2 Thursday November 22 2012 | the times

Howmuchmoneydoes a personneed to live well?Enough to pay for adecent home, theodd holiday, noface-clawingdread of the bills?

Most people reckon it’s £1,922 amonth after tax. This wouldmake lifecomfortable, according to a recentsurvey.What would provide a life ofutter luxury, it said, is £4,413 amonth(about £80,000 a year before tax). Aah,bless the proles. Howmodest.But thenmost people are not wealthycelebrities like ChrisMoyles, JimmyCarr, Gary Barlow and other bigearners who have turned out to bemembers of (legal) tax-avoidanceschemes. The needs of some celebritiesmust be greater than those of ordinarymortals because, although they earnsums beyondmost people’s wildestdreams, it never seems to be enough.Moyles, a BBC presenter paid £500,000a year while at Radio 1, is the latest to benamed byThe Times as a tax-avoider.MrMoyles, above, could recently beseen tap-dancing on Children in Need asviewers were urged to givemoney.Leaving aside the ugly picture ofnurses paying the same tax as somemillionaire businessmen, let’s ask amore basic question. Howmuch?Whatmagical amount would such peopleneed to accrue before they felt sated? Ifa financial adviser toldme to shelter£3.3million a year in Jersey, as JimmyCarr was, I hope I’d laugh and say: “IfI’ve got £3.3million to ‘shelter’, mate,then I’m one jammy, rich bastard. Ithink thismeans I can afford to paymy

taxes. Please be on your way.”Mr Carr,to his credit, has since apologised forhis “error of judgment” and is no longerin the scheme.I wonder, though: did thesemodernicons avoid tax when theywere lowlypaid and struggling tomake it? I’dguess not. So why do it nowwhen,even after taxation, they’d still be verywealthy? If they fell ill they’d expect anambulance to turn up. Yet they seem tothinkwe should all pay our fair sharetowards that ambulance, but notthem. It’s the fiscal equivalent of thewell-heeled boss nipping to the toiletwhen the collection comes round for adeparting secretary.Two years ago, ChrisMoyles treatedRadio 1 listeners to a prolonged,self-pitying rant because, for somereason, the BBC hadn’t paid him for twomonths. “Do you think I do this forfree?” he rasped at a young audienceearning a fraction of his salary, orpossibly awaiting delayed benefits. Itwas unedifying, unprofessional and,with hindsight, ironic. It was a portraitof a rich youngman losing perspective.Of course, celebrity tax-avoidanceis small fry compared with somecorporate cases. And lifestyles,especially showbiz ones, expand to fitpay cheques. Inmy first job on a weeklynewspaper in the late 1980s I earned£5,200 a year. Now I earn considerablymore but, just like then, still manage tospend every penny everymonth.The thing is, vast wealth neverseems tomake people happier. Truehappiness is not to be found on the besttable at the Ivy or bikini-shopping inMonaco. Tomost people it’s peace ofmind: having their basic needsmet andtheir children safe and healthy. It’sfreedom fromworry. I’ve alwaysassumed themain benefit of earningpots ofmoney is that you, er, don’t haveto fret aboutmoney. But so often theopposite is true. The wealth becomes aproblem, not a blessing. Paul Sykes, themultimillionaire and political donor,said something striking earlier this yearafter he and his wife separated. “I wouldsooner have stayed a tyre-fitter, where Istarted,” he said. “Money just brings aload of lumber.”If you’re a bit skint then, take heart.At least that’s one cross you don’t haveto bear.

Printer ink ismore expensive thanchampagne, according to aWhich?report. Drop for drop, it’s now pricierthanDomPérignon. Ha. Tellmeabout it. You can practically dine atThe Savoy for less than it costs to runoff a fewRyanair boarding passes.And unlike champagne, printersbring zero pleasure, only pain as theyreduce you to tears by running out ofink or jamming just when you need torun off your train ticket. In the life ofone printer, apparently, you’ll pay 500per cent its original price just on refillink cartridges. It can, preposterously,be cheaper to buy a new printer with afree cartridge than to get a refill.The ink is also said to be costlierpermillilitre than gold, oil andhuman blood. It might even usurpchampagne as the new status symbol,though I doubt it. “Printer-inksocialist” doesn’t have the same ring.

WhenClintHill heardthe firstshot he leapton to theback of thepresidentiallimousine,

seeing John F. Kennedy grab at histhroat. “My only thought was, ‘Thereare going to bemore shots’,” Hill, theSecret Service agent assigned toprotect Jacqueline Kennedy, recallsof November 22, 1963, the day JFKwas assassinated inDallas. “I wasn’tthinking ofmy own safety. I thought, ‘Ihave to shield them’.”In his memoir,Mrs Kennedy andMe,Hill, now 80, writes of the third shot:“The impact was like the sound ofsomething hard hitting somethinghollow— like the sound of amelonshattering into cement . . . In the sameinstant, blood, brainmatter and bonefragments exploded from the back of

the president’s head . . . and splatteredall overme—onmy face, my clothes,inmy hair.”Mrs Kennedy scrambled out of herseat, “because there were bits of thePresident’s brain, blood and bone onthe car’s right rear and shewas tryingto retrieve them. I grabbed her and puther back in the seat, the President’sbody fell into her lap. I could see thewound in his skull. A large portion ofhis brain wasmissing. I could see it wasfatal.”Mrs Kennedywas saying, “Jack,Jack, what have they done to you,” andscreamed, “MyGod! They have shothis head off!”TodayHill says: “I completely failedinmy responsibilities. The Presidentwas killed onmy duty.”He “never” felthe deserved to be awarded the highestbraverymedal after the assassination.Nearly 30 years of guilt about this“failure” contributed to a period ofdestructive drinking and “cuttingmyself off” from loved ones, leading to“almost complete seclusion”. Heconsidered suicide.Hill, whowas assigned toMrsKennedy between 1960 and 1964,recalls games of touch-football at theKennedy “compound” at Hyannis Portand the sketch-pad onwhich JackieKennedy plotted state dinners. To himshewas “Mrs Kennedy”; to her hewas“MrHill”. He accompanied her on tripsto India, Pakistan andGreece. Hilldidn’t like AristotleOnassis— “to saythe least”—whenMrsKennedyholidayed on board his yacht,Christina,in 1963. “He was very arrogant, adictator.”Mrs Kennedywas a free spirit, yetdemanded asmuch privacy as possible.“I don’t want us to feel like animals in azoo,” she toldHill at their firstmeetingin 1960. Already with three-year-olddaughter Caroline and pregnant withJohn Jr, she told him that “as soon asthe baby is born, the press will beoverbearing”. A former journalist,she noted: “I’mwell aware of howthey operate.”Planning a state trip to France,MrsKennedy complained: “When I was inParis in college I was carefree. I couldstay out till three in themorning andsleep till noon; I could sit at a café alongthe RiveGauchewithout worryingabout a gaggle of photographerssneaking up to snap a photo. I supposethose days are long gone.” In Ravello in1962, on Fiat boss Gianni Agnelli’syacht,Mrs Kennedy advised Carolineof the paparazzi: “Just ignore them.

They’ll tire of us soon enough.”Hill went clothes-shopping for her inPalmBeach andCapri (under theguiding hand of her friend, PrincessIreneGalitzine). Hill remembers theKennedy apartment inNewYork’sCarlyleHotel, whose “majesty . . . wasalmost overwhelming”, with twoterraces overlooking Central Park. Shecadged cigarettes fromHill in the backof her limousine and beat him at tennis:“MrHill, the object is to hit the ball tome so I can return it.” Did he love herbeyond the call of duty? “I’ve beenaccused of that. It’s a little too strong. Ireally admired her with the utmostrespect. As a friend I loved her. But Iknewmy place.” Did she flirt with him?“She used flirtation considerably, notjust withme. Shewas very intelligent.She knewhow to get people to do whatshe wanted.”Hill recalls the births of John Jr andhis brother Patrick Bouvier (who diedat two days old, after being bornprematurely in 1963). “I was there forher children, but I wasn’t there for thebirth of either of my sons [Chris andCorey, now 56 and 51 respectively].They grew upwithout a father.MywifeGwen raised themherself.” (Theyseparated, “emotionally”, years ago, buthave not divorced.) The loss of Patrickand seeing Jackie’s grief affectedHill“hugely. It was very difficult for her andthe President. Shewas devastated. Theagents felt the loss of the baby as one oftheir own”.He knew nothing of JFK and Jackie’salleged affairs. “I was aware of theallegations of his, but never sawanything to back them up,” Hill says.“When I was with her, I can definitelysay shewas not having affairs.Anything anyone else says is acomplete fabrication.”Was Jackieaware of JFK’s affairs? “We never

discussed it.” During the Cubanmissilecrisis, Hill toldMrs Kennedy she andthe childrenwould be taken to a specialshelter “if a situation develops”. “If thesituation develops,” she retorted, “I willtake Caroline and John andwewillwalk hand in hand out on to the southgrounds.Wewill stand there like bravesoldiers, and face the fate of every otherAmerican.”Before he left for Texas, Hill recallsthe President saying farewell to his sonJohn, whowas crying: “John, likeMummy said, we’ll be back in a fewdays.” Days later, Hill was speedingthrough theDallas streets (“so fastmy sunglasses blew off”), Jackiecradling her husband’s shattered head.When they reached ParklandMemorial Hospital, Hill said, “Let ushelp the President, Mrs Kennedy”, butrealised “she didn’t want to stopcradling her husband because of howhe looked, so I tookmy coat off andcovered his head and upper back”.

Hill was there as Lyndon Johnsonwas sworn in—MrsKennedy still inher blood-spattered suit— onAirForceOne. “We tried to convince herto change her clothes, but she refused,”Hill writes. “Let them see what theyhave done,” she said.“It was a very difficult year,” says Hillof their final 12months together. “I hadto look into the eyes of two childrenandMrsKennedy, livingwithout afather and husband. Occasionally shecried, but she kept herself togetherpretty well: she tried not to showemotion in front of the children.” AtHill’s leaving party, Jackie presentedhimwith a cutout of a Secret Serviceagent, with the inscription: “MuddyGapWyomingWelcomes its NewestCitizen”, joking hewas about to beshunted off somewhere anonymous.Mrs Kennedy showedHill a letter shehadwritten to the head of the SecretService, callingHill and his colleagues“such exceptionalmen . . . Before wecame to theWhiteHouse, the thing Idreadedmost was the Secret Service.Howwrong I was; it turned out thattheywere the ones whomade itpossible for us to have the happy, closelife that we did . . . the qualities that theyhad to have to do this job so beautifully— so that I have two unspoiled children—and, so that I always felt free andunhinderedmyself, are really themostexceptional qualities . . . they neededtact, adaptability, kindness, toughness,quick-wittedness, more than any othermembers of the Secret Service. Andevery one of themhad it”. Next toHill’sname shewrote: “Hewas somuchbetter than the rather densemen theembassies sent when I went abroad,that I ended up having him handle allpress and official details . . . he coulddo everything.”Under Johnson, Hill became thespecial agent “in charge of presidentialprotection”, then deputy assistantdirector of protective forces, thenassistant director, “which gaveme agreat deal of time to think about what afailure I was”. From his retirement in1976 to 1982 he smoked and drankScotch “to sleep, forget. I thought aboutsuicide, but it seemed too easy a wayout”. A “big difference” came visitingDallas in 1990: “I went to the sixth floorof the BookDepository and sawwhere[LeeHarvey]Oswald had shot thePresident from. I realised I did all Icould given the circumstances, thoughstill felt I failed.”Hill expressed condolences toMrsKennedy at BobbyKennedy’s funeralin 1968 and never spoke to her again.When shemarriedOnassis he wantedto call her. “I was very disappointed,shocked. There were somany otherpeople who could havemet herstandards. But it wouldn’t have beenright to say anything.” He thoughtagain about calling when he learnt shewas dying from non-Hodgkin’slymphoma, “to say howmuch Iappreciated our time together and allshe had done forme and all Americans.But I figuredmy voice would just bringbackmemories of that day inNovember 1963, so I didn’t”.She died onMay 19, 1994, aged 64.Hill, who lives in Virginia, is“happier than I have ever been” withLisaMcCubbin, the journalist heco-wrote thememoir with: “Thecalendar says I’m 80 and she’s 48, but Ifeel 52.” In his book he creditsMcCubbin “for bringingme out ofmy dungeon, where I languished foryears inmy emotional prison . . . youhelpedme find a reason to live, notjust exist”.

Thenewblackgold . . .

Farewell then Sally Bercow, who hasdeparted Twitter . . . and left us withan unfortunatemental image. A tweetindicated that the Speaker’s wife wasbidding goodbye after her lawyers andher husband had “whippedmy ass”after a second cock-up on Twitter.Regretfully, the image ofMrBercow cracking a ChristianGrey-style crop spent a while inmyhead before I realised that the phraseprobably wasn’tmeant literally.Although her account has beendeleted (perhaps givingMr Speaker adecent night’s sleep), she hopes to beback soon. If she is, Sally, who Ibelieve has good qualities beneath allthat yakking, should note Plato’swords: “Wisemen talk because theyhave something to say; fools becausethey have to say something.”

I’vebeenaccusedoflovingher.AsafriendIdid loveher.ButIknewmyplace

Don’tworry, itcould beworse –you couldbe richCarolMidgley

Forty-nine yearsago today JFK wasshot in Dallas. Theman assigned toprotect Jackie tellsTim Teeman whyhe blamed himself

Sallygetsagoodwhipping

‘I grabbed herand put herback in theseat. His bodyfell into her lap’

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Clockwise from above:the presidentialmotorcade minutesbefore JFK is shot(Clint Hill top left insunglasses); Hill leapson to the Kennedys’limousine; withJacqueline Kennedyhours before theassassination

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FAR LEFT: FROM THE BOOK: MRS KENNEDY AND ME,PUBLISHED BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, COPYRIGHTCECIL STOUGHTON, WHITE HOUSE/JOHN F. KENNEDYPRESIDENTIAL LIBRARY AND MUSEUM, BOSTON.ABOVE: BETTMANN/CORBIS, IKE ALTGENS/AP

NEIL MOCKFORD / FILMMAGIC / GETTY