Clinton J. Hill, age 93, died at his home in Belvedere, California on Friday, February 21, 2025. He leaves his wife, Lisa McCubbin, whom he married in December of 2021, and two sons, Chris and Corey.
So could begin the obituary of a man whose name is anything but familiar, but whose picture is instantly recognized. Or perhaps I should say, a man whose greatest act of heroism and self-sacrifice was recorded for posterity on November 22, 1963.
You see, it was Clint Hill whose position with the Secret Service placed him on the left running board of the car following that of President John F. Kennedy as their motorcade moved through the streets of Dallas, Texas on a day that would change history. It was Clint Hill who, upon hearing the first shot ring out, realized the President had been hit and immediately leapt toward the limousine in which Kennedy and the First Lady were riding, along with Texas Governor John Connally and his wife Nellie. It was Clint Hill who grabbed the handle on the trunk and miraculously managed to pull himself onto the vehicle as it quickly accelerated to escape the danger. It was Clint Hill who was so close to the President when the fatal shot was fired that he bore the evidence of the tragedy splattered across his shirt and coat. He was the one who pushed Mrs. Kennedy back into the speeding car. He was the one who positioned himself above the Kennedys and the Connallys, covering them with his body in order to protect them from the shots he fully believed would follow.
He was the one who would take his suit coat and use it to cover the President’s head and upper body . . . cover it so his wife would allow him to be moved from the limousine to the emergency room of Parkland Memorial Hospital . . . cover it so the world would not see the devastation wrought by an assassin’s bullet. As those around him pled in vain with the First Lady to relinquish her hold on his body, Hill realized she already knew the outcome; it was only after he provided the privacy she desired—and looked directly into her vacant, grief-stricken eyes—that she was willing to let her husband go.
Years later, during a 1975 interview with Mike Wallace, Hill wept at what he deeply believed was his failure to protect the President. If he had only been one second faster, his body would have taken the shot that killed Kennedy—or so he thought. It was a belief he expressed when Wallace pressed him for the details of that day, asking “Was there any way, anything that the Secret Service or that Clint Hill could have done . . . to keep that from happening?” Speaking in the third person, Hill responded “If he had reacted about five tenths of a second faster, or maybe a second faster . . . I wouldn’t be here today.” It had taken approximately two seconds for Hill to leap from his position on the running board of the car and onto the trunk of the Presidential limo, and yet for decades afterwards, he carried the guilt of his perceived failure. It didn’t matter that the world viewed him as a hero for his efforts, and for most assuredly saving the life of the First Lady by keeping her from falling into the path of the oncoming motorcade. It didn’t matter that he received honors and awards for the role he played that day. He didn’t care about any of that . . . only that he had failed to protect the President. It wasn’t until he returned to Dealey Plaza in 1990, and walked around the Texas School Book Depository building, reliving that terrible day but this time through the eyes of a trained agent reviewing the evidence, that he began to understand he had done all he could do.
Clinton J. Hill, age 93, died at his home in Belvedere, California on Friday, February 21, 2025. He leaves his wife, Lisa McCubbin, whom he married in December of 2021, and two sons, Chris and Corey. He had served under five presidents, from Eisenhower to Ford, and witnessed first-hand the tragic death of one. And although his name is not well-known to many, his actions on November 22, 1963 are still remembered to this day—actions that speak to the character of a man who was willing to sacrifice everything, not because it was his job, but because he considered it a privilege . . . and an honor.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
