine whether I was kidding or being serious.
Quickly I added, “Some of my friends had horses on a ranch near my home and I was allowed to ride every so often. A local rodeo cowboy used to give me lessons.”
There was a pause, and then she said, “The reason I ask is that we have arranged to have a place in Middleburg to spend weekends away from Washington, and I’ll have horses there. I love to ride.”
I wondered why they would need a place in Middleburg, Virginia, when the Kennedys would have the use of Camp David—a magnificent property specifically retained as a weekend retreat for the sitting president and his family. I had been there many times with President Eisenhower.
It certainly wasn’t my place to advise the future first lady, but the knowledge that the Kennedys had obtained their own weekend retreat was a surprise to me, and I was quite certain that no one else in the Secret Service knew about it, either. I thought I had better try to get as much information as possible so I could pass it along to my supervisors.
“Middleburg is beautiful,” I answered. “How did you come across this place?”
“Our dear friend Bill Walton found it for us. It’s called Glen Ora, and I haven’t actually seen it myself—just photographs, but I trust Bill’s judgment and it seems perfect for us. It’s a colonial home with a swimming pool, poolhouse, and stables on four hundred acres in the hunt country. Four hundred acres of privacy where the children and I can have a very normal life and the president can get to very easily.”
“It sounds very nice,” I said.
“Well, the grounds are lovely, but the interior of the house needs to be entirely redone. Fortunately, the owner, Mrs. Raymond Tartiere, has kindly allowed me to make some changes so it suits our needs.”
The news of the rented house in Middleburg created a variety of concerns for me. First, how would we adequately protect her while she was riding, yet still give her the privacy she desired? I knew she was an accomplished equestrienne and I was quite certain that my childhood riding experiences would not be enough to keep up with her. In addition, we would have to make sure there was adequate space for helicopter takeoffs and landings, and additional personnel would be required to maintain security at all times.
ON DECEMBER 8, President-elect Kennedy returned to Washington for the christening. Mrs. Kennedy and the baby were still patients in the hospital, so the service took place in the chapel at Georgetown University Hospital. It was clear that Mrs. Kennedy didn’t have much energy, but she was determined to stand for a few minutes during the service. The press was eager to snap photos of the Kennedys holding their newborn son in his traditional flowing white christening gown, but Mrs. Kennedy, especially, was very concerned about the privacy of her children. The few members of the press who had been invited were very restricted, and although they were only allowed a brief amount of time to photograph and speak with the family, I could tell that even this slight bit of activity was wearing on Mrs. Kennedy.
First Lady Mamie Eisenhower had invited her to come to the White House the following day, December 9, at noon, for a tour of the mansion, including the private living quarters on the second and third floors. Dr. Walsh had agreed to release Mrs. Kennedy and John from the hospital, but everyone was concerned about her ability to go through with the White House tour, since she had struggled to stand during the brief christening ceremony. Mrs. Kennedy herself seemed apprehensive about her physical ability, but she was desperate to see her new home so that she could determine what changes she might want to make once they moved in on January 20, following the Inauguration.
“How about if I call J. B. West, the chief usher of the White House, and ask him to have a wheelchair for you, Mrs. Kennedy?” I asked her. “I know Mr. West well, and I am sure he will want you to be as comfortable as possible during the visit.”
She had been looking rather forlorn, but with this new option, suddenly her eyes lit up.
“That’s a wonderful idea, Mr. Hill,” Mrs. Kennedy said. She smiled and added, “Then I won’t have to worry about fainting and making the headlines.”
“Fine, then. I’ll phone Mr. West and make the arrangements.”
The chief usher holds a prominent position within the administrative staff, as he is responsible for the management of the White House. He must coordinate with the Secret Service and the presidential staff to ensure the effective and efficient day-to-day operation of the residential portion of the White House, known as the executive mansion, as well as the public and historical rooms. Mr. West had held the position of chief usher since 1957, but since the position is a presidential appointment, it hadn’t yet been determined whether he would be retained with the new administration.
The next day, Mrs. Kennedy and John were released from the hospital and we took them to their home in Georgetown. Mrs. Kennedy barely had time to change clothes and freshen up before it was time to depart for the White House.
I pulled the Kennedy’s three-year-old blue station wagon up to the front of the house and got out to help Mrs. Kennedy into the car.
