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

“Let her do it, Jim,” I urged my supervisor. “We’ll get her in a safe position and make sure she’s covered.”

I had told Mrs. Kennedy the first time I met her that our job was to allow her to do the things she wanted to do, and keep her safe at the same time.

Jeffries acquiesced and we got her to a viewing platform where she could watch. The seventy-seven-year-old president arrived riding in an open, horse-drawn carriage surrounded by spear-carrying horse-mounted bodyguards in scarlet tunics and high turbans. It was like a scene out of a movie and Mrs. Kennedy loved it. She really enjoyed pageantry of this sort—people in traditional costumes, showcasing their country’s history and civilization. Like her husband, Mrs. Kennedy was a history buff, and this seemed to bring history to life. She couldn’t thank Nehru enough for suggesting it.

After a brief formal meeting with the president, our entire entourage of Indian security officials, dignitaries, an army of press, and our small contingent of Secret Service agents headed to Old Delhi to the site where Mohandas K. Gandhi had been cremated, after his brutal assassination in 1948. Hundreds of women and children, all dressed in bright colors, lined the gravel path that led to the tomb, and they applauded as Mrs. Kennedy walked past.

Prior to her trip, Mrs. Kennedy had studied the history of India and Pakistan so that she would be knowledgeable in her discussions with the country’s leaders. She was well aware of Gandhi’s significance to the country, and how his life had ended so suddenly, at the hands of a lone gunman, just fourteen years earlier. I remember how she so carefully took the wreath of white roses someone handed to her and gently placed it on Gandhi’s simple tomb. And then she stood there, silently, in prayer, for a full minute of respectful contemplation.

THE NEXT COUPLE of days were nonstop: lavish luncheons and dinners interspersed with cultural tours and poignant visits to children’s hospitals, and a ceremony in which she presented to Indira Gandhi a portable American classroom equipped with art materials, known as the “Children’s Carnival of Art.”

Everywhere we went Mrs. Kennedy caused a sensation. At one point, a baby elephant was paraded in front of her and she asked, “May I touch him?”

Agent Jeffries said, “No, Mrs. Kennedy that’s not a good idea,” at the same time the elephant’s handler said, “Yes, it’s fine.”

Mrs. Kennedy reached right over to touch its trunk, and the little elephant reacted as if it were being tickled, wrapping its stubble-covered trunk around her hand. She was laughing hysterically—she just loved animals—while Jeffries looked like he was about ready to physically remove her from the situation.

He wasn’t much happier when Mrs. Kennedy showed up in full riding attire—jodhpurs, boots, blazer, and helmet—to go riding at the exercise grounds of the President’s Bodyguard. The President’s Bodyguard is the elite cavalry regiment of the Indian army, and they had magnificent horses and exquisite training grounds. Mrs. Kennedy was in her element as they brought out a mare named Princess for her to ride around the beautiful jumping course. I had no worries at all as I watched her expertly take the jumps, her eyes shining, and a look of sheer exhilaration on her face. I had convinced Ambassador Galbraith to arrange this respite in the itinerary for her, and she loved it.

After three successful days in New Delhi, I was off to Karachi, to set up everything in Pakistan, while Mrs. Kennedy was off to Agra and the Taj Mahal, Benares, and Udaipur. The press followed her everywhere, and from the daily newspaper articles, it appeared as if everything was going smoothly.

She would tell me later the details of what I had missed—watching the spectacle of the young men diving fifty feet into the water tank at Fatehpur Sikri in their underwear, spending hours at the Taj Mahal with a mob of tourists and photographers who wouldn’t leave her alone, riding an elephant with Lee at the Amber Fort in Jaipur, riding down the Ganges in a riverboat as thousands of people ran to the shores to watch her go by.

At the time, however, I had no way of knowing what was happening with Mrs. Kennedy and the trip after I left India, and I didn’t have time to worry about it. Pakistan was going to be a whole different set of problems.

THE CAPITAL OF Pakistan had been moved temporarily from Karachi to Rawalpindi in the late 1950s and was in the process of being permanently moved to Islamabad, but most of the U.S. Embassy business was still being handled in Karachi in 1962. Located on the Arabian Sea, Karachi was one of the most squalid places I had ever visited. When I was there with Eisenhower, we actually brought in a U.S. Navy ship and kept it anchored offshore, and that’s where the Secret Service agents and staff slept and ate. I was working the midnight shift and will never forget the sight of trucks patrolling the streets in the predawn hours, as a laborer poked at the bodies lying on the side of the road to see which ones were alive and which were dead. They’d throw the dead ones into the back of the truck and continue on. The poverty was mind-numbing.

Fortunately, Pan Am had made arrangements with one of the hotels in Karachi, in which they had a completely separate area for their flight crews. It was very basic, but Pan Am brought in all the food, water, and linens so it was up to American standards—and they graciously allowed me to stay there while I advanced Mrs. Kennedy’s trip.

Meanwhile, as I ironed out the wrinkles in the proposed schedule for Pakistan, I was confident that Mrs. Kennedy was being well taken care of by her hosts in India, and that the agents I had assigned to each place