Five Days in November Read online

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  Air Force One

  The three-hour-and-twenty-five-minute flight to San Antonio is relaxing and pleasant. I have never lost sight of the rare privilege it is to travel aboard the presidential aircraft. Air Force One—a customized Boeing 707 with tail number 26000—is configured to accommodate the president as if he were in the White House, complete with a state-of-the-art communications system that can connect to any telephone in the world. The presidential stateroom in the center portion of the plane contains an office with a desk, table, and sofa, and an adjacent bedroom with bathroom, giving the president a private area to work, rest, or have conferences with staff. About a third of the plane is set up with first-class-type airline seats, which are used by the press, staff, and Secret Service. This particular plane has been in service only since the spring of 1962, and few people know that Mrs. Kennedy herself had a hand in designing the elegant interior as well as changing the exterior color scheme. The previous jets were painted a garish orange, while the new ones have a sleek silver, white, and blue theme with the presidential seal and UNITED STATES OF AMERICA painted boldly on the side. This same design will remain on all presidential jets for decades to come.

  There are a total of nine Secret Service agents aboard, including Assistant Special Agent in Charge Roy Kellerman and myself. Kellerman and I sit together, going over the plans and intermittently dozing off. President Kennedy spends most of the time in the office area with his three closest advisors, Larry O’Brien, Ken O’Donnell, and Dave Powers—fondly yet facetiously known as “the Irish Mafia.” He’s very relaxed, wandering through the aircraft at times, greeting those on board. The Air Force One radio operator is constantly sending and receiving messages. He is always the busiest person on board. Mrs. Kennedy sits for a while with her press secretary, Pam Turnure, going over the schedule and plans for the rest of the year’s activities: a birthday party for John on Monday; Caroline’s birthday party on Wednesday; Thanksgiving up at Hyannis Port, Massachusetts; Christmas in Palm Beach, Florida.

  The president and his staff wanted this trip to Texas to appear nonpolitical, but clearly it is all about politics. The Kennedy-Johnson ticket won in 1960 by the slimmest of margins. Some alleged fraud. They carried the state of Texas by a mere forty-one thousand votes—not a very wide margin considering it was Lyndon Johnson’s home state. In order to ensure their reelection in 1964, they realize they must increase the electoral vote count, and two states are critical: Florida and Texas. Their position on civil rights continues to be a problem throughout the South, and that needs to be addressed. Additionally, in Texas, the Democratic Party is in a shambles, due to the fact that Governor John Connally and the senior senator, Ralph Yarborough, can’t stand each other. The bickering and fighting has created such a divide in the state Democratic Party that it threatens to undermine the solidarity required for the presidential election. President Kennedy and Vice President Johnson need to tend to the political wounds within the various factions and find a way to show a united face that represents all the party members within the state. This is the real reason for the trip to Texas.

  At one point during the flight, I hear Mrs. Kennedy speaking in Spanish. On the Houston stop, the president intends to drop in on a dinner sponsored by the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) and he suggested that Mrs. Kennedy make a short address in Spanish. She is fluent in French and Spanish, and on several international trips, her language skills were the equivalent of political gold. In France she was able to charm the aloof Charles de Gaulle into allowing the Mona Lisa to be exhibited throughout the United States. In Mexico, Venezuela, and Puerto Rico her ability to connect with leaders on a personal level had gone a long way in helping the president pass his Alliance for Progress program.

  In 1960, Hispanics were just 3 percent of the general population in the United States, but they voted overwhelmingly for Kennedy-Johnson. In Texas, Kennedy and Johnson won 91 percent of the Hispanic vote. President Kennedy realizes the small but growing Latino population in America might very well be key to his reelection in certain states, and especially in Texas.

  Mrs. Kennedy practices her lines over and over. She doesn’t want to make a mistake, and above all, she wants to make her husband proud.

  The Air Force One stewards serve a light lunch to everyone aboard, while Kellerman and I go over the detailed reports that outline the duties and post assignments of the Secret Service agents. Trips like this are always quite stressful for the agents involved. We have a schedule and a plan to follow, but when dealing in the political world, everything is subject to change, and oftentimes does. We must be adaptable and capable of changing plans on a moment’s notice. The only relaxing parts of this entire trip will be when we are aboard Air Force One.

  We are on final approach to San Antonio International Airport. The adrenaline in my body begins to rise as I anticipate what lies ahead. The staff seems to have very high expectations for a successful trip. Packed-house fund-raising events interspersed with highly publicized public speeches and strategically planned motorcade routes are expected to draw large crowds—large crowds with unknown attitudes. Will they be friendly or hostile? We have no intelligence information to indicate a problem here in San Antonio; however, one never knows exactly what will take place. It is that “unknown” that, from the moment we hit the ground, keeps the agents on edge.

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  San Antonio Arrival

  We land at 1:30 P.M. Central Standard Time. The staff is giddy, all smiles, while we, the agents, put our game faces on. It’s showtime.

  As pilot Colonel James Swindal glides Air Force One to its designated parking spot, there is a roar of hollers and whistles. Nearly five thousand people have come to San Antonio International Airport to catch a glimpse of President and Mrs. Kennedy.

  Standard protocol calls for the president to be the first to emerge from the aircraft, but moments before the door opens, President Kennedy says, “Jackie, you go first.” Grinning, he adds, “Most of these people have come to see you.”

  He is right. We have seen it all around the world—the crowds automatically double whenever Mrs. Kennedy accompanies the president. And as soon as Mrs. Kennedy begins to descend the steps, a group of schoolchildren on the upper deck of the terminal start chanting, “Jackie! Jackie! Jackie!”

  Smiling broadly, she acknowledges them with a wave as President Kennedy eases down the steps behind her, clearly elated, and perhaps a bit surprised, with the enthusiastic welcome. Agent Kellerman and I move quickly down the steps after them, scanning the surrounding area as we descend.

  “Look up there,” I say to Kellerman, pointing to the roof of the terminal, where people of all ages, including small children, are packed onto the open-air rooftop observation deck, screaming, waving, and clapping. “There must be a thousand people up there.”

  Hundreds more are jammed inside the airport terminal, their faces pressed against the glass windows.

  Political trips tend to have very repetitious scenes. Airport arrivals, greeting committees made up of local political figures and officials, shaking hands with crowds of people, motorcades strategically positioned to move through heavily populated downtown areas for maximum exposure, carefully chosen speech sites, head tables with coveted seating positions for deep-pocketed donors and campaigning politicians, hotel arrivals, and, finally, airport departures, which start the routine all over again with another arrival in another city. On this trip, the Democratic governor of Texas, John Connally, and his wife, Nellie, are the official hosts, and, from this point on, Governor and Mrs. Connally will accompany the Kennedys each and every step of the way.

  Vice President and Mrs. Johnson will be sort of secondary hosts, and while they will also attend every function, they will travel on the vice presidential plane, known as Air Force Two. They’ll fly to each destination a few minutes ahead of the president, be there when Air Force One lands, and be part of the welcoming com
mittee at every stop. Here in San Antonio, the official welcoming committee consists of the Connallys, the Johnsons, the mayor of San Antonio and his wife, a contingent of congressmen, other local politicians, and a select group of schoolchildren and Boy Scouts.

  Dennis Halterman, the Secret Service agent who was sent ahead to do the advance security arrangements, is our man on the ground. He knows the route, the venues, and has arranged the minute details of security. Everybody allowed on the tarmac has been cleared by Halterman, the local Secret Service office, and the local police officers, but still, you never really know who is in a crowd like this. It is 1963 and there are no magnetometers, no video camera surveillance, no personal communication devices. The nine agents who were aboard Air Force One create an envelope of security around President and Mrs. Kennedy, using hand signals and eye contact to notify each other of individuals in the crowd who give us any measure of concern. Fortunately, the fencing and strong enforcement by the local police officers keep the enthusiastic general public contained and far enough away that President Kennedy is deterred from heading into the screaming mass.

  After shaking a few hands among the screened guests, President and Mrs. Kennedy proceed to the presidential limousine, which, along with the Secret Service follow-up car, was flown ahead to San Antonio on a C-130 cargo plane. This is exactly the way we, the agents, prefer arrivals to be managed—limited crowd access and quick movement into the waiting vehicles to get the motorcade under way.

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  San Antonio Motorcade

  The 1961 midnight-blue Lincoln Continental presidential limousine—which the Secret Service calls “SS-100-X”—was designed especially for use in parade-type situations just like this. The standard four-door convertible had been lengthened three and a half feet and was equipped with various configurations of removable tops. There is a hard top, a canvas roof panel, and a transparent Plexiglas bubble top—all of which are stackable and can be stored in the trunk. Contrary to popular belief, the presidential vehicle is not armored, and none of the roofs have bullet-resistant properties. Since the purpose of a showy presidential motorcade is to allow the people to see the president up close, President Kennedy always insists on having the tops off whenever possible. The only times we use the bubble top or the hard top are when there is inclement weather, or if it’s so windy that Mrs. Kennedy’s hair might blow too much. This is standard procedure.

  The tops are attached to a wide metal bar that runs above and behind the front bench seat. The rear compartment contains a rear bench seat, which is always reserved for the president. In between the rear and forward benches are two jump seats—specifically for additional guests of the president—which fold forward when not occupied. When the jump seats are in use, the legroom for all the passengers is restricted.

  There is a protocol for presidential motorcades, which dictates the order of the vehicles in the procession and the seating positions of the passengers in the presidential limousine. The president always sits in the right rear, the first lady in the left rear. Guests ride in the jump seats.

  Unfortunately, no one has briefed Nellie Connally on the proper protocol. With the handshaking completed on the tarmac, Mrs. Connally steps into the back of the limousine and sits on the left side of the rear bench. No one wants to point out her mistake, so Mrs. Kennedy simply gets in and sits down next to her, leaving the right rear position for President Kennedy, while Governor Connally sits in the left jump seat. The press is having a field day, and people are snapping photos all over the place. Even one of the stewardesses from the press plane pulls out her camera, eager to get a close-up of the glamorous foursome in the limousine. Now that everyone is situated, the motorcade gets under way.

  The Secret Service has standard operating procedures for motorcades with assigned positions for all the vehicles. There are marked and unmarked police cars, police motorcycles, cars or buses for press and VIPs, as well as the presidential limousine and the Secret Service follow-up car. On this trip to Texas, however, because the vice president is traveling in the motorcades with the president—a rare and unusual situation—we have the addition of the vice president’s car and his Secret Service follow-up car.

  The crowd on the rooftop erupts into a cheer as we exit the airport and head down Broadway, the main thoroughfare through San Antonio, toward our destination of Brooks Air Force Base. Typically, city streets are chosen over highways whenever possible when the purpose is for the people to be able to see the president. The route was published in the newspapers and the people have come out by the thousands, just to get a chance to see President and Mrs. Kennedy drive by. The president’s visit is such a rare occasion that local schools have declared today a holiday. The crowds are large and boisterous, friendly and exuberant.

  As the motorcade proceeds through the city, the follow-up car maintains a distance of about five feet behind the presidential limousine at all times. Agent Bill Greer, the driver of the president’s car, and Agent Sam Kinney, the driver of the follow-up car, are well trained and have driven in motorcades all over the world. They know the cars, how they handle, and they’ve done this so many times, it’s almost like there’s a consistently taut invisible rope between the two vehicles. When Greer speeds up or slows down, Kinney immediately changes speed to adjust.

  We are on a tight time schedule, and the motorcade is moving along around twenty-five miles per hour. At this speed, the agents stand on the running boards of the follow-up car, also known as “Halfback.” The running boards provide an elevated position for us to observe the crowds and provide easy access to be able to jump off toward the presidential limousine when necessary.

  Up ahead a group of cadets from Texas Military Institute are waving a big banner. President Kennedy sees them and says, “Slow down, Bill,” to the driver. Bill Greer slows down, almost to a stop, and the cadets rush forward to shake the president’s hand. He smiles, reaches out his hand and commends the young men on their military endeavors, and we move on.

  Suddenly, a group of women surge toward the president from the right-hand side of the road.

  “Mr. President! Mr. President!” they shriek. “Let me shake your hand!”

  “Slow down, Bill,” President Kennedy says again. He doesn’t want to disappoint them—these are voters, after all. Greer slows down, and it’s as if it’s an invitation for the throngs of people on all sides to charge toward the car.

  All the agents leap off the running boards and surround the president’s limousine to keep the surging crowd away. Our job is to form an envelope of protection around President and Mrs. Kennedy—literally, a human shield. The president stands up and, grinning widely, reaches out to shake as many of the women’s hands as possible. Some of them shriek and carry on like he’s handing out hundred-dollar bills.

  Mrs. Kennedy remains seated, but smiling, far less comfortable than the president in this circuslike atmosphere.

  Apparently there has been some conversation in the presidential car about the seating arrangements. It looks strange to have three people in the back and one in the middle in the jump seat. So it’s decided that Mrs. Connally should move to the jump seat next to Governor Connally. The car comes to a complete stop and the crowd goes absolutely crazy.

  We have no choice but to push people back and try to get their attention with authority.

  “Get back! Get back!”

  The president continues waving and shaking hands as Governor Connally and the two women switch their seats. Once everyone is seated, the motorcade gets under way again.

  As we enter the business district, it feels like Mardi Gras in New Orleans. We are driving through a mass of humanity. The sidewalks are jammed so that people are spilling into the street on both sides of the motorcade—children on fathers’ shoulders; teenagers jumping up and down; screaming women in pillbox hats and “Jackie-style” suits. That is just the street level. As we turn from Houston Street onto St. Mary’s, past the Gunter Hotel, people are packed
onto balconies, hanging out windows, standing on rooftops and fire escapes.

  President and Mrs. Kennedy and Governor and Mrs. Connally are enjoying every minute—laughing, waving. It is exactly what the political people want and makes for great photo opportunities. For the Secret Service, the slow pace and the unscreened people above and around us are exactly what we do not want. Sunglasses hide our eyes as we scan the crowd, looking at hands and eyes. Amid the adulation, we are searching for the glimmer of a gun, or the lone person who is not reacting like the others, but instead has a crazed look in his eyes as his hand reaches into his pocket. This is as tense as it gets.

  After another couple of miles, it seems the wind picks up and Mrs. Kennedy’s hair is really blowing. Another discussion, another stop. Hold back the crowds as Mrs. Kennedy changes places with Governor Connally. Now the two women are in the jump seats, with the governor and the president seated side by side on the rear bench seat.

  It’s like musical chairs, and all these stops create anxiety for the Secret Service as well as the local police, who are trying to keep us on the planned timetable.

  We are fifteen minutes behind schedule and need to make up some time, so the motorcade speed increases. Now, for the duration of the motorcade, along with “Jackie!” and “Yay JFK!” we hear “Slow down! Slow down!”

  The next day the newspapers will be filled with complaints from people along the motorcade who say they barely got a glimpse because the cars were going so fast.

  “I was so mad I could cry,” lamented one female spectator. “I wanted to get a picture but they went by so fast I just snapped a picture and I don’t know what I got if anything.” Her sentiments were echoed by others who thought if the president and first lady took the trouble to go through the city they at least should have gone slowly enough to see them.