In Marin / CONVERSATION
Clint Hill
Fifty-three years ago this month, he was witness
to history — up close and personal — and ever since
then, he’s been working to absolve the memory.
BY JIM WOOD
CLINT HILL WAS raised in the tiny town of Washburn, North Dakota; he attained fame and saw much of the world while living in Washington, D.C.; and now, at
age 84, he’s a contented resident of Tiburon.
If you ask him the standard question “Where
were you when you heard President John
F. Kennedy had been assassinated?” he can
honestly answer: “I was there.”
No, Hill wasn’t standing excitedly along
the Dallas parade route, nor was he perched
on the grassy knoll when shots were fired
from the sixth floor of the Texas School Book
Depository. After hearing the first shot and
seeing Kennedy grab at his throat and fall
to the left, Hill ran towards the president’s
Lincoln convertible. He heard and felt the
third shot as he arrived at the back of the
car and climbed on as it sped away, the same
moment that Jackie Kennedy started climb-
ing on to the back of the vehicle. He saw that a
“large piece of the president’s skull attached
to his scalp had flipped for ward and brain
matter, bone fragments and blood came out
of there.” So sure was Hill the president was
dead that one of his first acts following his
gruesome discovery was to signal two thumbs
down and shake his head when fellow Secret
Service agents looked his way.
In the 53 years following that fateful
day, life wasn’t easy for Clint Hill. After the
assassination, he was assigned to protect the
widowed Jackie Kennedy for one year, but 12
years later, at 43, he was induced to retire for
health reasons. There followed more than
six years of severe depression and serious
drinking. A 1990 trip back to Dallas helped TIM
P
O
R
T
E
R
