Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir by Clint Hill, Lisa McCubbin

Secret Service agent. Don’t be too rigid. Expect the unexpected and be ready to adjust to the situation. You never know what’s around the corner.
    J UST A FEW weeks later, I was headed to Paris with Tish Baldridge and a couple of agents from the President’s Detail to conduct the complex advance for President Kennedy’s first trip to Europe since taking office. There were a million details to work out, and we had just one week to have all the logistics solidified before President and Mrs. Kennedy arrived.
    Ever since this trip to Paris and Vienna had been announced, anybody that had ever been associated with the White House was vying for a place on Air Force One or the press plane. It was not just President and Mrs. Kennedy’sarrangements that needed to be worked out, but hotel and transportation for the dozens of accompanying staff that included Provi, National Security Advisor McGeorge Bundy, and everybody in between. I worked with Tish and conferred with members of the U.S. Embassy, but mostly dealt with government officials, especially the Sureté Nationale—France’s national police force.
    The biggest problem I had was that I could not speak the language. When Tish and I were in meetings together, she would carry on in fluent French while I sat there and tried to pick up the gist of what was being said from hand gestures and various common words. In most cases, I wouldn’t find out until after the meeting was over what had actually been agreed upon. Fortunately, when I dealt with the law enforcement officials, the U.S. Embassy provided an interpreter. There were times when I felt at an extreme disadvantage, but I had no choice other than to rely on the people who could translate for me.
    The Sureté Nationale was extremely competent, but they were very set in their ways. The French slang for their own presidential bodyguards was “gorillas” and I was fearful that their intense and smothering approach to personal protection would completely overwhelm Mrs. Kennedy. Over the previous six months, with all the time we had spent together, I had learned that the best way to deal with Mrs. Kennedy was to give her as much space as possible, so that she almost forgot you were there. Sometimes Agent Jeffries would hover a bit too close, and it had become evident to me that she wasn’t nearly as comfortable with his style as she was with mine. The last thing I wanted was for something to happen on this trip that would hinder the trust she had in me. I explained to them her shy nature and desire for as much freedom as possible. They seemed to understand and I could only trust that the interpreter was being accurate when he translated, “Yes, Mr. Hill, we will do as you suggest.” They could just as easily have been saying, “Hell no, you can shove it up your ass” and I wouldn’t have known the difference.
    The details and logistics were endless, so there was little time for anything other than work. I never did get a chance to get back to Les Halles for that French onion soup, but finally, with all the minor details worked out, and everyone satisfied with the plan that had been laid out, we were ready for President and Mrs. Kennedy’s arrival on May 31, 1961. The biggest concern was on the diplomatic side. President de Gaulle had a reputation of being distant and arrogant with foreign leaders, and it was feared that he would be tough on President Kennedy, largely because the new American president was so much younger, and had limited political experience. I was glad I didn’t have to worry about that—I just had to make sure nothing happened to Mrs. Kennedy.
    T HERE WAS A chill to the air, but the sun was shining when President and Mrs. Kennedy arrived at Orly Airport promptly at 10:30 A.M. Thousands of enthusiastic spectators stood behind the fence line waving American flags as President and Mrs. Kennedy descended the stairs of Air Force One to full military honors. A police motorcycle escort that numbered at