When I went to open the back door, she asked, “Is anyone else coming with us?”
“No, it’s just you and me, I’m afraid,” I answered.
“I’ll sit in the front seat then,” she said.
“Certainly, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said as I closed the back door and opened the front passenger door for her. I held her elbow as she timidly stepped into the car. She smoothed her dress as she sat down and looked up at me with a smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Hill.”
When we arrived at the White House, J. B. West was there to greet us. He escorted us into the Diplomatic Reception Room, and I watched as Mrs. Kennedy’s eyes took in the details of the decor—the walls, the rug, the flowers, and furnishings—all without saying a word.
We stopped at the elevator that led to the second floor, the private quarters, and Mr. West said, “Mrs. Eisenhower is waiting upstairs.” He looked at me and added, “The first lady would like to take Mrs. Kennedy on the tour in private.”
I nodded and Mrs. Kennedy stepped into the elevator with Mr. West.
I went to the chief usher’s office to stand by, knowing I would be fully aware of Mrs. Kennedy’s activities from this location and not wanting to impinge on the tour of the two first ladies. A few minutes later, Mr. West joined me in his office and we caught up on all that had happened since I’d left President Eisenhower’s detail.
Ninety minutes later, at exactly 1:30 P.M., the buzzer in the office sounded twice. Mr. West jumped up from his chair and walked quickly to the elevator. The buzzer system in the White House was set up to keep the usher’s office, the uniformed White House police, and the Secret Service informed as to the first family’s movements. Two buzzes indicated the first lady was moving.
I followed the chief usher and was waiting when Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. Eisenhower appeared in the elevator. Mrs. Kennedy was extremely pale and looked like she was about to faint. I looked her straight in the eyes and raised my eyebrows as if to say,
The two women walked to the south entrance, as Mr. West and I followed several steps behind. The White House photographer took a photograph of the outgoing first lady and her successor smiling and saying good-byes, but I sensed that Mrs. Kennedy was simply being outwardly gracious. Something had happened upstairs.
I helped her into the front passenger seat and took my place behind the wheel of the station wagon, and headed toward the southwest gate. As soon as we turned onto State Place and proceeded to E Street Northwest, Mrs. Kennedy turned to me and asked, “Mr. Hill, did you call Mr. West and request a wheelchair?”
I turned to her and said, “Yes, I called him this morning and he said it would be no problem at all. He said it would be waiting for you. I assumed they had it upstairs for you.”
“Well, when I got out of the elevator on the second floor, there was just Mrs. Eisenhower and no wheelchair in sight. She never mentioned it, so I assumed it simply hadn’t been arranged.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to make excuses, but I had indeed spoken to J. B. West that morning.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Kennedy. I don’t know what happened.” I felt awful, imagining that somehow I’d done something that had caused her difficulty.
I later found out from J. B. West, whom President Kennedy did indeed retain as chief usher, that the wheelchair had been ordered. The problem was that Mrs. Eisenhower didn’t want anyone to accompany her and Mrs. Kennedy, and she certainly wasn’t going to push the new first lady—her political rival—through the executive mansion. She had told West that the wheelchair would be available, but hidden, and brought out only if Mrs. Kennedy requested it.
Mrs. Kennedy didn’t blame me at all for the mishap. She was intuitive with people and had figured that Mrs. Eisenhower had simply ignored her request. She was far more concerned with the state of the White House.
“So what did you think of your new home, Mrs. Kennedy?” I asked.
“It’s going to need far more work than I’d even imagined,” she said in her soft, breathy voice. “We are going to be busy, Mr. Hill.” After all our earlier conversations about the history and importance of the president’s residence, I could see her mind already working as to how she intended to put her stamp on the White House.
The hour-and-a-half tour had depleted Mrs. Kennedy’s energy and I could tell she needed a rest. Unfortunately, it had previously been decided that she and the president-elect would fly with their newborn son to Palm Beach immediately following the White House visit, so there was no time for her to relax, just yet.
The schedule had been set with little room for delay, so we returned to 3307 N Street to pick up President- elect Kennedy; baby John; Provi; Elsie Phillips, a new nurse and friend of Maud Shaw’s who had been employed to help with John Jr.; Louella Hennessey, the longtime nurse of the Kennedy family, who had come to help Mrs. Kennedy with her recuperation; a mound of luggage for the first lady; and a suitcase each for Jeffries and myself, and headed to Andrews Air Force Base, where the
The wind was blowing and the air was frigid as I followed Mrs. Kennedy up the steps to the plane. When we got on board, the president-elect helped her take off her coat and said, “The weather in Palm Beach has been beautiful. Some time in the warm weather and sunshine will do wonders for your recovery, Jackie.”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it,” Mrs. Kennedy said as she sat down gingerly on the sofa-like lounge. She was pale and clearly exhausted from the day’s outing.
I had never been on a private plane before, and as I settled into a seat next to a window, it struck me that the lifestyle that was normal for the Kennedys was beyond anything I’d ever imagined, let alone experienced. This trip on the
3
There was a great deal of turbulence on the flight from Washington to Palm Beach. Howard Baird, the captain of the
It was evening by the time we landed, but the temperature was in the mid-70s—nearly 40 degrees higher than what we’d left in Washington, D.C. There was a crowd of people waiting at the Palm Beach Airport as well as some press photographers and as soon as Mrs. Kennedy saw them, she turned to her husband and said, “I am not talking to the press. And I don’t want any photographs of the baby. I was hoping we would have more privacy down here.”
The president-elect nodded in understanding. Members of the President-elect Secret Service detail had secured the area and had cars waiting for us. President-elect Kennedy stepped out of the plane and as he walked down the steps, he smiled and waved to the small but enthusiastic crowd. He walked over and shook some hands as a couple of Secret Service agents stayed close.
As soon as Mrs. Kennedy appeared in the doorway of the plane, at the top of the portable stairs, several people yelled, “Jackie! Jackie! Look over here!”
She looked at the crowd and smiled, but held tightly to the railing as she walked down the stairs and headed straight for the car. Unfortunately, the privacy Mrs. Kennedy sought would be elusive for the rest of her life. People were fascinated by her, and there would be few places she could escape. Palm Beach was certainly not one of them.
The town of Palm Beach is actually a long, narrow barrier island off the southeast coast of Florida, and it was
