When I reported to Secret Service headquarters at 1800 G Street N.W., Washington, D.C., I was given an office within the Assistant Director/Protective Forces Suite on the eighth floor. It was windowless and measured about eight feet by ten feet. For the first time since I began my career in the Secret Service, I was deskbound. Although the paperwork and continuous workload of my new position gave me plenty to do and kept me busy, sitting there in that enclosed space also gave me plenty of time to think. And the thoughts that started creeping back into my mind were the memories of 1963 and that dreadful day in Dallas.
From the time I left Mrs. Kennedy and went back on the White House Detail with President Johnson there hadn’t been time to think about anything but the job, and I had somehow managed to put the vivid memories of the assassination out of my mind. It seemed the more physically active I was, the less I thought about it. Now, instead of being constantly on the move, I was sitting at a desk, figuring out budgets and making recommendations on personnel.
After being on the road and away from home more than 90 percent of the time, now I was able to sleep in my own bed and be home for dinner with my family. But, as it turned out, and was to be expected, my wife and sons had developed a routine without me, so I frequently stayed late at the office.
In my new position, I was answering requests from the various protective divisions to better enable their security capability—requests for manpower, both permanent and temporary; equipment requests; and requests for increased training. Since 1963, the Secret Service had, little by little, become responsible for protecting a much larger group of people—both as directed by Congress and also by presidential decree—and yet Congress had not always provided funding to hire the number of agents required to effectively handle the job. When President Kennedy was assassinated in 1963, the Secret Service had the responsibility of protecting the president and his family and the vice president—and we had fewer than fifty agents to do the job around the clock. Less than nine years later, when I started as the deputy assistant director, the Secret Service had been reorganized, and now we had agents assigned to the Presidential Protective Division (PPD); Vice Presidential Protective Division (VPPD); Johnson Protective Division (JPD); Kennedy Protective Division (KPD); Eisenhower Protective Division (EPD); Truman Protective Division (TPD), and the Protective Support Division (PSD). These were just the protective divisions of the Secret Service. The criminal investigation, intelligence gathering, and technical divisions had all expanded as well.
At the time, I was the only agent in the Secret Service who had the experience of being SAIC of PPD and VPPD—as well as having been the SAIC of the First Lady’s Detail and then of the KPD—so I had a good understanding of what was needed. I knew that when requests were being made, it was because the agents were concerned about their ability to protect these individuals under the circumstances. In addition we had personnel and equipment in San Clemente, California, and Key Biscayne, Florida—at the personal residences of President Nixon—and having spent so much time at the LBJ Ranch with President Johnson and at the various residences of the Kennedys, I was well aware of the vast resources required to keep those properties secured.
The Office of Protective Forces also had the responsibility for planning and developing new equipment—including armored vehicles. That took a great deal of time and coordination with the PPD and the Office of the President. We were interested in the protection provided by the vehicle. The Office of the President was interested in aesthetics and maximum exposure of the president to the public. One major problem was that we had to have the cooperation of the president, whoever was the occupant of the office. Sometimes our procedures and their desires were in conflict, which created difficult situations. We did not want the president to have the opportunity to place himself in a dangerous situation—like the ability to stand up out of the roof of a car—making the security situation worse than it already was. Somehow it seemed a president’s ego—or the overriding goal of an overzealous staff—resulted in a constant battle to thwart our efforts. I’ve often said, politics and protection are like oil and water.
In late January 1970, PPD notified my office that President Nixon would be going by train to Philadelphia to attend a concert by the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra and to present to its music director, Eugene Ormandy, the Medal of Freedom. Normally, the president would take a trip to Philadelphia from Washington by helicopter or plane. In 1962, President Kennedy had flown to Philadelphia by helicopter but returned to Washington from Philadelphia by train, after having attended the Army-Navy football game. I suppose that’s where President Nixon got the idea.
President Nixon was at Camp David on the morning of January 24, the day of his train excursion, which would have made the trip much less complicated if he had traveled by helicopter. Instead, he flew by helicopter back to the White House, boarded a train at Union Station, and traveled to the Thirtieth Street Station in Philadelphia, returning to Washington by train that night. It involved more people, disrupting some normal business operations and causing inconvenience to many people, and created more risk than necessary.
We advised against it. The president and his staff overruled.
ONE OF THE larger divisions under the supervision in the Office of Protective Forces was the White House Police (now known as the Uniformed Division), which at the time had about 250 men. Unlike the Secret Service agents on protective details, who typically dressed in business-type suits, the White House Police wore uniforms similar to those of police officers, complete with badge and cap. Fortunately for me, fellow agent Vince Mroz had the responsibility of overseeing that group, and I didn’t have to deal with the fiasco that was about to occur.
Apparently when President Nixon had visited Europe earlier in 1969, he and some of his staff were impressed by the ornate uniforms worn by security officers at state residences, and upon returning they made a request for the White House Police to design, and have manufactured, uniforms of similar appearance. Within a few weeks of my arrival at headquarters, Prime Minister Harold Wilson of Great Britain came to the White House on an official state visit, and it was on this occasion that the new White House Police uniforms were unveiled.
The new uniforms consisted of black trousers and a white long-sleeved jacket with two columns of gold buttons—spaced evenly from each shoulder to the waist—and two buttons at the collarbone just below the stand-up collar. Gold braid accented the bottom of the sleeves just above the wrists, and an additional double length of gold braid looped from the right shoulder to the chest, ending in dangling tassels. Combined with the pointed, gold-trimmed cap with a black vinyl brim, the uniforms made the officers look like they belonged to a college marching band.
They were ridiculous.
It wasn’t my place to comment on the uniforms, but as it turned out I didn’t have to say a word. The press didn’t hold back. Reporters said the police looked like “old-time movie ushers,” and “extras from a Lithuanian movie,” some even going so far as to call them “Nazi uniforms” for “Nixon’s Palace Guard.”
Chicago Tribune columnist Walter Trohan, a Nixon friend, wrote that the uniforms belonged onstage, calling them “frank borrowing from decadent European monarchies, which is abhorrent to this country’s democratic tradition.” They had become a national joke. Fortunately, President Nixon heard the message loud and clear, and it was the one and only time those uniforms were worn by the White House Police.
A few months later, a recommendation was made to enlarge the size of the White House Police force and increase its responsibilities within the Secret Service. It would grow from 250 men to 850, and in addition to protecting the executive mansion and its grounds, it would also be responsible for the protection of foreign missions within the District of Columbia; any building in which presidential offices were located; and foreign missions located in such areas of the United States, its territories, and possessions as the president, on a case-by-case basis, might direct. With these increased roles, the name of the division was changed from the White House Police to the Executive Protective Service (EPS).
AT THIS POINT in Nixon’s administration, despite the large antiwar contingent among youth, polls showed that more than 60 percent of the American people approved of the job President Nixon was doing. Still, Nixon believed the press was part of the antiestablishment, and he was always grumbling about how they didn’t treat him fairly.
Every year there was a white-tie dinner at the Gridiron Club—an elite dining club consisting of the fifty most prominent newspapermen in Washington—and since its inception in 1895, every president except Grover Cleveland had spoken at this annual event. Throughout the dinner, in between the courses of soup, salad, entrée, and dessert—along with, of course, plentiful cocktails and wine—there would be satirical skits and humorous remarks by politicians to keep the audience entertained. The unspoken rule for the many reporters at the dinner was that what went on at this once-a-year event would not be read about in the papers the next morning. But on March 17, 1970, the members of the Gridiron Club saw a show that none of them would ever forget, and which was so newsworthy that the rule was momentarily broken.
At the end of the dinner, everyone toasted President Nixon, who was in attendance, and it was expected that he would stand up at his table and say a few cleverly written remarks. Instead, the lights went dark, and when they came on again, President Nixon and Vice President Agnew were standing together on stage, under a spotlight. For the next ten minutes they bantered back and forth in a comedy routine that had Spiro Agnew answering meekly to President Nixon’s demands—playing the yes-man the press made him out to be. And then the curtain rose behind them, revealing two upright pianos. The president sat down at one and the vice president at the other, and they began to play dueling pianos in which Nixon would start a song and Agnew would chime in, but then, invariably, Agnew would start playing “Dixie.” Nixon would get a stern look on his face and begin a new tune. They had the audience roaring with laughter.
Finally, they began playing “God Bless America” in unison, and the roomful of hard-to-impress newsies and politicians rose to their feet in a standing ovation. I don’t think any president and vice president before or since have ever given a performance that could top that.
THE ANTIESTABLISHMENT ATTITUDE in the country continued to grow exponentially, and as the United States became more deeply entrenched in Vietnam, the demonstrations and protests grew too. Respect for authority diminished. Government and its officials became the enemy.
On April 29, 1970, President Nixon went on national TV and announced he had authorized U.S. troops to enter Cambodia. This set off a new round of antiwar protests at colleges and universities across the country. On May 4, 1970, after two days of large protests at Kent State University in Ohio, during which an ROTC building was set ablaze, state and local officials called for the National Guard to maintain order. Some eight hundred National Guardsmen arrived, and as they surrounded a group of about five hundred students in a campus yard, some of the students started throwing rocks and harassing the troops. Several of the Guardsmen opened fire and ended up killing four students and seriously wounding a dozen more.
The people of the United States were stunned.
We in the Secret Service were concerned that the tragic killings could spark a backlash against the government, and we fully expected bigger and more violent confrontations. We were most worried about the president and vice president because they were often out in public, and it was the positions they took on policy matters that antagonized the protestors. Former President Johnson was also of concern, because it was during his administration that the Vietnam situation escalated. We notified every protective division and the Executive Protective Service to be even more vigilant than ever. Reevaluated the various strength levels. Made sure that everyone was provided the latest intelligence and all were on high alert.
The shock over Kent State had turned to anger, and we learned that a large antiwar demonstration was now planned for the weekend of May 8–10 in Washington. I was involved in multiple meetings with local and federal law enforcement agencies, as well as the military, about how we could prepare for what was expected to be hundreds of thousands of highly emotional, passionate, and potentially violent protestors in close proximity to the White House.
It was decided to ring the White House with buses—parking them bumper-to-bumper—to prevent any intrusion into the White House complex. Federal troops were assigned to various government buildings but were instructed to remain out of sight unless needed. We even had military units positioned inside the Executive Office Building poised to protect the White House complex. A twenty-four-hour command center was established in the EOB to monitor the situation, manned by members of the Secret Service and the EPS, with direct telephone lines to the Metropolitan Police command center. With President Nixon the center of the protestors’ anger, we were not taking any chances when it came to protecting the president and the White House.
On the morning of May 9, 1970, I left my home and went directly to the command center in the EOB. Just as I arrived, the midnight–8:00 a.m. shift of the president’s detail walked in from the White House.
Agent P. Hamilton “Ham” Brown was one of the agents with whom I had worked closely since the Kennedy administration, and he looked mad as hell.
“What’s going on, Ham?” I asked.
“You are not going to believe this one, Clint,” he said. “We’ve just come back from having breakfast at the Mayflower Hotel.”
“What?” I asked incredulously. I knew there hadn’t been an official function planned this morning. Why would the president suddenly decide to go out for breakfast?
As Ham proceeded to tell me the shocking details of what had occurred over the past few hours, he proved to be right; I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
“It all started around four thirty this morning, when President Nixon called and asked for a car,” Ham said.
“At 4:30 in the morning?” I interrupted. “Where the hell did he need to go at that hour?”
Ham looked at me and said, “The Lincoln Memorial.”
“Oh shit,” I said. That was completely outside the security perimeter we had established, and right in the area where many of the demonstrators were spending the night.
“Yup. He wanted to go and have a little discussion with the youngsters,” Ham said. “He had Manolo with him”—Manolo Sanchez was Nixon’s longtime valet—“and Doctor Tkach”—Dr. Walter Tkach, the president’s official physician—“and everyone was trying to talk him out of it, but he insisted.”
“Go on,” I said.
“So we took him to the Lincoln Memorial, and of course there were kids all over the damn place. He gets out of the car and starts climbing the steps, and points out the carved inscriptions on the wall to Manolo, and by this time a bunch of kids realize it’s him and they start gathering around. So what does he do? He sits down on the steps, right in the middle of a bunch of ’em. Asking where they are from. Turns out they’re college kids from Syracuse. So he starts talking about the damn football team.”
Ham was really getting worked up, and his use of profanity increased as the commentary went on. “The kids aren’t here protesting the damn football team!” he exclaimed. “So then he starts rambling on about Winston Churchill, and he’s trying to explain what we’re doing in Vietnam, but he’s making no sense at all, and the kids are just looking at him in disbelief. By this time there’s about fifty goddamn kids around, so I finally said, ‘Mr. President, we should get back to the White House. Let’s get back in the car.’ ” Ham looked at me. “Well, I’m sure you know how well that went over.”
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. President Nixon did not take kindly to the Secret Service telling him what to do.
“He tells the kids how he remembers what it was like to be their age, and he finally stands up and we get him back into the car.”
“And then he wants to have breakfast at the Mayflower?” I asked.
“Oh no, no, no,” Ham said. “Now he wants to go to the Capitol. He wants to show Manolo his old stomping grounds in the Senate.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said. I thought I had seen everything with LBJ, but this was really over the top. And the more I heard, the angrier I got. We had taken extraordinary precautions to keep the president and his family safe within the confines of the White House complex, and here the president himself had circumvented the security plan on a whim. It boggled the mind.
By this point, Ham said, a couple of Nixon’s aides had shown up and were following in a separate car. When they got to the Capitol, the Senate doors were locked, so they went to see his old House of Representatives seat, but that door was also locked.
A member of the cleaning staff happened to be there and allowed the president into the chamber as Manolo and the agents followed. SAIC Bob Taylor had now arrived on scene and joined the group. Nixon found the seat he had occupied as a House member, then ordered Manolo to go sit in the speaker’s chair and deliver a speech. Manolo reluctantly complied. Finally, they persuaded the president to leave and return to the cars. By this point, senior Nixon White House staff members Haldeman, Chapin, and Ziegler had arrived. No one could convince the president to return to the White House—and now he was hungry and wanted to have breakfast at a restaurant. They found that the Mayflower Hotel on Connecticut Avenue, four blocks north of the White House, was open, so the whole entourage went in to have breakfast.
“Then,” Ham continued, “he’s finished his eggs and hash. He’s happy as can be. Now, he wants to walk back to the White House.”
“You have got to be kidding,” I said. But he wasn’t.
Fortunately, they were able to convince the president that that was a very bad idea; they got him into the car and finally back inside the security perimeter. The agents on the detail were, of course, relieved that nothing had happened to the man they were sworn to protect, but all of us were disgusted with the attitude of the president for placing himself in such a vulnerable position.
That day, some 100,000 demonstrators marched through the streets of the nation’s capital, some of whom had experienced a one-on-one confrontation with the man whose policies they were here demonstrating against. It was just one more example of the unpredictable situations that develop in presidential protection.
IN SEPTEMBER 1970 I received a call from agent Bill Berkshire of the VPPD.
“Mr. Hill,” he said, “I am in Minot, North Dakota, doing the advance for the vice president’s visit. The vice president asked me to contact you because he remembered that your mother lives in Minot and he would like to pay her a visit.”
This came as a complete surprise to me, but I thought it was very nice of Vice President Agnew to think of it. What a thrill for my mother to be paid a visit by the Vice President of the United States.
“Let me check on her status and get back to you,” I said. “But let the vice president know I hope we can make it work out.”
Several years after my father died, my mother had sold our house in Washburn and had moved to Minot to be closer to some of her other relatives, but she now lived in a very small apartment. I was concerned that she wouldn’t feel comfortable entertaining the vice president there. One of my cousins, Olga Froeming, and her husband owned a nice home in Minot, and they had a close relationship with my mother, so I gave Olga a call.
“Olga, this is Clint,” I said when she answered.
“Oh, Clinton!” she exclaimed. “How are you? It’s wonderful to hear from you.”
“Thank you, Olga. Listen, I’m calling from Washington, and I’ve just learned that Vice President Agnew is going to visit Minot and he would like to stop by and see my mother. You know she lives in a very small apartment, and I am wondering if it would be possible for her to be at your home to receive the vice president there?”
“That would be fine, Clinton. Anything you want is fine with us. You know we are all so proud of you.”
“Well, thank you, Olga. I wish I could be there. It’s been a long time. I sure miss all of you, and I miss North Dakota.”
The vice president did go see my mother at the Froeming residence and spent considerable time there, with photos being taken by the local newspaper.
It was a lasting, memorable occasion for my mother and an honor for me to have the Vice President of the United States single out my mom and take the time to visit her while he was busy campaigning.
WE IN THE Office of Protective Forces had been having a discussion over the previous few months about how to improve the Secret Service. One idea that had been floated was employing female officers or agents. Most major cities throughout the United States had female officers within their police ranks, and we had finally realized that females could be tremendous assets to our organization as well. I was involved in a few of the discussions and made the point that when I was with Mrs. Kennedy, it would have been beneficial to have had a female agent working with me.
In September 1970, the first female officer was sworn in to the Executive Protective Service. Six additional women soon followed. It was my intention to push to make some of these female officers full-fledged agents, but I realized I couldn’t push too hard. This was a 105-year-old male-dominated organization, and I had seen that change worked best when it was introduced gradually.
The election of 1970 was fast approaching, with many gubernatorial and congressional seats on the line. It appeared the Republicans might be in difficulty partly because of the war in Vietnam, so Nixon decided to do some campaigning all across the United States in an effort to bolster their chances. He campaigned vigorously during the three-week period leading up to the November 3 election, canvassing twenty-two states and hitting big cities like Newark, Kansas City, and Baltimore, and smaller towns like Grand Forks, North Dakota; and colleges like Ohio State and East Tennessee State. In Miami Beach, facing a vocal group of demonstrators at the speech site, he said, “I have news for you. They are not the majority of young Americans, and they will not be the leaders of the future of America.”
He had large, responsive crowds in Rochester, Minnesota, and when he heard their cheers, President Nixon decided to climb on top of a car so his adoring fans could see him better.
It had been just seven years since the assassination of President Kennedy, but at times it seemed like everyone had forgotten. Every time I saw a photo like this in the newspaper, my stomach knotted up. A firecracker exploded in my head, my heart raced, and then, the image that never disappeared.
ON OCTOBER 29, 1970, Nixon flew from Omaha to San Jose, California, and was confronted with a large, vociferous, obscenity-shouting crowd of demonstrators as he spoke at a rally in the Civic Auditorium with Governor Ronald Reagan. The antiwar protestors had attempted to force their way into the auditorium but were kept out by security personnel. I was at headquarters at the time, but when the agents returned they gave me the details of what had happened.
“When he left the auditorium,” one of the agents told me, “the president climbed up on the limousine and thrust his arms skyward, making the ‘V’ sign with his fingers. He was clearly taunting the protestors, and they reacted.”
The crowd began throwing rocks, eggs, and bottles. They surged into the street, making it difficult for the vehicles following the president to leave. A few people, including a newsman, cameraman, and an agent, were injured, but fortunately the injuries were minor.
I just couldn’t fathom what made a person behave in this way. To this day, I don’t understand the ego that must drive someone to risk his life and those of others for a few moments of adoration. Yet the violence in San Jose gave the president great fodder for his speeches over the next few days in Phoenix, Albuquerque, Las Vegas, and Salt Lake City.
“The terrorists of the far left would like nothing better than to make the President of the United States a prisoner in the White House,” Nixon said to a group of supporters. “Let me set them straight. As long as I am president, no band of violent thugs is going to keep me from going out and speaking with the American people.”
He added, “It is nonsense to suggest violent dissent is caused by the Vietnam War, police repression, or poverty. There is no romantic ideal involved. Let’s recognize them for what they are—not romantic revolutionaries but the same thugs and hoodlums that have always plagued good people.” People cheered as he railed against the “terrorists” who had the nerve to harass him as they did.
“Those who carry a peace sign in one hand and a bomb or brick in the other are super-hypocrites!” he shouted.
Campaigning in Chicago, Vice President Agnew echoed the president’s line: “The only way to sweep that garbage of demonstrators out of society is the election of tough law-and-order candidates.”
The election was held on Tuesday, November 3. Nixon voted in San Clemente, California, and Agnew in Baltimore, Maryland. When the results came in, they showed that in the House of Representatives the Republicans had lost twelve seats, while in the Senate the Democrats had lost three seats but still remained in control, 54 to 44, with one Conservative Party member and one Independent party member. The governorships ended up with a gain of eleven for the Democrats. It appeared that the intense campaigning by both Nixon and Agnew had been futile.
IN EARLY DECEMBER I was summoned to Director James J. Rowley’s office. He said he had an urgent matter to discuss with me. Even though I had worked my way up the ranks of the Secret Service and Rowley and I had a mutual respect for each other, whenever the director wanted to see me, I couldn’t help but wonder what I might have done wrong. When I walked into the director’s office, though, he immediately made me feel comfortable and gestured for me to take a seat.
“Clint, have you ever heard of the Federal Executive Institute?”
“Yes,” I said. “But to be honest, I really don’t know exactly what it is.”
“It’s a program that provides executive and management training for federal government employees—a stepping-stone to additional responsibility and a higher position in government service.”
I wondered why he was talking to me about this. I had just been promoted from SAIC to the deputy assistant director position within the past year.
“The next class begins January 3, 1971, and we have selected you to attend. You have been doing an excellent job, Clint, and we think this will further enhance your career.”
I was stunned and didn’t know quite what to say. Finally, I said, “Thank you, Mr. Director.”
As I walked out of Rowley’s office, I wondered what they had in mind in terms of my career. Before becoming the deputy assistant director, I had attended a four-week executive seminar in Kings Point, New York, and there wasn’t much further I could go in the Secret Service. It had been ten years since I entered that same office, back when U. E. Baughman was the chief, fearful of being fired, only to be given the assignment to protect Mrs. Jacqueline Kennedy. The world had changed completely, and so had I.
ON DECEMBER 21, 1970, I was sitting in my office when my secretary, Eileen Walsh, came to the door.
“Mr. Hill,” she said. “You won’t believe the information I just received.”
“What’s that?”
Eileen started laughing. “Elvis Presley just showed up at the Northwest Gate, unannounced, requesting to meet with the president.”
“You gotta be kidding me. Was it really him?”
“Apparently so. He dropped off a six-page, handwritten letter complete with all his contact information while he’s here in Washington.”
Sure enough, it was the real Elvis. His letter, written on American Airlines stationery—back when they used to hand out things like that in First Class—read as follows:
Dear Mr. President
First I would like to introduce myself. I am Elvis Presley and I admire you and have Great Respect for your office. I talked to Vice President Agnew in Palm Springs 3 weeks ago and expressed my concern for our country. The Drug Culture, the Hippie Elements, the SDS, the Black Panthers, etc do not consider me as their enemy or as they call it, the Establishment. I call it America and I love it. Sir, I can and will be of any service that I can to help the country out. I have no concern or motive other than helping the country out. So I wish not to be given a title or an appointed position, I can and will do more good if I were made a Federal Agent at Large, and I will help best by doing it my way through my communications with people of all ages. First and foremost I am an entertainer, but all I need is the Federal Credentials. I am on the plane with Sen. George Murphy and we have been discussing the problems that our country is faced with. So I am staying at the Washington hotel Room 505-506-507. I have 2 men who work with me by the name of Jerry Schilling and Sonny West. I am registered under the name of Jon Burrows. I will be here for as long as it takes to get the credentials of a Federal Agent. I have done an in depth study of Drug Abuse and Communist Brainwashing Techniques and I am right in the middle of the whole thing. Where I can and will do the most good I am glad to help just so long as it is kept very Private. You can have your staff or whomever call me anytime today tonight or tomorrow. I was nominated this coming year as one of America’s Ten Most Outstanding Young Men. That will be in January 18 in My Home Town of Memphis, Tenn. I am sending you the short autobiography about myself so you can better understand this approach. I would love to meet you just to say hello if you’re not to busy.
Respectfully,
Elvis Presley
P.S. I believe that you Sir were one of the Top Ten Outstanding Men of America also.
The White House Police took the letter to presidential assistant Egil “Bud” Krogh, and after some back-and-forth with Haldeman, a meeting for 12:30 p.m. that same day was arranged. The thirty-five-year-old entertainer showed up in a purple velvet suit and presented President Nixon with a World War II Colt .45 pistol encased in a wooden chest, as well as some autographed photos of himself, while the president’s staff arranged to give Elvis an Honorary Federal Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs Agent badge, and that seemed to satisfy him.
As 1970 ended, I wondered what the next year would bring. I had just settled into my job as deputy assistant director, and now I would be gone for two months while attending the Federal Executive Institute in Charlottesville, Virginia. I was concerned about being out of the loop for that length of time.