Within Arm's Length: A Secret Service Agent's Definitive Inside Account of Protecting the President (31 page)

Driving less than a car length behind the lead car, staring at its taillights in the rain while looking through what appeared to be a fishbowl with windshield wipers, took every ounce of concentration I had. In addition to visual concentration, I also had to listen and pay attention to my friend Mike Wilson in the lead car requesting lane changes to the follow-up. When Mike saw that a lane shift was needed, he would call out his request to the follow-up. Once I heard “clear” from the follow-up, I would automatically make the lane change without ever taking my eyes off the taillights of the lead. The limo driver had to have complete trust and confidence in the follow-up, and I did.

With no intersection control, we were moving with the flow of traffic, and it was tense. Along the way to Andrews Air Force Base, which was about a thirty-minute drive in this weather, we saw several accidents; the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles on site refracted off the prisms of raindrops on the fishbowl, making things even more distorted. I had to keep my eyes constantly moving, from the taillights of the lead car to my panel (I had the rheostat turned almost all the way down) and then back up to avoid fixation on the lights and spatial disorientation. It was essential to keep this scan going, or you could easily crash into the lead, which was continually speeding up and slowing down with the traffic. After about thirty very exciting minutes, we arrived at Andrews and proceeded down an access road through a gate manned by an agent and out onto the tarmac to stage and await the C-9 aircraft bearing Hillary Rodham Clinton, First Lady of the United States.

The four of us sat in the limo—POTUS, Chelsea, the detail leader, and I. POTUS and the detail leader had a cordial conversation as we waited. POTUS had brought a bouquet of flowers for his wife and seemed happy and excited to surprise her. Ultimately, presidents are not much different from any other husband or father, I suppose.

Upon hearing on the radio that Hillary’s aircraft had landed, we started our engines and prepared to move onto the tarmac. The blue-and-white Douglas C-9 with “United States of America” emblazoned on the fuselage taxied into the bright lights set up to illuminate the arrival for the media, who were standing by in their press pen.

The air force pilot in command applied brakes to this gorgeous product of the American aviation industry until he brought the aircraft to a full stop. We then moved the cars up to the plane, with the president’s door on the right side facing the aircraft. As the door of the plane opened, a motorized ladder was placed alongside. Hillary emerged and descended the steps, waving to the press, not yet realizing the cars waiting for her were the president’s. When she was about halfway down the steps, President Clinton and Chelsea exited the limo. POTUS stood there holding the flowers with a happy look on his face, much like any other husband hoping to pleasantly surprise his wife. It was apparent that Hillary was very surprised indeed at his appearance. The media snapped away. It all looked very nice:
Leave It to Beaver
, POTUS-style.

Mrs. Clinton and the president entered the rear of the limo with Chelsea between them, the door was closed, and we departed for the White House. Along the way, Hillary told her husband how surprised she was to see him. I tuned it out and concentrated on my sole purpose in life, which was delivering them all safely back to the White House.

The last major hurdle was guiding the limo around the barriers in reverse order and getting the massive vehicle back onto the south grounds of the White House without launching the president, the First Lady, and Chelsea into the front seat.

We arrived in front of the entrance to the South Portico, where I brought the beast to a stop so gently that the feeling of transitioning from motion to a stop was scarcely noticeable. The detail leader whispered, “Thanks, Dan,” and exited the car, then opened the right rear door for the family to exit. I heard the president and Chelsea saying “thank you,” as I discovered was always their habit. I replied, “My pleasure,” and breathed a silent but heavy sigh of relief. With the leader of the free world and his family once again safely home, Mike and I cranked up the limo and follow-up and headed back to the garage. But first the limo had to be refueled.

If a limo’s fuel supply fell to three quarters, it was standard procedure to get the tank topped off, as the possibility always existed that an emergency could occur during a motorcade that might force you to drive POTUS for a couple hundred miles. These armored limos only got about eight to ten miles a gallon as it was and were nearly fuel-critical from the time you pulled away from the pump. One could almost watch the fuel gauge drop when the accelerator was depressed.

When in Washington, we normally frequented a station on Fourteenth Street in a socioeconomically deprived area not far from where we stored the cars. It was always a show when we arrived. Everyone in this particular neighborhood knew who we were and who rode in the car we were fueling. So there I would be, standing at the self-service pump putting 93-octane gas into the president’s limo at a station in the hood.

The local residents liked coming out to watch. I would not have chosen this particular station to fuel my family Volvo, but we always felt safe there. Everyone knew we were armed, undoubtedly dangerous, and would have no qualms about protecting the limo by any means necessary. In this case, I pumped fuel into the president’s limo while Mike stood by and provided cover.

In those days, the president’s operational cars were kept in a nondescript building located at 1310 L Street in Washington. The Service no longer leases space there, but for over forty years 1310 L Street was almost synonymous with the Secret Service. The address was where the office of training was located and where fully 80 percent of all academic training for agents, Uniformed Division officers, and administrative personnel took place.

There were also operational sections there, such as PPD transportation section and many others. Prior to the opening of FLETC in 1975, all Secret Service agents received most of their training there. There were a lot of ghosts there for those of us who had been in and out of the place for so long. When the Service abandoned the building, in 2000, it left all of its furniture behind for the General Services Administration to claim and use again. This furniture, however, looked nothing like the modern modular junk seen in the government offices of today. Some of the executive desks were oak monstrosities weighing hundreds of pounds, with gorgeous executive leather highback chairs and matching credenzas and bookcases—all sitting in empty offices formerly occupied by some of the most high-ranking men and women of the service. It was really beautiful stuff that had seen it all, including the JFK assassination, the Watergate fiasco, and the entire Vietnam War

The area outside the building was a normal-looking pedestrian zone during the daylight hours, with citizens going about their business. After nightfall, it became hooker alley. There were so many working girls standing around in front of the building, you sometimes had to wade through them to get inside the place.

When we would depart with the spare limo, limo, and follow-up, the girls would practically cheer as we passed on our way to the White House. They constantly asked if they could have a ride in POTUS’s limo. We all said no to that one, as we valued our jobs far too much.

When new presidents enter the White House, they tend to travel little for the first few months. The early part of a new administration is spent learning the routine. Once things settle down a bit, new presidents discover the marvel known as Air Force One and begin to use it extensively, each seeming to feel the need to make more trips, foreign and domestic, than his predecessor. When Bill Clinton finally discovered he could travel anywhere he wished, anytime he wished, he began to exercise that privilege with total abandon.

During the early days of the Clinton administration, we did not have nearly enough agents to cover his almost impossible travel schedule. Most agents on PPD began working up to thirty days at a time, as I did, with no days off for months on end—in my case, for over five years, counting the Bush presidency. I finally began to feel the excitement of protecting the president lapse into a job performed at times while so fatigued I scarcely knew what day it was.

I had reported to CAT in 1989 with the mission of protecting the president of the United States. While presidential protection was one of the most important jobs in the world and I still received a great deal of satisfaction from the work, by 1994 it had begun to weigh on me more than anytime in the past. I had now reached the point at which, although still on my game, I was not as sharp as I had once been. This phenomenon is common among almost all PPD agents after about four years of continuous protection, and I was one year beyond that.

One morning I was home enjoying a rare day off when the phone rang. It was the operations agent directing me to leave immediately for a trip. I was to do the advance. For the first time in my career, I verbally removed the head of the messenger delivering bad news. After apologizing for my out-of-line comment, I hung up the phone and began to pack for yet another trip. I had been the operations agent in CAT for several months during my four years there and knew all too well the discomfort of calling an agent at home to inform him that he was going to have to leave unexpectedly for a trip.

In the life of a PPD agent, the interruption of one’s routine to go on a trip is normal, and up until now, I would have merely acknowledged the instructions and begun preparing for the trip. This case was different, however, since in addition to being mentally and physically exhausted from five years of such phone calls, I had just returned from a long and particularly stressful foreign trip. My frustration was enhanced by the fact that this new excursion, which would cost the taxpayer a fortune, amounted to nothing more than a recreational trip for the president, in my opinion.

Everyone on the detail during this period was becoming irritable from the nonstop travel, and many were requesting transfer. Resentment was beginning to build toward management, who did not appear to feel that more people were needed on the detail and seemed unconcerned about the unrealistic work schedules. The Secret Service mantra of “just make it work” was wearing thin.

I had now been protecting presidents on a full-time basis for over five years. As my tour was coming to an end in the transportation section, thus signaling my return to the working shift, I asked for a transfer from PPD to the Atlanta field office. I had done everything I came to Washington to do and it was time to turn the page.

The following week I was told by the new ASAIC of manpower that I was being transferred, per my wishes, but to the Washington field office (WFO) rather than to the Atlanta office. I was to replace my wife, who was an agent there, and she would replace me on PPD. The Washington field office was the last place I wanted to be assigned, other than perhaps New York, and I preferred to remain on PPD until I could make the move to Atlanta.

I went home and telephoned the new SAIC of PPD to let him know that until I could secure a spot in Atlanta, I wanted to remain on PPD. He informed me that it was too late and that my transfer was final. I told him that if I had to leave the detail and could not move to Atlanta, l would prefer another assignment besides WFO. He said he could have me assigned to the training division as an instructor, and after some additional discussion, I accepted the assignment.

After being an agent for eleven years, I realized that, while protecting the president was still the most important thing the Secret Service did, it was not the only important thing. I also realized that presidential protection was something a person could not do indefinitely; even the strongest had their limits. There were many other vital jobs to be performed, and training the new group of young people who wished to become agents was critically important. I had enjoyed my years on CAT and PPD more than I can accurately describe, and although I was not going to Atlanta, I was going to a worthwhile assignment where I could perhaps pass on to others some of the knowledge I had acquired.

I checked out of PPD on a Friday, and my wife replaced me, checking in the following Monday. At the same time that she was putting her things in my old cubby inside White House Command Post W-16, I was checking into the Special Agent Training Education Division (SATED), then located at 1310 L Street. Over the following nine years, I would have a part in training over two thousand new Secret Service agents.

MY FAVORITE PRESIDENT?

Since retirement many, many people—friends, family, and the media—have asked, “Of the three presidents you protected while assigned to PPD, which was your favorite?” In this context they mean, Which one did you personally like the best?

The three presidents I directly protected—George Herbert Walker Bush, William Jefferson Clinton, and George W. Bush—had their own personalities, likes, dislikes, and habits. Professionally speaking, all were easy to work with, and each seemed to understand and appreciate the role of the Secret Service in their lives. Each was well aware that, without the Secret Service, neither they nor their families would live very long, and that we were prepared to give up our own lives if necessary to save theirs. I also believe they grasped the fact that most of us had families and that we spent a great deal of time away from those families on their behalf.

There have been stories written by others that portrayed various presidents as difficult to deal with and claimed that some were disliked by the Secret Service. This was not true during my career. In reality, most agents will never become close enough to presidents or their families to either like or dislike them, at least on a personal level.

The presidents I protected had both good and bad days at the office and in their personal lives. Even on their worst days, they did not treat any agent that I knew with anything other than courtesy and respect. If the president or a member of his family happened to walk by an agent without speaking or failed to thank one of us for our service, we did not feel insulted or offended. Quite to the contrary, we experienced no feelings at all one way or the other. Doing whatever was necessary to ensure their safety was our job, and we expected no thanks, although the three presidents and their families I protected frequently offered it. We were not there to be their best friends or their social equals; we were there to safeguard their lives and were thanked twice a month by the Secret Service when we received our pay.