the back with the casket. Agent Greer drove with Mr. Kellerman in the front seat. I followed in White House car No. 1 with the president’s sister Mrs. Jean Smith, Mrs. Robert Kennedy, Secretary of Defense McNamara, and Dr. Walsh. Paul rode in car No. 2 with O’Donnell, O’Brien, Powers, and Dr. Burkley.
We arrived at the White House at 4:24 A.M. A U.S. Marines honor guard met us at the Northwest Gate and marched in formation in front of the ambulance as we drove up to the North Portico entrance to the White House. The sight of those young Marines, their chins held high, paying respect to our fallen president, in the black of night, was almost more than I could bear.
Military body bearers removed the casket from the ambulance and carried the president into the White House to the East Room. There the casket was placed on a catafalque identical to one used for Abraham Lincoln in 1865. The family gathered around and an honor guard was formed and placed on duty around the casket.
As I watched this sad ceremony unfold, Agent Paul Rundle, a close personal friend, approached me.
“Clint, is there anything I can do?”
I simply shook my head no; there was nothing anyone could do. There was nothing anyone could do to relieve the pain, the anguish, the sense of failure and guilt I felt.
Mrs. Kennedy, along with her friends and family, went up to the second-floor living quarters. I went to my office in the Map Room and wrote some notes about what had happened. After being reassured Mrs. Kennedy was in her quarters with no immediate plans, I got in my car and drove across Memorial Bridge to my apartment in Arlington. It was 6:00 A.M.
I arrived home to find my seven-year-old son, Chris, and two-year-old son, Corey, still asleep. My wife, Gwen, was there to greet and console me. I managed to shave, shower, and eat a little something before I was back in the car on the way to the White House. There was no time to grieve. No time to rest.
When I got to the White House, I went straight to my office. Paul Landis had arrived at the same time. I shut the door, and we talked about the events of the past twenty-four hours. It was tough. We were both exhausted— mentally, physically, and emotionally shattered.
Nobody would ever be able to understand what we had been through. Nobody. Not our families, our friends, not even the other agents. To know the president and Mrs. Kennedy like we did, and to see him assassinated before our very eyes, was the tragic bond that Paul and I shared.
But there was no time for mourning—we still had Mrs. Kennedy to protect.
25
It had rained overnight, and now the rain was coming down steadily, but gently. It was as if the heavens were shedding tears, mourning right along with the rest of the world. I hadn’t seen a television, didn’t know it at the time, but word of the assassination had spread from Dallas to New York to England, France, and Ireland; to Germany, Greece, Italy, India, Pakistan, Ethiopia, and the Soviet Union; down to Mexico and South America. President John F. Kennedy had touched the world, and now the world was in mourning.
The agents on the President’s Detail were rotating shifts for President and Mrs. Johnson, and their daughters. Setting up additional security at the Elms—the vice president’s private residence—doing all the advance work for the venues planned for the state funeral. They were short of manpower and working double shifts. Paul Landis and I were the only agents with Mrs. Kennedy. There was nobody to relieve us.
A private Mass was scheduled in the East Room at 10:00 A.M. Paul and I watched as Mrs. Kennedy gathered with members of the Kennedy family and close friends, as they cried and prayed together, near the casket of the slain president.
When it concluded, Mrs. Kennedy came up to me and said, “I want to go to the president’s office. Will you please get Mr. West?”
We called J. B. West, the chief usher, and he met us in the Oval Office. She wanted to make note of the president’s personal things. Things she wanted to bring with her. The packing had already begun. As we walked around the room, everything was a reminder of a special memory. There was his rocking chair, the glass-encased coconut shell from his PT-109 rescue, family photos, the scrimshaw carved into a whale’s tooth she had given to him as a gift the previous Christmas.
She took one last look at President John F. Kennedy’s office, and we walked out the door.
I returned to my office and began to add to my notes about the past two days. I knew sooner or later the word would come down:
Early that afternoon Mrs. Kennedy called and said, “Mr. Hill, I need to go to Arlington National Cemetery in a little while. Can you have the car ready?”
“Of course, Mrs. Kennedy. I’ll be waiting for you in the Diplomatic Reception Room when you are ready to go.”
I called Sergeant Watkins, the driver assigned to Mrs. Kennedy, and he brought her Chrysler limousine to the south grounds, along with a follow-up car. It was almost 2:00 P.M. when Mrs. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, Mrs. Jean Smith, and Mrs. Pat Lawford came down in the elevator.
Paul Landis and I accompanied them on the short drive from the White House, over Memorial Bridge to the National Cemetery. Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara was there to meet us. The five of them walked around a portion of the cemetery, comparing the views across the river, and finally settled on a certain spot. Looking across the Potomac at the Lincoln Memorial, and beyond that to the Washington Monument and U.S. Capitol. It was a beautiful location—so peaceful and serene—a place where the public could come and pay their respects. This would be the final resting place for President John Fitzgerald Kennedy.
Throughout the rest of the day, Mrs. Kennedy remained mostly in the second-floor living quarters, where she was conferring with her brother-in-law, Sargent Shriver, and others about the funeral, and all activities leading up to it. She was actively engaged in each and every detail of the planning.
I knew that she wanted it to be perfect, and I marveled at her strength. She had seen her husband brutally assassinated right next to her, the day before, and now she was directing the biggest state funeral our country had ever had. Not only would it be the final event she planned at the White House, but it would also be the most important and the most complicated. On top of everything, though, she wanted it to be personal.
She remembered how the president had so enjoyed the Scottish Black Watch performance on the South Lawn just prior to the trip to Texas, with their bagpipes and drums and dances. She asked someone to track them down, and ask if they would so honor the president by marching in his funeral procession.
At midnight, Paul and I were assured Mrs. Kennedy had retired for the night and we discontinued for the day. The next day was going to be busy—a private Mass in the morning for members of the family, friends, and White House staff, followed by a formal procession to the U.S. Capitol, where the president’s body would be taken to lie in state. We both went home, and tried to get some sleep.
I CAME IN early on Sunday, November 24, knowing there would be endless details to coordinate, and I was thankful for that. As long as I had something to plan, something to arrange, I didn’t have to think about the events of November 22.
I had been summoned to SAIC Jerry Behn’s office in the East Wing. He knew I was having a difficult time emotionally and wanted to thank me and try to lift my spirits. We were engaged in conversation when Eve Dempsher, Behn’s trusted secretary, interrupted.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Behn, but General McHugh is on the line for Mr. Hill.”
“Put him through,” Behn said as he handed the phone to me.
“This is Clint Hill.”
“Clint, I’m in the mansion and we have a problem,” Godfrey said with urgency in his voice. “You better get
