On Wednesday, November 20, Peter got a call from President Kennedy. During the conversation, Jack delightedly told Peter that
Jackie had
agreed
to accompany him on
a political fence-mending
trip
to Texas. She
rarely
made such trips,
but this was a particularly
important one, with
the
next presidential election
less than a year
away, and Jack knew
that his
wife’s
presence at
his side would help make
it a success. He had pleaded with her
to come, and
she had finally agreed.
“Isn’t
that great, Peter?”
the President said.
“We
leave tomorrow
morning.”
After Peter’s
show
the
following night, he
and
[his companion Chuck] Pick
threw “a
little get-together
with some
people” that
lasted until four in the morning.
Peter
didn’t have
a girl
stay over that
night;
instead he
sat
up with
Chuck until seven A.M. Friday and talked
about Jack Kennedy.
“The sun was
coming up,”
Pick
remembered, “and
Peter
was telling me
stories about
the
President. We
just
sat
around talking,
and
Peter
spoke about
how
much
he loved
Jack
and
how
overwhelmed he
would get
sometimes just thinking
that his
brother-in-law
was the President of
the
United
States.
I was really touched by
how
much
Peter
loved the man. He
was so excited that
he was going
to be
at the White
House
for
Christmas.”
Chuck and Peter finally went to
bed
at seven in the morning.
About three
hours later, Pick heard the doorbell
buzz. “I thought,
‘Where’s
the
maid?’ Then I figured she must have
forgotten
her key and
it was her buzzing.”
He got up, opened
the door to
let the maid in, and groggily turned around
to go
back
to bed.
But
then
he realized
that it
wasn’t the maid at
the
door
but a man in a suit
and
tie he
recognized
as one of
the
vice presidents at Harrah’s. “You
have to
wake
up Mr. Lawford,”
the
man
said.
“I can’t wake up
Mr.
Lawford,” Chuck
snapped.
“What
is it
you
want?”
Pick and the man from Harrah’s argued back and forth a few times about
disturbing
Peter
until, finally, the
man
said, “The President was
just
shot.”
“What do you mean?”
“The President
has been shot.
You’d
better wake up
Mr.
Lawford.”
Chuck went into Peter’s bedroom.
“He
was lying there. He
was a very heavy
sleeper,
and
normally, when I woke
him, I’d have
to shake
him and yell, ‘Cmon,
Peter, wake up!’ But this time I just kind of
stood
over
him and put my hand
on his shoulder
and
he opened his
eyes
and
it was almost
like
he knew. He
looked at
me and I said,
‘Peter, the
President’s been shot.’”
Peter cried,
“Oh
my God!” and leaped out
of his bed.
“There wasn’t a second of
disbelief,” Pick recalled. “Just
‘Oh
my God!’ and up. I ran
out of the room
and
the
guy from Harrah’s was
standing there. I said,
‘We
gotta
go to
Los Angeles
immediately.’
The man said,
‘Mr. Harrah’s plane is
at your disposal. Whatever you need.’”
Peter
came out
of the bedroom
and
said, “Chuck, we’ve gotta leave
now.”
It seemed
to Pick that
the
phone
was ringing
constantly, that
everything was
happening very fast.
“We
put the TV on
and
heard
that the President
had been shot
in a motorcade in Dallas, but
there was
nothing
about how badly
he’d been hurt. Peter started making
phone
calls.
He called Mrs. Lawford
and
Rose
Kennedy, but
the
lines were busy
and
he couldn’t
get through.
Reporters
started
gathering outside, and the police came
and
blocked off the house.”
Peter
rushed from room
to room,
trying
to make
telephone
calls,
stopping
only long enough
to listen to a few
minutes of
television news. But there
was none; the
commentators knew
nothing
of what
was happening at
Parkland Memorial Hospital,
where the President
had been rushed.
Peter
finally got
through to
Pat and then
to
Rose,
but they too were in the dark
about Jack’s condition.
Peter had
just
said
once
again
to Chuck,
“We
gotta
get going,”
when
the
words from the television
set caught his
attention:
“Here is
a bulletin from CBS News.”
He turned to
the
screen and saw Walter Cronkite, looking stricken, make
the
announcement:
“President
Kennedy
died at one P.M.
Central
Time
in Dallas.”
“Peter got up,”
Chuck recalled, “went into the kitchen,
and
threw up
all over the floor. Just threw
up,
everywhere.
Then he fell apart. He
was lying on
the
floor, sobbing
— he was crying
so hard
I didn’t know
what to
do. I never witnessed
anything
like
that in my
life.
I never saw a man break down the way
he broke down. It
was a terrible
thing
to watch. It scared
me. I went over
to him and he said,
‘Leave me
alone.’
“I was just a kid. I didn’t know
what was
happening.
I started
crying,
as much because
of what
I was seeing happen to
Peter
as because
the
President was
dead.
But
I had to be okay
because he
was so bad. One
of us
had to be strong
and
keep
it together,
and
I was it. I was the
only person he
could
really hold on
to.”
Within an hour,
Chuck and Peter were on
the
way to
the
airport.
Later,
Chuck didn’t remember getting dressed.
“I don’t
even
think
we brought
our luggage. We
just
left. Peter didn’t
want
to go
through the crowd
out front, but
the
police
escorted us
through it
and
took us
to Tahoe airport and we
took Bill Harrah’s plane. There was a lot
of crying and sobbing on
that plane.”
When they
arrived
at Santa Monica
Airport,
a helicopter awaited them. “We got out
of the plane and ran
to the helicopter
and
Milt Ebbins
was there.
It was just a three-person
helicopter — there was
only room
for
Peter, the pilot,
and
Milt. I said,
‘Peter, I’ll take a cab home.
I’ll be
okay.’
“He said, ‘No,
no,
I can’t
leave you like this.’
I said, ‘Just
go.’ Peter asked
me if I’d call him when I got home.
I said
I would.
And then they took
off. I took
a cab
home and I called the house and told someone that
if Peter needed
me I’d be
available.”