Anytime the president of the United States drives through a crowded city, there is a careful balance between protecting his life and ensuring the spectacle of the chief executive intermingling with the American people. Security is the act of getting him through the crowds alive, which is difficult on those days when the bubble-top roof is not buckled onto his convertible. A perfect motorcade route is devoid of the high windows from which a sniper can poke a gun, offers alternative routes in case something goes wrong, features wide streets that keep crowds far back from the vehicle, and has few, if any, tight turns.
The Dallas motorcade route violates every one of these principles.
The process of turning the presidential vehicle forces William Greer, the Secret Service agent who most often serves as JFK’s driver, to slow the limousine down considerably. This makes the president an easier target for a marksman to hit. Secret Service protocol stipulates that whenever a motorcade must slow down for a turn, agents must do a security check of the entire intersection ahead of time. Something as simple as a ninety-degree turn, which the Dallas motorcade route features at the corner of Main and Houston, can cause Greer to step hard on the brakes. A sweeping 120-degree turn, such as the one at the corner of Houston and Elm, can slow Kennedy’s Lincoln down to just a few miles per hour.
That is the pace of a brisk walk, and, through the high-powered scope of an assassin’s rifle, such a slow speed can turn the president’s body into a very attainable target. When this happens, Secret Service agents are trained to position their bodies between the president and the crowd, acting as human shields. While doing so, they are to study the landscape and look up at building windows for signs of a gunman or rifle barrel. The president’s limousine has running boards on both sides that allow the agents to shield the president while also performing this scan. They hold on to metallic handles for balance. However, JFK does not like the the agents to stand on the running boards because this blocks the crowd’s view of him, so they often ride one car behind.
But all of this protection can be circumvented once a gunman knows the precise motorcade route. Thus, once Secret Service special agents Sorrels and Lawson choose the president’s path on November 18, and then release that information to the public, anyone who wants to harm the president can begin planning the precise place and time of the attack. To put it another way: Many people would like to see John F. Kennedy dead. But before Monday, November 18, there existed no field of fire in Dallas.
Now there does.
22
NOVEMBER 21, 1963
ABOARD AIR FORCE ONE
2:00 P.M.
In the final hours of his life, President John F. Kennedy is flying in style aboard Air Force One. He pores over the “Eyes Only, President” intelligence documents overflowing from his battered black alligator-skin briefcase. JFK speed-reads at his normal 1,200 words per minute, glasses perched on the end of his nose, a study in focus. On the couch against the opposite wall of JFK’s airborne office, Jackie Kennedy speaks softly in Spanish, practicing a speech she will give tonight in Houston to a group of Latin American women.
The First Lady’s Castilian purr is a welcome addition to the president’s private in-flight sanctuary. John Kennedy is so glad Jackie is traveling to Texas with him that he took the unusual step of helping her select the clothes she will wear at her many public appearances. One outfit, a pink Chanel wool suit with a matching pillbox hat, is his personal favorite.
Fashion might not normally interest JFK, but the design and décor of Air Force One has received plenty of his attention. There were three presidential airplanes available to him when he first took office. Any one of them could be dubbed “Air Force One” whenever he is on board. Yet these airplanes looked more air force than presidential. Indeed, the words Military Air Transport Service were emblazoned on the sides. The predominant fuselage characteristic was unpainted metal.
But the craft possessing tail number 26000, in which John Kennedy now flies, is a distinct upgrade. The president took delivery of this new presidential version of the Boeing 707 in October 1962. And just as Jackie has overseen the redecoration of the White House—one fine detail is now taking place even as the Kennedys fly to Texas: upon their return, JFK will enjoy new drapes in the Oval Office—so John Kennedy has overseen the redecoration of Air Force One. The fuselage and wings, for instance, feature a bold new pale-blue-and-white color scheme, with the words United States of America proudly displayed above the row of forty-five oval passenger windows. Inside, the carpeting is lush and the creature comforts many, including a private office, a conference area, and a bedroom where a painting of a French farmhouse hangs over the president’s rock-hard mattress. The presidential seal seems to adorn every fixture. JFK enjoys this new airplane so much that he has flown seventy-five thousand miles aboard 26000 in just thirteen months.
Today’s journey began at 9:15 A.M., when John Kennedy said good-bye to Caroline as she set off to the third floor of the White House for school. John Jr., who will be three years old next week, got the privilege of riding with his parents in the presidential helicopter as they flew from the White House to Air Force One. The young boy wore a London Fog coat to keep away the November chill and enjoyed the trip immensely.
But as Marine One set down on the runway next to the presidential plane, young John pleaded for his journey to continue. “I want to come,” he said to his father.
“You can’t,” the president replied softly.
“It’s just a few days,” the First Lady reminded the crying child. “And when we come back, it will be your birthday.”
John Jr. began to sob. “John, like Mummy said, we’ll be back in a few days,” the president explained. JFK then kissed his son and turned to the Secret Service agent in charge of the boy’s protection: “You take care of John for me, Mr. Foster,” he ordered gently.
Bob Foster thought this unusual. President Kennedy normally never made such statements, no matter how much his son cried when it was time to say good-bye.
At 11:00 A.M., the president gave John Jr. one last hug and stepped onto the tarmac before climbing the steps up into Air Force One. The First Lady was at his side. Five minutes later, the plane went wheels-up out of Andrews for the three-and-a-half-hour flight to Texas. John Kennedy Jr. watched the great jet rise into the sky and disappear into the distance.
Air Force One will land first in San Antonio. Then it’s on to Houston and then Fort Worth, where the president and First Lady will spend the night. Dallas will come tomorrow. JFK’s personal pilot, Colonel Jim Swindal, will fly the Kennedys from Fort Worth into Dallas’s Love Field. The flight will be short, just thirteen minutes. But the symbolic image of Air Force One descending from the heavens to land in that troubled city will be a far more powerful sight than John Kennedy driving thirty-five miles across the prairie in a limousine.
Now the president takes a break from his reading to light a cigar. Jackie has gone into their private cabin to change clothes. JFK smokes thoughtfully. Texas will be tricky politically. There’s no telling if the crowds will be hostile or receptive, and he’s concerned about Jackie enjoying herself. This could be a big test of whether she will be eager to campaign with him in 1964.
JFK gets up and makes his way back to the First Family’s quarters.
The president taps lightly on the door and pokes his head in. “You all right?” he asks Jackie. They will be landing soon. His wife is slipping into a crisp white dress.
“Fine,” the First Lady responds, looking in the mirror to adjust the beret that accessorizes the dress and its black belt.