Richie Pineda

The Assassination of Mr. Kennedy from Secret Service Agent Rich by Richie Pineda

By 11:55 Sunday morning, President John F. Kennedy was going about his typical routine of playing out every scenario that could possibly occur for the upcoming 1964 election. As usual, I was standing close by his side, keeping a lookout for any potential threats, as he played fetch with his dog on the warm Spring morning. John and his Vice President, Lyndon Johnson, fully knew that they had won the 1960 election by a slim margin. Because of this, they knew that they had to carry some states in the south in order to win in ‘64. They needed two states with a large number of electoral votes, and so far, they had only selected one. Florida. All of John’s time was taken up by making calls to different governors and contemplating which state to pick. As he threw the ball into the distance for his terrier, he whispered, “Texas is the one. Texas is the one, Rich.” “I love the idea, Mr. President,” I replied, “Me and my secret service boys will love the heat down there.” From this moment on, we looked forward to our trip to Texas. One that I would never forget.

In August of 1960, Jackie Kennedy was about seven and a half months pregnant with her third child. She had been living in Cape Cod’s Squaw Island for the summer while her husband was doing a diplomatic tour of Europe. I was assigned to Mrs. Kennedy for the entirety of the trip, and I had a splendid time with her and her two young kids. Just like any other day, Mrs. Kennedy was taking five-year-old Caroline and two-year-old John Jr. for their daily horseback riding lessons in nearby Osterville. However, suddenly, Mrs. Kennedy was paralyzed by pains in her back and stomach. She immediately leaned over to me and cried, “The baby is coming. Gather the children and return them to the Squaw Island house. I need to go to the hospital.” On the helicopter ride to the hospital at Otis Air Force Base, Mrs. Kennedy said to the doctor, “Dr. Walsh, you’ve got to get me to the doctor on time. I don’t want anything to happen to this baby.” Later, she continued, “This baby mustn’t be born dead.” “We’ll have you there in plenty of time,” replied the Doctor. When Mrs. Kennedy gave birth to Patrick in the hospital, his cry was barely audible. He was delivered by cesarean section after just thirty-four weeks. As I stood at the door of the hospital room, I knew the odds of the baby making it were not high. After two long days of fighting, baby

Patrick was announced dead on August 9. He was only thirty-nine hours old. While I could not hear what the doctor was saying, I watched Mr. Kennedy as he broke down, crying at the words the doctor was saying. It was the first time I had seen my boss cry.

Fifteen weeks after the tragedy of Patrick Kennedy’s death, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy were in full on campaign mode. As we were about to board Air Force One for the departure to Texas, Mr. Kennedy said that he had a big announcement to make to the whole secret service. As he stood in front of the team of three-hundred agents, he said, “Look, I can’t afford for it to appear that there’s anything between the people and myself,” he continued, “And when the agents are on the back of the car, hovering over me, it appears that there is something between us, and I can’t afford that to be the case.” I was equally disappointed as I was impressed by the President. I knew he knew better than that. However, I could not blame him for wanting to connect with the people. After all, it was his job. From this moment on, it was clear to the entirety of the secret service that no one must be in the back of the car unless there is an emergency.

On the morning of November 22, I woke up ready to go, just like any other morning. There was nothing special about this morning. To me, it seemed as though it would be a regular day. We started the day by departing from the hotel in Fort Worth, and taking the thirteen-minute flight to Dallas. After arriving at Love Field, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy immediately embraced all of the people who were waiting for them. My fellow secret service members and I followed our orders by standing from afar and not interfering with the interactions. The Kennedys were truly the people’s people.

Soon after, the procession left the airport and traveled along a ten-mile route that wound through downtown Dallas on the way to the Trade Mart, where the President was scheduled to speak at a luncheon. The Kennedys were settled into their opened convertible. Since it was no longer raining, the plastic bubble top came off. The streets were packed with energetic crowds that cheered on the Kennedys. It was difficult to make out everything that was going on from the car behind the President’s convertible. As we drove into Dealey Plaza, we turned from Houston Street onto Elm Street. About one hundred-twelve feet down Elm, I heard an explosive noise over my right shoulder. Immediately, I watched as Mr. Kennedy grabbed at his throat and moved to his left. I knew something was wrong. Instantaneously, I jumped from my position in the follow-up car and ran towards the presidential vehicle. 67

As I ran, a second shot rang out. When I finally approached the presidential vehicle, the third shot was fired. This shot hit the President in the rear of the head. Mrs. Kennedy then made a motion to see what had happened to her husband. As she did this, I grabbed her and I put her in the backseat, in order to shield her from any other potential gunshots. When I did this, the President’s body fell to its left with his head in her lap. As a secret service agent, we are always taught to prepare for the worst. When I saw the President with his head the way it was, I assumed it was a fatal wound. I turned and gave a thumbs down motion to the agents in the follow-up car, to make sure they were aware of the situation.

The rest of the day is all a blur. Little could be done for Mr. Kennedy. I couldn’t help but put the blame on myself. What if I was a second faster? What if I never listened to the President’s order and I did what I was trained to do? Unfortunately, we will never have the answers to these questions. At 1:00pm, President John F. Kennedy was pronounced dead. I was with Mrs. Kennedy when she heard the news. Yet again, one of her loved ones was taken away from her. She was a mess. So was I. So was the United States of America.

Hours later, the President’s body boarded Air Force One. As I was boarding the plane, I received a message that said, “Mrs. Kennedy would like to speak to you.” I found her in the rear of the plane, near the casket. Her face was streaked with tears, and she was still covered in her husband’s blood. In the worst moments of her life, she took my hand, and asked, “What’s going to happen to you now, Rich.” I was overwhelmed by her grace. In her darkest moment, she took the time to ask me how I was. Shortly after, I watched as Lyndon Johnson was sworn in as the 36th President of the United States.

As we were close to arriving in DC, I noticed that Mrs. Kennedy was still in her pink suit that was severely bloodstained. I thought that she had not realized she was still wearing this outfit. I said to her, “Mrs. Kennedy, have you considered changing your bloody outfit? We both know there will be cameras everywhere.” Mrs. Kennedy’s response was a true representation of her character. “I want them to see what they’ve done to Jack,” she responded. In this moment, I realized just how strong Mrs. Kennedy truly was. To this day, I will never forget those words she said to me. I can still hear her whispering voice that was accompanied by pain.

On the warm morning of November 25, I prepared for the President’s funeral. As I got dressed and went through my morning routine, I 68

could not help but think about the pain the Kennedy family must have been going through. I promised myself to stay strong and not show any emotion to the family. That day, I processed with Mrs. Kennedy from the White House to St. Matthew’s Cathedral. It was just over three-quarters of a mile. For the entirety of the walk, Mrs. Kennedy wept. She wept for her children. She wept for everyone the President knew. She wept for the United States of America. John Jr. leaned over to his mother and said, “When will daddy be home? I miss him.” “He is not coming home this time honey,” Mrs. Kennedy replied, “He is in a better place.” The thought of Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy’s children having to grow up with no father deeply saddened me. John Jr. will never have someone to teach him how to drive. Caroline will never have a father to walk her down the aisle during her marriage. During the service, I stayed emotionless. I needed to be the strength in a time of weakness. I needed to show the family that everything will be okay. Once the service was completed, the casket was carried to the cassion where it would soon be brought to Arlington Cemetery. The military presence at that time rendered a salute to the President. Mrs. Kennedy noticed that, leaned over, and whispered into John’s ear. Moments later, John threw his shoulders back, and saluted his father in the casket. During this moment, I felt a tear in my eye. I will never forget the way John Jr. spent his birthday. Saluting his father one last time.