During my annual physical examination in 1966, the doctors at Bethesda Naval Hospital discovered I had a double hernia, and they recommended surgery as soon as possible. I was concerned about missing some interesting presidential activity, but the upcoming schedule was not very travel intensive, so I scheduled the surgery for June 7. A few days before I went into the hospital, Director Rowley called me into his office.
“Clint,” he said, “in my most recent discussion with the president, he specifically inquired about you.”
Oh no, I thought. President Johnson still doesn’t think I’m capable?
“Yes, sir. In what way?”
“He commented on your work ethic and dedication to the job, and he asked about your pay grade in comparison to some of the other agents. When I gave him the information, he told me we needed to raise your grade.”
Was I hearing this correctly? “The president thinks I deserve an increase in pay?” I asked.
“That’s right,” Rowley said. “I agree wholeheartedly, and I’ve just initiated the paperwork to increase you to a GS-15. The president is extremely pleased with your performance.”
I was astounded. The president’s confidence in me was an indication that he considered me trustworthy and loyal to the Office of the President. Considering that a year and a half earlier he had requested that I be removed from the detail, this was a major accomplishment.
It wasn’t long before I was back in the regular routine, but during my absence the problems facing the president, and the world, seemed to have escalated. Civil rights activist James Meredith had been shot and wounded while marching in Mississippi. Race riots had broken out in Cleveland, and Martin Luther King had been assaulted with rocks in Chicago. The Vietnam situation had intensified, and on June 29 the United States began to bomb Hanoi and Haiphong. The president of Argentina had been deposed by a coup, and the prime minister of South Africa had been assassinated. There had been a sniper shooting at the University of Texas that left thirteen dead and thirty-one wounded. In Chicago, a mass murderer had brutally killed eight student nurses, and, in an upscale Chicago suburb, the daughter of U.S. Senate candidate Charles Percy had been murdered in her bedroom. Everywhere you turned there was violence and killing.
AUGUST IN WASHINGTON, D.C., is typically very quiet, with most of Capitol Hill on vacation, but in 1966 a big event kept a lot of people in town—the wedding of the president’s daughter. On Saturday, August 6, seven hundred guests attended the wedding ceremony of Luci Baines Johnson and Patrick J. Nugent at the magnificent Basilica of the Immaculate Conception—the national Roman Catholic Church—in northeast Washington, D.C., and the reception afterward at the White House, while 55 million people tuned in to watch the event on live television. It was a wonderful, happy occasion for the Johnson family, but for the Secret Service, one of our main concerns was that the ever-present antiwar picketers would spoil the day, so we had hundreds of policemen posted around the White House. The demonstrators persisted throughout the day and into the evening. The guests were largely oblivious to what was happening just outside on Pennsylvania Avenue, but every so often, when the band stopped playing, you could hear the protestors chanting, “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids have you killed today?”
AT THE END of September, Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos invited President Johnson to meet in Manila with the leaders of six other nations allied in the anti-Communist military effort in South Vietnam to try to find a resolution to the growing conflict. By this time, we had around 300,000 Americans in Vietnam, and more than five thousand of our boys had been killed, as well as thousands more from the allied nations. Johnson readily accepted the invitation and expanded the trip to include stops in New Zealand, Australia, Thailand, Malaysia, Korea, and American Samoa. There was much speculation that President Johnson would also use this trip to make a stop in South Vietnam to visit the troops, but the White House consistently denied that was going to happen. In fact, a surprise visit to South Vietnam was in the plans from the beginning; the key was keeping it from being leaked to the press.
Not only was it an ambitious itinerary with tremendous logistical challenges, but it was also Johnson’s first trip outside North America as president, and the first time a sitting president would visit Australia, New Zealand, Malaysia, and American Samoa. With just a few weeks of lead time, advance teams were hastily organized and sent to the various locations.
On October 17, there was a grand send-off ceremony at Dulles International Airport in Washington for the president and first lady. Now that I was one of the Assistant Special Agents in Charge of the White House Detail, I had the privilege of flying on Air Force One with the president during each leg of this long journey. There was limited space on the presidential aircraft, and typically seats were reserved for just six to eight agents, with the majority of the detail traveling in the backup plane or the press plane.
We landed at Honolulu International Airport to a large crowd and the typical arrival ceremonies, Hawaiian-style—with hip-swaying hula dancers, ukulele music, and stacks of floral leis presented to President and Mrs. Johnson to wear around their necks.
Our armored presidential vehicle, SS-100-X, had been sent by cargo plane, and as we motorcaded into downtown Honolulu, the streets were lined with schoolchildren and people holding up signs that read ALOHA MR. PRESIDENT! and WELCOME TO THE 50TH STATE! Hundreds of thousands of people waved and cheered—it was an exuberant, happy crowd—and at least a dozen times along the way, President Johnson ordered the driver to stop the car so he could get out and shake hands.
President Johnson was clearly elated with the wonderful reception in Honolulu, but as we prepared to head Down Under, we received some concerning information from the Australian Security Service. Apparently, several anonymous calls had been made to newspapers in Adelaide and Sydney saying an attempt would be made on President Johnson’s life when he visited Australia. One caller told a reporter that he planned to take a rifle with a telescopic sight to Sydney. The man said his nineteen-year-old son had recently been killed in Vietnam and chillingly added, “I’m going to blow Johnson’s head off.”
Australia had nearly five thousand troops in Vietnam, and while the majority of Australians supported the war effort, many were opposed to the policy of sending draftees and held President Johnson personally responsible.
You couldn’t cancel a trip because of random threats, however, and there was never any discussion of doing so. Whenever the president left the White House or the security of the LBJ Ranch—whether it was driving to church in Johnson City, Texas, or traveling in a grand motorcade through downtown Sydney, Australia—there was always the concern that a lone gunman might be in the crowd. The best we could do was investigate with the information we had, remain vigilant at all times, and hope that the president himself wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.
WE DEPARTED HONOLULU early on the morning of October 18, had a brief refueling stop in Pago Pago, American Samoa, crossed the International Date Line, and headed to Wellington, New Zealand.
It was drizzling rain, but still there was a good-sized crowd of about three thousand at the airport for the arrival ceremony. Speaking briefly, President Johnson endeared himself to the people of New Zealand when he referred to the last time he was there, twenty-four years earlier in 1942, as a lieutenant commander in the U.S. Navy serving alongside New Zealanders during the dark days of World War II. In all of his speeches on this trip he would compare that war to the current situation in Vietnam—how the world might have been a different place if the “snowball of aggression” had been stopped in the 1930s. It was our obligation to keep our word, and, as a larger nation, to support the people of a smaller nation like South Vietnam “to keep the momentum from gathering.” But the task ahead would not be easy, he said, “because the securing of peace is not done by miracles,” and there should be no expectations that “a rabbit would be pulled out of a hat” on this trip.
People of all ages had come out to welcome the president, and while there were a couple of placards protesting the war as we proceeded along the motorcade route from the airport to Government House—the official residence of the governor-general—the response was overwhelmingly warm and friendly. It had already been a long day, and our body clocks had not adjusted to the seventeen-hour time difference, but still there was a formal dinner reception, and by the time we got President Johnson tucked into his suite, it was after 10:30 in the evening.
Morning seemed to come much too quickly, and the next day’s activities began early, with motorcades to the National War Monument and Parliament House. It was a crisp, sunny day, and because schools had declared it a holiday in honor of President Johnson’s visit, it seemed the entire city had turned out to line the streets of Wellington. Riding in SS-100-X, the president used the car’s microphone to connect with the people.
“Thank you for coming!” his voice boomed from the speakers. “Good morning! Glad to see you!”
The people loved it. “Welcome! Good on ya, Yank!” they yelled back.
With all this adoration surrounding him, the president couldn’t contain himself inside the vehicle. At one point, there was a particularly large and boisterous group, including dozens of children dressed in their school uniforms waving and cheering. The car stopped—at the president’s request—and without warning, Johnson opened the door, got out, and went straight into the crowd, beaming with delight as he shook as many hands as he could. The people went wild—clapping, cheering, so thrilled to see this American president, larger than life, right here in front of them.
We finally got him back into the car, but the next thing we knew, he was instructing Marvin Watson, his chief of staff, to get the advance man in the lead car to radio back and let them know which were the best spots—with the biggest crowds—so he could get out and greet the people, with maximum exposure. He invited the CBS pool cameraman into the car so he could film what the crowd looked like from the president’s perspective. Johnson was simultaneously directing traffic, telling the driver where to stop, and connecting with the crowd via the car’s loudspeaker system—he had taken charge of the whole damn motorcade. Needless to say, this put all the agents on edge, and we had to have guys running alongside the vehicle to make sure the president was covered anytime he decided to stop and jump out of the car.
Every so often we’d see signs proclaiming OUT OF VIETNAM and STOP UNLIMITED KILLING IN ASIA, but the overwhelming majority of the crowds were friendly and enthusiastic, holding up signs like LBJ FOREVER and SUPPORT U.S. POLICY IN VIETNAM.
The twenty-four-hour stay in Wellington was not just pomp and circumstance, though. President Johnson had substantive talks with the prime minister as well as the leader of the opposition party, and upon delivery of his speech in Parliament House the governing body applauded with two standing ovations. President Johnson was thrilled with the tremendous reception he had received, and as soon as he boarded Air Force One, he retired to his cabin and slept for the entire two-hour flight to our next stop—Canberra. Meanwhile, with reports of threats and demonstrations in Australia continuing to file in, our team of agents spent the time reviewing strategies for protecting the president and first lady in a potentially hostile environment—a task made all the more difficult with a president who haphazardly ignored prearranged security plans and was willing to expose himself to large, unchecked crowds in order to bask in the shower of adoration.
IT HAD BEEN drizzling in Canberra, but just as Air Force One touched down at Fairbairn Royal Australian Air Force Base shortly after six in the evening the rain stopped, and rays of sunlight burst through disappearing thunderhead clouds.
Prime Minister Harold Holt and his wife were waiting to greet President and Mrs. Johnson, and after the usual arrival ceremonies, President Johnson stepped up to the podium and made a few remarks to the press and the crowd at the airport.
“I came to Australia in 1942 on a mission of war,” he said. “And now tonight, more than twenty-four years later, I return on a mission of hope. I cannot say that miracles will occur at Manila. I carry no magic wands. The hard work of securing the peace is never done by miracles.”
The schedule called for everyone to move immediately to their assigned vehicles for the motorcade into downtown Canberra, but the cheering crowd along the fence beckoned. Unable to resist the human contact, President Johnson dove into the crowd, shaking hands, kissing babies, and handing out presidential pens as the press stumbled all over themselves trying to get photos.
What the hell is he doing? Running for prime minister of Australia? I thought. If anyone needs a magic wand, it’s us. If he keeps this up, it’ll be a damn miracle to get him home alive.
Finally, after he’d gone up and down the fence line, the president got into the car with Prime Minister Holt, and the motorcade got under way. There were tremendous crowds along the route, and once again the president halted the motorcade no fewer than six times to jump out and greet the people. Fortunately, there were no threatening incidents, and we eventually got President and Mrs. Johnson to Prime Minister Holt’s residence for a nine o’clock private dinner.
Meanwhile, our advance team at the Canberra Rex Hotel—where the president would be staying overnight—warned us that a large crowd of antiwar demonstrators had gathered at the hotel’s entrance and was waiting for the president’s arrival. They were all riled up, shouting profanities and even hurling things at the American visitors who passed through the doors.
It was eleven o’clock by the time President Johnson departed the Holt residence, and we informed him that we were going to bring him to the back entrance of the hotel to avoid any confrontation. I was riding in the front seat of the follow-up car, and as we were driving along, I realized I could no longer see the president sitting in the car ahead. He had crouched down in the backseat, and as soon as we arrived at the hotel we surrounded him and scurried up to his suite without anyone observing his arrival. It was quite different from the welcoming reception he had received only hours earlier, and it was the only time I ever saw a president duck down in the rear seat of a car to avoid being seen.
EARLIER IN THE day, Youngblood informed me that President Johnson was considering an intensive campaign trip when he returned to the United States to support Democratic candidates in the upcoming 1966 midterm election. He wanted to visit a number of cities in a variety of states before Election Day, November 8, and an advance team headed up by Special Assistant to the President Sherwin Markman was being formed to preview potential stops.
“The trip is extremely confidential,” Youngblood said. “They need an agent to go with them, and the president and I decided you would be the best person for the job.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“The plan is that the president will make this trip a day or two after we get back, so we need you to make arrangements to fly back to Washington as soon as possible to join the advance group.”
I was disappointed that I wasn’t going to be able to participate in the rest of the president’s trip to the South Pacific and Asia, but at the same time the fact that I was being given the responsibility for this important advance was an indication that my abilities were being recognized and appreciated.
The following day, I remained in Canberra to finish making my departure arrangements while the rest of the detail accompanied President Johnson to Melbourne. Being that this was the first time a sitting American president had ever visited Australia, President Johnson’s every move was big news. Despite the protestors at the hotel and other small pockets of demonstrators during the motorcades, the overwhelming majority of Australians seemed almost starstruck by LBJ. They loved him.
The president’s arrival and motorcade through Melbourne was covered live on television, so I was able to watch everything in real time from my hotel room. It felt strange to be watching the events unfold when I would normally be right in the middle of the action, and I found myself filled with anxiety. The crowds were enormous—newscasters estimated at least half a million people and perhaps as many as a million. It was a frantic mob scene of children, teens, and adults screaming and shrieking. American and Australian flags fluttered from hands in every direction. The absolute hysteria reminded me of the Beatles’ arrival in New York City back in 1964. As the motorcade drove slowly through Melbourne’s downtown area, the presidential vehicle was forced to come to a complete stop as it became enveloped in a swarm of people. My stomach was in knots as I anticipated what was about to happen, and sure enough, the president took the opportunity to open the back door and step onto the side running board, and, clutching the side of the vehicle, he hurled himself up so that he was standing above the crowd. The people went absolutely crazy—shrieking and cheering, clamoring to get close enough to touch him. As he stood there, fully exposed, his ego overwhelmed by the adoring crowds, the agents were desperately trying to push people back from the car and create space so the motorcade could proceed.
Finally, a path was cleared, and as the car began moving again President Johnson got back inside. I could see agents Lem Johns, Rufus Youngblood, Bob Heyn, and Jerry Kivett walking alongside the slow-moving limousine, the tenseness of the situation written all over their sweat-drenched faces. When the cars were able to move faster, Johns and Youngblood rode on the back of the limousine, clinging to the handholds.
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, something came hurling at the vehicle, splattering all over the windshield and the agents. On the black-and-white television, it looked like they were covered in blood.
In fact, someone had launched several balloons filled with red and green paint. The agents struggled to carry on, the paint stinging their eyes and dripping down their faces. It was horrifying to watch this unfold, and I felt helpless sitting there in my hotel room. What if this had happened when the president was standing outside the car? What if it had been acid instead of paint?
The Australian police quickly caught the perpetrators, and eventually the agents were taken to a nearby hospital, where the paint was washed out of their eyes. Although the damage was serious, fortunately no one was permanently injured. The president and the agents returned to Canberra that night, and I got a full accounting of the horrific incident. Surprisingly, President Johnson didn’t seem bothered at all, even joking about it. Meanwhile, SS-100-X was sent to a paint shop, and by the next morning it looked as good as new.
The itinerary for Saturday, October 22, included a side trip to Sydney, with a return back to Canberra that evening, and while SS-100-X was flown ahead on a cargo plane, Prime Minister and Mrs. Holt joined President and Mrs. Johnson on Saturday aboard Air Force One for the short twenty-five-minute flight. I had arranged a commercial flight from Sydney to Honolulu and then on to Washington, so I flew with the presidential party on Air Force One to Sydney. My flight didn’t depart until late in the evening, so I intended to work with the detail throughout the president’s Sydney visit. After the paint-bomb incident in Melbourne, everyone was on high alert, and no one could predict what awaited us in Sydney.
WATCHING LYNDON JOHNSON and Harold Holt interact, it was clear that the two had formed a genuine and sincere friendship. Their goals were aligned, and while they both faced increasing criticism for the Vietnam situation, they firmly believed that the strong alliance of SEATO would ultimately lead to peace in the region. In contrast to Mexico City, Prime Minister Holt did not object to riding with President Johnson in our armored car, so after the normal arrival ceremonies the two leaders got into the back of SS-100-X, while their wives rode behind in a separate car.
The crowds along the motorcade route were tremendous—more than one and a quarter million people had come out to welcome President Johnson to Australia’s largest city. It was like a carnival, with balloons, people throwing confetti and streamers made from rolls of toilet paper from open windows above us, and thousands upon thousands of miniature American and Australian flags held up by screaming men, women, and children. The other agents and I started off on the running boards of the follow-up car, but almost immediately upon leaving the airport there was a loud group of antiwar demonstrators, so we jumped off and began jogging alongside the presidential vehicle. The vast majority of the crowd was enthusiastic and positive—many waving signs that said ALL THE WAY WITH LBJ—and although the president was inside the armored car, we knew that he might not stay there.
Sure enough, as the crowds grew from three deep to ten deep, the car suddenly stopped, and out came the president, walking beyond the police line and reaching out to shake hands with the people. He’d stop for a couple of minutes and then get back in the car, and three minutes later he’d be out again. Mobs of people were surging toward the car, and as we jogged along, pushing people back, we were getting reports that the real crowds didn’t begin for several more miles.
We turned a corner, and there were hundreds of children waving and calling out to the president, so of course the car stopped. He stood on the running board reaching out to shake hands, grinning and shaking his head with glee at the response, and then, suddenly, he hauled himself up to the roof of the car and sat on the roof so the people could see him better. I could hardly believe my eyes.
Lem and Rufus and I made eye contact with one another, all thinking the same thing: What in God’s name is he doing? What the hell use is an armored car if the man sits on top of it like a target for anyone who wants to shoot him?
Talking into the microphone of the loudspeaker system, the president thanked everyone and said how much he loved Sydney and the people of Australia as the crowd pressed in around the car. The agents were spread around, frantically scanning the throngs above, around, and behind us, hoping to God there wasn’t someone in the crowd with a rifle. Truth be told, if there had been, there wasn’t a damn thing we could have done. The first shot is free. After that, all you can do is react.
Youngblood finally convinced the president to get back in the car—by this time we were thirty-five minutes behind schedule, and as we drove slowly into the city the crowds got larger and larger. Suddenly a group of demonstrators holding antiwar signs began hurling eggs and black balloons at the car as they booed and yelled profanities. The Australian police surrounded them as we kept moving forward in a storm of toilet paper, ticker tape, and confetti.
The anti-Vietnam protestors seemed to be multiplying, and up ahead there appeared to be some kind of commotion. A bunch of young men and women were attempting to interrupt the motorcade by lying down in the street, and the police were struggling to remove them by grabbing their hands and feet.
The mounted police unit rode in to help us secure the motorcade, but it was absolute mayhem. Somehow we trudged through the demonstrators, but then we had another problem. There was so much paper in the air that the radiator and every intake vent of the presidential vehicle had become clogged, and the air-conditioning had stopped functioning.
People were screaming and cheering, throwing confetti, while we were on our radios trying to figure out what to do. We ended up moving the president into a regular sedan, but as soon as the motorcade got under way again, we got word of a bomb threat. The situation seemed to be unraveling, completely out of control. The only thing to do was divert from the planned route. We took off down a side street and headed away from the screaming throngs, finally arriving at our destination, the Art Gallery of New South Wales.
The president and Mrs. Johnson had a tour of the art museum—cut short because we were so far behind schedule—and then everyone piled back into the cars for a short drive to Circular Quay West to board a yacht for a cruise in Sydney Harbor.
After the intensity of the past couple of hours, it was a relief to be aboard the yacht and away from the clamorous masses of people. A band played “Anchors Away” as we departed on the Captain Philip, with two police boats providing escort. It was a glorious, sunny day, and the harbor was filled with hundreds of sailboats and motorboats, all jockeying to get a view of President Johnson, who stood on the deck with Mrs. Johnson, waving at the crowds on the water. We passed the Sydney Opera House—still under construction and at that time a somewhat controversial addition to Sydney’s skyline—and sailed under the Sydney Harbor Bridge as the other boats frenzied around us. The local newspapers reported that in the history of Sydney Harbor there had never been as many boats as there were that day. It was a truly spectacular sight that I would remember for the rest of my life.
WHEN I ARRIVED back in Washington, I was able to stop at home for just a few hours—barely enough time to say hello to my family, drop off my dirty laundry, and repack—before reporting to Andrews Air Force Base, where I boarded an unmarked Lockheed JetStar along with the five other members of the survey team. This fact-finding mission was so secret that even the Air Force crew was wearing civilian clothes.
We flew all the way to the West Coast and started working our way back east checking possible venues, making stop after stop in city after city. The president and his staff did not want the press to find out about this possible political campaign trip, and everything was extremely hush-hush—so much so that when we arrived in Minot, North Dakota, where my mother was living at the time, I couldn’t call or see her. It was discouraging because she was getting up in age and I hadn’t seen her for quite some time, but I just couldn’t take the chance that word would get out.
We had just a few more stops to make when suddenly, as we landed on an airstrip in New Hampshire, our plane developed mechanical problems. We notified the base Air Force unit at Andrews, and they secured another unmarked JetStar and flew it with mechanics and parts to our location. We took off in the new plane while the mechanics worked on the disabled jet, and finished our mission.
Our recommendation to the president was twenty-five speeches in twenty-two cities, covering seventeen states over a two-day period—an enormous undertaking, but we believed it to be doable. The report was forwarded to President Johnson’s chief of staff, Marvin Watson, in Manila, Philippines.
Many had suspected that President Johnson might stop in South Vietnam since he was in the region for the summit, but the rumors were consistently and adamantly denied. In fact, even most of the president’s staff believed the printed schedules—which did not include a stop in Vietnam—were firm.
The morning after the Manila summit ended, President Johnson traveled by helicopter to two other locations in the Philippines—scheduled visits that included short motorcades with President Ferdinand Marcos, with the press corps in tow. During this time, pilot Jim Cross surreptitiously transferred Air Force One from Manila International Airport to Sangley Point Air Base across Manila Bay.
Upon the return to Manila, the helicopter delivered President Johnson and all those aboard to Sangley, where they got on Air Force One. Meanwhile, the traveling press corps was taken to a hangar at the airport, the doors were locked and guarded by Secret Service agents, and everyone was told that they would soon be departing for Cam Ranh Bay in South Vietnam. All outside communications were banned until the trip was over.
President Johnson spent two hours and twenty-three minutes on the ground in Cam Ranh Bay talking with the troops, pinning Purple Hearts on the injured, and awarding the Distinguished Service Medal to General Westmoreland. It was the first time a U.S. president had visited South Vietnam and the closest an American president had been to a battlefield since Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War, and by all accounts it was an extremely emotional experience for the commander in chief. Everyone returned to Manila, and the trip continued on as planned to Bangkok, Thailand; Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia; and Seoul, South Korea. The trip had been a great success politically—President Johnson’s appearances resulted in enormous crowds that were overwhelmingly positive in every city, while his participation at the Manila summit strengthened U.S. ties with the other nations that were resolved to defend South Vietnam and to continue working toward a peaceful resolution.
By the time President Johnson arrived back in Washington on November 2, however, he was thoroughly exhausted. Additionally, a medical evaluation had determined that he needed surgery to remove a growth from his vocal cords as well as an operation to repair a problem with the incision in his abdomen from his gallbladder surgery. The doctors urged President Johnson to get as much rest as possible before the surgery. Thus, the twenty-two-city, seventeen-state political campaign trip was shelved. All the work our advance team did was for naught, and on Friday, November 4, we were off to the LBJ Ranch so the president could rest up before the operation.
Ten days later we returned to Washington, and the president had his surgery at Bethesda Naval Hospital. Everything went smoothly, and three days after that President Johnson was released from the hospital. Rather than returning to the White House, we left Bethesda Naval Hospital by helicopter, flew directly to Andrews Air Force Base, boarded Air Force One, and flew back to Texas so the president could fully recuperate in the comfort of his home at the ranch. This meant that once again I would be in Texas on the anniversary of the assassination.
Three years had now passed since that dreadful day, and while it had drifted into the past for many people, including the media, my recollections and feelings of responsibility were as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. President Johnson remembered the anniversary with a telegram to Ambassador and Mrs. Joseph P. Kennedy and a handwritten letter to Jacqueline Kennedy but then it was ranch activity as usual, riding around inspecting the various ranches, spotting deer, and looking at sheep and cattle.
Between the lengthy foreign trips and the countless weeks at the LBJ Ranch, the agents on the White House Detail had been away from our wives and children for about 90 percent of the past year. I don’t know what prompted it—perhaps Mrs. Johnson felt sorry for our wives, knowing they were home alone while we were working at the ranch on Thanksgiving—but out of the blue, President and Mrs. Johnson invited the wives of the senior agents on the White House Detail to be guests at the LBJ Ranch for the first weekend of December.
When I told Gwen about the invitation, she was beyond excited. She had never met President Eisenhower or President Kennedy, and had only met Mrs. Kennedy very briefly the day I received the commendation after the assassination. This was a big deal—not only for her but for all the wives. Finally, they were getting a perk.
AFTER THANKSGIVING, MRS. Johnson had returned to Washington for several days, so it worked out that on Friday, December 2, the Secret Service wives flew back to Texas with her on the presidential jet. The plane landed at Bergstrom Air Force Base, and from there they all boarded a helicopter that flew them directly to the ranch. Now, having been on the White House Detail for eight years by this time, I couldn’t count the number of times I had flown on the presidential aircraft or ridden in helicopters, and it was the same for the other senior agents. But for our wives—most of whom had rarely flown much at all—to be able to fly with the first lady in the presidential aircraft, and then fly by helicopter to the LBJ Ranch, well, you can imagine it was quite a thrill.
It was shortly after five o’clock in the evening when the chopper landed at the ranch, and the president walked out to the airstrip to meet them. He put on the charm as he was introduced to Gwen and the others—Peggy Youngblood, Nita Johns, Loretta Taylor, Betty Godfrey, Donna Duncan, Ann Kivett, Mary Taylor, Heather McKinney, Barb Pontius, Pat Johnsen, and Beverly Olsson—grasping hands and kissing cheeks like they were old friends, and the ladies loved it.
As soon as the introductions were completed, he looked up at the sky and said, “I’m going out to look at my deer while there’s still light enough.” And then, turning to his guests, he smiled and added, “Anyone who wants to can come along.”
The ladies, all in their traveling clothes—skirts or dresses and high heels—looked at each other without knowing quite how to answer this strange invitation immediately upon arrival.
Mrs. Johnson piped up and said, “Lyndon, perhaps our guests would like to settle into their rooms first.”
“Oh, we can show them to their rooms later, Bird. Come on, y’all, let me show you my fine deer.”
It was so typical of LBJ. No matter who his guests were, the first thing he wanted to do was drive around and give them a tour of the ranch. He never gave a thought that perhaps someone might need to use the facilities after traveling halfway across the country, and no one ever dared speak up.
Everyone split up into the various cars, with President Johnson at the wheel of the station wagon leading the way, using the two-way radio system so each carful of wives could hear him, and the ranch tour began. He gave a running commentary, describing the countryside, the deer, the turkeys, armadillos, cattle, and Barbados sheep that were on the property. Driving from one ranch to another, it was the grand tour, with the leader of the free world as guide in chief.
One obligatory stop on the tour was always the birthplace—the simple house where Lyndon Johnson had been born—and as everyone walked around the house, the President of the United States explained in graphic detail how, without any indoor plumbing, he had used a chamber pot as a young boy.
Each of the twelve couples was assigned accommodations nearby: some stayed in guesthouses on the Lewis Ranch, some at the Haywood Ranch, some in a guest trailer house, and some—including Gwen and me—in Johnson City in apartments owned by President and Mrs. Johnson.
On Saturday, President and Mrs. Johnson had a preplanned day trip to Del Rio and Ciudad Acuña, Mexico, to celebrate our nations’ joint venture in the Amistad Dam. So while those of us on the White House Detail flew to Mexico, local agent Clarence Knetsch was in charge of entertaining the wives for the day. The president had given Clarence instructions to take them on the normal routine—a tour inside the ranch house, which they had seen the night before, as well as the president’s boyhood home in Johnson City.
Meanwhile, it was another typical workday for us—jogging in a motorcade through Ciudad Acuña, fending off surging crowds in a blizzard of confetti, trying to keep President Johnson safe as he and President Díaz Ordaz stood waving from an open-top car.
That evening, the agents and wives all went for dinner at the Stonewall Café in Stonewall, where the main course happened to be venison—another first for most of the wives. The gals were really enjoying the opportunity to see and experience the ranch where we spent so much time, but without witnessing the protective activities like our trip to Mexico that day, they could not fathom the emotional and physical strain of our jobs.
The highlight of the weekend was dinner with the president and Mrs. Johnson at the ranch house. White House photographer Yoichi Okamoto was on hand to capture the festivities, and the president and Mrs. Johnson made time to pose for photos with each of the couples before sitting down to dinner in the dining room. We had assigned seats, and while I was at President Johnson’s table, Gwen was seated at Mrs. Johnson’s table. Throughout the evening, President Johnson held court, telling story after story about crazy things that had happened with the various agents, sending the room into fits of laughter.
It was a really special occasion—not just for our wives, but for the agents too—because for the first time we were not just agents, we were the president’s guests. And while it wouldn’t make up for years of missing birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays, the weekend the Secret Service wives got to spend at the LBJ Ranch went a long way toward holding together many a fragile marriage.