Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir, Clint Hil [large ebook reader TXT] 📗

sure the president gets the news immediately. He’s on his way, and should be here soon.”

THE PRESIDENT ARRIVED at Otis about forty minutes later.

“Congratulations, Mr. President,” I said.

“Thanks, Clint. How is Mrs. Kennedy?”

“I believe she’s still under sedation, but you should talk to Dr. Walsh.” I didn’t know how much he knew at that time, and I didn’t want to be the one to tell him there might be a problem with his newborn son.

The president went in to see his wife, and then spent time conferring privately with Dr. Walsh.

President Kennedy walked over to me and said, “Clint, find the base chaplain. We need to baptize the baby right away.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

A short while later, the president and Mrs. Kennedy’s son was baptized Patrick Bouvier Kennedy. The name had been decided in advance—Patrick after President Kennedy’s paternal grandfather and Bouvier for Mrs. Kennedy’s father.

After the baptism, Mrs. Kennedy was moved into the recovery suite that had been prepared for her, and baby Patrick was taken into a separate area where he could be monitored.

This was my first glimpse of the baby. As soon as I saw him, tears welled in my eyes. He had a perfectly shaped head, and the tiniest hands and feet. He was beautiful. But he was clearly fighting for each breath, as his poor little chest struggled to get the oxygen he needed to survive.

He looked so alone in the sterile incubator, with tubes going every which way. Oh, how I wanted to pick him up and hold him close. He was so fragile, and more than anything, I wanted to protect him. But all I could do was hope and pray.

Please, do anything to me, God. But please don’t let Patrick die.

As the doctors continued their tests, it became increasingly clear that Patrick’s respiratory problems were serious. He had a condition known as hyaline membrane disease—a common affliction in premature babies due to incomplete lung development. They didn’t have the capability of treating him at Otis—he needed to get to Children’s Hospital in Boston, where they were better equipped to handle the problem. Time was of the essence, but it was too risky to transport him by helicopter. He had to go by ambulance, and he had to have a Secret Service agent with him. This was the son of the President of the United States.

I wanted to stay with him, to try to protect him, but I needed to be with Mrs. Kennedy when she awoke. I had to be there for her.

“Paul,” I said to Agent Landis, “Mrs. Kennedy would want one of us to be with him.”

He nodded.

“You go with the baby in the ambulance, Paul.”

So Paul got in the ambulance with tiny baby Patrick and the medical crew, and at 5:55 P.M., with a full police escort, they raced to Boston.

I had rushed to Otis that morning without showering or shaving, and by this time, I knew I looked awful. I sent someone to the PX to get me a razor and some shaving cream, and snuck into a bathroom so I could at least splash some water on my face and have a quick shave. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

After visiting with Mrs. Kennedy once more, President Kennedy flew to Hyannis Port to check on Caroline and John. I stayed outside Mrs. Kennedy’s door as nurses went in and out. I was relieved when Louella Hennessey, the wonderful nurse who had helped care for all the Kennedy babies, arrived, because I knew what a comfort she would be to Mrs. Kennedy. President Kennedy returned an hour or so later, and went in again to visit with Mrs. Kennedy.

When he came out, he said, “Clint, I’m going to Boston to be with Patrick. I know you’ll make sure Mrs. Kennedy is well taken care of. Just make sure I’m kept informed.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I will make sure you are fully aware, should anything change.”

All the activity—the constant coming and going of people and staff—was a blessing for me. As long as I was busy, I could keep my emotions in check. Every time I thought about baby Patrick, so small and alone inside the incubator, it nearly tore me apart. Throughout this time, Mrs. Kennedy seldom woke up, but continued to remain in a stable condition.

President Kennedy had brought two of Mrs. Kennedy’s staff with him—Pamela Turnure and Nancy Tuckerman—which was a great relief for me. Now I could focus strictly on security and privacy. My emotions, however, kept taking me back to that incubator leaving Otis Air Force Base with the tiny boy inside, gasping for air, fighting for life. I thought of my own two sons and how much they meant to me. How much I wished I could spend more time with them. How fortunate I was that they were healthy and growing rapidly like youngsters their age do.

If only Patrick can survive this threatening ordeal, he too will be growing and developing before my eyes—just as I’ve watched John and Caroline. Something I have been unable to witness with my own sons.

MRS. KENNEDY WAS still in and out of consciousness, and had not been told of the seriousness of Patrick’s condition—only that he had a lung problem similar to what John had been born with. Taking the baby to Boston was just a precaution.

Once President Kennedy and his Secret Service detail arrived at Children’s Hospital, with the added assistance from the Boston Secret Service Field Office, it was decided that Agent Landis should return to Otis to assist me. He arranged for an official car and got back to Hyannis at 2:20 A.M.

The president remained overnight in Boston with Patrick. I stayed with Mrs. Kennedy.

THE NEXT DAY, August 8, there was nonstop activity. Both Paul and I were at Otis doing whatever we could to ensure Mrs. Kennedy was all right; the president was flying back and forth between Boston and Otis and Hyannis