“Ready?” she called out.
“Ready!” I answered.
I grabbed the racket in both hands like a baseball bat and held it up as if I were awaiting a pitch. She seemed to be suppressing a smile as she served up the ball and hit it across the net.
I watched, and eager to make a good impression, as the ball came toward me I swung the racket back and whacked it with all my might.
The ball went flying over Mrs. Kennedy’s head, over the fence, and into the trees behind the court.
Mrs. Kennedy watched the ball throughout its flight, saw it hit the ground, and turned back toward me. She didn’t say a word. Holding the racket in one hand, she just pulled out another ball and tried again. This time, I didn’t wind up nearly as much and hit the ball as if I were aiming for second base instead of trying to hit a home run.
The same thing happened. The ball went flying over the fence.
“Mr. Hill,” she called from the other side of the net. “The object is to hit the ball to me so I can return it.”
“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said as I wiped my brow. There was very little breeze and I was already starting to sweat in my wool suit.
I got a bit better and managed to hit a few balls over the net to her, but it certainly wasn’t the game that she had anticipated. I ended up spending most of the time retrieving the balls I’d hit over the fence so we could continue.
We tried a few more times that spring, with similar results. Agent Jeffries, an excellent tennis player, was really her opposition of choice on the tennis courts, because he would volley—I learned the hard way what that word meant—and give Mrs. Kennedy an excellent workout. Unfortunately, he was not always available. Most staff members she tried were not much better than I, so when she couldn’t find anyone else to hit balls with it was finally decided that the best option would be to bring in a pro from a local tennis club to play with her. I certainly gained a lot more respect for the game of tennis and the skill it requires, and was thankful there was no photographic evidence of my short stint as Mrs. Kennedy’s tennis partner.
THE WEEKEND OF April 15 and 16 seemed like any other, with Mrs. Kennedy going to Middleburg on Friday, and the president arriving Saturday afternoon. The public was unaware that the president was dealing with his first major crisis—a failed attempt to invade Cuba by some fourteen hundred American-trained Cuban exiles, that would forever be known as “the Bay of Pigs.”
On Monday, April 17, President and Mrs. Kennedy hosted a state luncheon at the White House for the prime minister of Greece, Konstantinos Karamanlis, and his wife, Amalia, as the Bay of Pigs crisis was unfolding. Mrs. Karamanlis was thirty-two years old—more than twenty years younger than her husband—and she and Mrs. Kennedy hit it off immediately.
After the departure of the Greek couple, Mrs. Kennedy asked me, “Mr. Hill, have you ever been to Greece?”
“Yes, I was in Athens with President Eisenhower.”
“Oh, really?” she answered, wide-eyed. “The prime minister and Mrs. Karamanlis invited the president and me to visit them in Athens. The president can’t make it, but he suggested I go anyway. I’ve always dreamed of visiting the Acropolis and the Parthenon.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “I’m sure you’d love Greece. You should definitely take advantage of the opportunity.”
Shortly thereafter, SAIC Jerry Behn called me into his office in the East Wing of the White House and informed me that I would be doing the advance for Mrs. Kennedy in Paris and Greece.
“Tish Baldridge will be the senior staff advance person, so you’ll be working directly with her,” Behn said. “She used to work in Paris—knows everybody and all the locations—and she speaks fluent French.”
Tish Baldridge was extremely organized and paid close attention to detail. She was exactly the kind of person I liked to have with me on an advance because I didn’t have to worry about things falling through the cracks. She would handle everything with regards to Mrs. Kennedy’s agenda, gifts, seating arrangements, and menus, so that I could focus on logistics and security. This was a huge relief because I had seen how involved visits to foreign governments could become. Protocol always played a big part in these visits and the further I could stay away from those issues, the better. The last thing I needed was to become involved in a squabble over someone’s hurt feelings because they weren’t seated at the table with the president and first lady.
I had been in Paris twice with President Eisenhower—the first time in December 1959, and again during his failed summit meeting with Khrushchev in May 1960—and I was excited for the opportunity to return. Paris had enchanted me like no other city I had visited. There was something about the way its architectural and cultural history had been preserved and maintained that really appealed to me. From the grandeur of the Champs-Élysées to the meandering side streets lined with sidewalk cafés that were filled with couples lingering over a glass of Bordeaux at lunchtime, Paris had matchless charm.
In 1959, I had flown directly from Athens to Paris, a few days ahead of President Eisenhower, along with a few other Secret Service agents and some of the president’s staff. We weren’t there on advance, but had been sent ahead due to space limitations as the president traveled from Athens to Tunis to Toulon, and finally by train to Paris. Thus we had some rare free time. A member of the French police took us under his wing and gave us the “locals” tour
