So a Clint walks into a bar . . .

TV host Mike Rowe was sitting at a bar the other night.  When the man beside him asked for "a Clint," his ears perked up.  What in the world was a Clint?

The bartender asked the same thing, and the man reached into his pocket and handed the man a business card.  After reading it, the bartender said, "One Clint, coming up!"

His curiosity now totally aroused, Mike turned to the man and asked, "What in the world is a Clint?"

The man handed him his card and said, "Keep it.  It might come in handy sometime."

On that card is a specific recipe for a very specific drink.  The recipe, for the curious, is two shots Campari, one shot vodka, one slice of orange, and soda water, in a tall glass with ice.  

"Are you the Clint for whom the drink is named?"  Mike asked.

He was. 

"And have you also grown weary of describing a drink no one has ever heard of?"

He was.

They fell into conversation, the type of conversation that men often have when sitting at bar over drinks. Mike learned that Clint had spent his career in law enforcement.

Specifically, he'd been in the Secret Service.

Whoa. 

"Did you ever know a guy named John Barletta?"  Mike asked.  Mike was lucky enough to have met Barletta, a former Secret Service agent on Ronald Reagan's detail. 

Clint knew John Barletta many years ago, describing him as a "good man." 

"Did you read his book, Riding With Reagan?"  Mike asked.

"I sure did," Clint answered.  "He was absolutely devoted to the Reagans."  

Clint, by now, had received his "Clint," and he and Mike drank a toast to the memory of John Barletta, who'd died recently. 

Had Clint ever been involved with Reagan, Mike asked.

"No," Clint explained. The last president he'd guarded was President Ford. 

Before that, he'd been on President Nixon's detail.

And President Johnson.  

And President Nixon. 

In fact, he'd started with Dwight Eisenhower.

"You must have some stories," Mike said.  

Clint did. And does. 

He's written a few books, and one of them is about a woman you may have heard of.  

Does the name Jackie Kennedy ring a bell?

Clint's last name is Hill.  This is the man who, on November 22, 1963, rode on a running board on a car behind a limousine that usually had a bubble top on it . . . but because the weather had cleared up, and it was a fine, sunny day, with temperatures in the low sixties, the decision was made to leave the bubble top off.  

An hour later, after a final, fateful, zigzag turn past a six-story building, Clint Hill heard, bang.

Instantly, he thought, danger.

He was off the running board.

He doesn't remember the second bang because he was focused on getting to his protectee.

The third bang sounded three-quarters of a second before he climbed onto the back of the limousine.  

Jackie Kennedy grabbed his hand. She pulled him up while he pushed her down.

He is the one that saw the gruesome injury to President Kennedy.

He is the one who turned and gave a "thumbs down" signal to the agents behind him.

He is the one who clung to the back of the limousine, protecting Jackie Kennedy with his body, while the limousine raced down the Stemmons Freeway towards Parkland Hospital at speeds up to 80, maybe 90 miles an hour. 

He is the one who said, "He's dead," as they arrived at Parkland.  

He is the one who offered his suit jacket to cover President Kennedy's head, because he knew that Jackie didn't want her husband's head exposed like that.

And he is the one who made the phone call asking for a casket, who said, "This is the President of the United States. Give me the best casket you've got."

He was there for all of it.  

He's written his story in Mrs. Kennedy and Me, Five Days in November, and Five Presidents.

He's carried the guilt for years, telling himself, if I'd just been faster, I could have taken that bullet and JFK would still be alive.  

Only recently has he come to realize that, in his words, the shooter had all the advantages that day.  The Secret Service had none.

This is a man that deserves to have a drink named after him, and deserves to have every bartender in the world make it for him. 

Right after Mike Rowe posted his encounter with Clint Hill, Clint's book, Five Presidents, knocked Andrew McCabe's book The Threat off the #1 spot of Amazon's best-seller list.  

We need heroes in this day and age.  And we need to be reminded of who those heroes are.  The ones who will throw themselves over the back of a car, who are willing to take a bullet for someone.  Or even those who sit at a bar and engage a stranger in conversation, a stranger who might need that listening ear.

I'm going to swipe Mike Rowe's ending words to his Facebook post.

Carry on, Clint.

Carry on.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.