Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir Clint Hil (read with me .TXT) 📖

seemed to be a strong connection between the two of them as they chatted comfortably together in French. Tish called their relationship a mutual “intellectual crush” and that, I think, summed it up perfectly. During one of our many discussions about the Paris trip Mrs. Kennedy said, “Mr. Malraux is so interesting. He has been everywhere, knows everyone, and has done so many things. He is a real hero of France.” Mrs. Kennedy wanted this dinner to be the most special one yet, and the guest list was the top priority.

Mrs. Kennedy had a yellow legal pad devoted to the Malraux dinner on which she kept all her notes and ideas, and as the date drew nearer, she would be so excited to tell me which guests had replied and would be attending.

“Oh, Mr. Hill, you won’t believe it. Listen to who we have now.” She would rattle off names of the writers, poets, artists, and actors who had responded: “Arthur Miller, Thornton Wilder, and Tennessee Williams; Lee Strasberg, Julie Harris, and Geraldine Page; Andrew Wyeth and Mark Rothko; George Balanchine and Leonard Bernstein!”

President Kennedy had made one specific request for the guest list: Charles Lindbergh—who would soon celebrate the thirty-fifth anniversary of his solo, nonstop flight to Paris from New York City—and his wife, an aviator and author herself, Anne Morrow Lindbergh. When Mrs. Kennedy found out that the Lindberghs had accepted the invitation, she was over the moon.

The dinner was a huge success. Mrs. Kennedy appeared in a strapless shocking pink ball gown with white gloves up to her elbows, and from the moment she walked into the East Room, it seemed no one could take their eyes off her. I had never seen her look more lovely. She was the belle of the ball, and once again she had orchestrated an event the likes of which had never before been seen at the White House.

Despite the amazing collection of people representing the arts, however, Charles Lindbergh was the big hit of the party, and he and his wife ended up staying overnight at the White House. For Mrs. Kennedy, the highlight of the evening was when Malraux promised to bring a collection of French masterpieces to the United States for a special exhibition at the National Gallery of Art.

“He even promised La Giaconda—the Mona Lisa!” she told me the next day. “I’ve always felt that I was so fortunate to be able to see these great works of art, and now the American public will have the same opportunity. Isn’t it wonderful, Mr. Hill?”

The Mona Lisa had never before been outside of France. And now she was coming to America. I was impressed.

IT WAS NOW back and forth between the White House and Middleburg, and since I was now the only agent permanently assigned to the First Lady’s Detail, it was just Mrs. Kennedy and me. The weekend of May 18, we were back at Glen Ora, as usual. The weather was beautiful this time of year, and Mrs. Kennedy longed to take advantage of every opportunity to ride Sardar. Additionally, she had entered the Loudon Hunt horse show and was scheduled to ride the Sunday of that weekend. The president had been opposed to her competing in the show, thinking it wouldn’t look good politically, but in the end he had acquiesced. Thus far it had been kept a complete secret from the press, and she was really looking forward to it. She was in a particularly happy mood.

As we were driving along one of the secluded country roads, smoking and talking, as usual, Mrs. Kennedy told me about her upcoming plans.

“I’m thinking of spending some time in Italy this summer,” she said casually.

“Oh? Where in Italy?”

“Perhaps on the Amalfi Coast. I have some friends there, and I’ve never been. There’s a village on the coast called Ravello I’ve been told about. Have you been there?”

“I’ve been to Italy, but no, never to the Amalfi Coast. I would imagine it is beautiful.”

“Yes, Lee and I are talking about taking her son, Tony, and Caroline with us. Caroline is old enough to travel abroad I think, and it would be a wonderful experience for her. What do you think?”

“Summer in Italy? The Amalfi Coast? What’s not to like?”

She laughed and said, “Oh, Mr. Hill. I know you will enjoy it, but do you think it will be all right for Caroline?”

“Oh, I think it would be a great experience for her,” I said. “And very relaxing for you, too. Just let me know when you finalize your plans because the sooner I know, the better.”

TYPICALLY, PRESIDENT KENNEDY would join Mrs. Kennedy at Glen Ora on Saturday, but this particular weekend he was in New York City, and wouldn’t arrive until Sunday evening. A Democratic fund-raiser had been organized at Madison Square Garden on Saturday night, May 19, in which fifteen thousand donors paid $100 to $1,000 for a ticket to see a lineup of entertainment that included Ella Fitzgerald, Jack Benny, Harry Belafonte, and Marilyn Monroe. President Kennedy’s forty-fifth birthday was ten days later, and the show was billed as a birthday celebration. Mrs. Kennedy despised these kinds of functions, and it was not at all surprising for her not to attend. She was much happier spending the weekend at Glen Ora with her hunt country friends than making shallow conversation with political donors.

The morning after the event, it was reported in newspapers across the country how Marilyn Monroe had sung a “sultry rendition” of “Happy Birthday” to the president, after which he had quipped to the audience, “I can now retire from politics having had ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to me in such a sweet, wholesome way.”

I read the article and I’m sure Mrs. Kennedy did, too, but neither of us ever brought up the subject. It was never discussed.

I WAS PLEASANTLY surprised to find out that the president and Mrs. Kennedy and the children were going to spend the Fourth of July weekend