Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir by Clint Hil (best novels for teenagers txt) 📕

I had never been to the Carlyle before, and as I realized we were getting close, I noticed this beautiful structure that seemed to rise up from the city, overlooking Central Park, unobstructed by any other tall buildings. Built in the Art Deco style, the hotel has a distinct look, most notably marked by the octagonal green tiled roof that is topped with what looks like a giant gilded thimble. As we pulled up to the stunning hotel that rose forty stories high, I thought back to my youth in North Dakota wheat country where the highest structures were grain elevators standing four or five stories tall, and I thought, That sure would hold a lot of wheat.

Agents from the New York office had secured the area in anticipation of our arrival. The general manager of the hotel, Mr. Samuel Lewis, was there to greet Mrs. Kennedy and escort her to the Kennedys’ apartment on the thirty-fourth floor.

“Welcome back, Mrs. Kennedy,” said Mr. Lewis as he bowed his head slightly.

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis,” Mrs. Kennedy said with a smile. “It feels like I’m coming home.”

“We hope you do think of this as home, Mrs. Kennedy. And so nice to see you, too, Princess Radziwill,” he added as Lee got out of the car.

The hotel’s lobby had the feel of the entryway to a magnificent home. The floor was black-and-white marble in a striking rectangular pattern that looked like a carpet of black glass surrounded by a white-and-gold border. Beautiful flower arrangements, in the simple style Mrs. Kennedy liked to have at the White House, were on every table. And as we walked in, uniformed employees were standing by to render whatever assistance we required, nodding a polite, “Welcome back, Mrs. Kennedy,” as she walked by.

Directly to the thirty-fourth floor we went, nonstop. The NYFO agents had secured the apartment prior to our arrival and, as the doors opened, a New York Secret Service agent was standing there.

The apartment occupied the thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth floors, and I must say, I was really impressed. I had been in presidential suites in other hotels in New York City and all around the world, but the magnitude and majesty of this apartment residence was almost overwhelming. The spacious apartment had two terraces with fabulous views of Central Park, Manhattan, and New Jersey. The lower floor contained a living room, dining room, kitchen, and study, while upstairs there were two bedrooms with separate baths, and a glassed-in solarium. The Carlyle staff had taken great care to customize the apartment with borrowed eighteenth-century French antiques and original paintings by Pissarro, Murillo, and Degas.

We got Mrs. Kennedy and Lee settled into the apartment and then Jeffries and I went to our shared room on a lower floor. Not as glorious or splendid as the Kennedy apartment, but it was still the Carlyle. We were being well taken care of by the management. Our twelve-dollar per diem allowance would not go very far if we had to pay full price at this luxurious hotel, but fortunately they cut us a great deal. Still, we had to pay for meals, laundry, and dry cleaning out of those twelve dollars. There was no way we could afford to eat at the Carlyle, so we scouted around and found a diner not far away, where we could get a meat loaf dinner for a couple of bucks.

We took Mrs. Kennedy to art and antiques shops as she searched for acquisitions for the White House restoration project, and it wasn’t long before word got around that she was in town. People would follow her as she walked down the street, and clamor to get into the shops with her and Lee. She would offer a curt smile in an effort to be gracious, but I could sense how much she hated the attention and the inability to just go about her business.

The second morning of our visit, Jeffries notified me of Mrs. Kennedy’s schedule for the day. More shopping, some deliveries by Oleg Cassini for her spring wardrobe, followed by an evening at the New York City Ballet at City Center on Fifty-fifth Street. The day had finally come, just as I’d expected when I was first given the assignment on the First Lady’s Detail—fashion shows and the ballet.

Needless to say, I’d never attended a ballet before, so I really had no idea what to expect. Mrs. Kennedy was accompanied by the ambassador to the United Nations, Adlai Stevenson, and somehow the press and the public had got wind that she was going to be in attendance. By the time the performance ended, a huge crowd had gathered on the sidewalk in front of the theater, so Jeffries and I arranged to sneak her out through the rear door of City Center, on Fifty-sixth Street.

I stayed close to her as we walked to the car. She was in a wonderful mood and I could tell she had thoroughly enjoyed the performance.

“What did you think, Mr. Hill? Wasn’t it a wonderful ballet?”

I paused for a moment, before replying. I had nothing to compare it to, but it hadn’t been as awful as I’d expected it to be.

“I really enjoyed the music, Mrs. Kennedy. And I was surprised at the athleticism of the dancers.”

“Oh, Mr. Hill,” she said with a laugh. Whenever she said that, I could tell she could see right through me.

The rest of the week was filled with trying to get Mrs. Kennedy around New York with as few people knowing our comings and goings as possible. She really seemed to enjoy and feel comfortable in the city, and I wanted to make sure she continued to have the ability to go where she wanted, and be as spontaneous as she wanted, without having to worry about her personal safety and privacy.

For me, staying at the Carlyle was the highlight of the trip. I could see why she and the