by Jerry Parr
The Jordanian official said, with an apologetic smile, “His Majesty ordered gifts to be purchased for the agents, but there has not been time. So he would like to express his appreciation with cash gifts for each one.” He held out three envelopes.
I took a deep breath, then patiently explained that I appreciated the thought but could not receive monetary gifts because Treasury regulations forbade it. But the official, perhaps frightened now by his own failure to follow the king’s orders, insisted that the gifts were personal in nature from His Majesty and that to refuse them would be a serious breach of diplomacy.
The king’s flight was going to take off soon, so I had to act fast. All I could think was, Please don’t let me cause an international incident! None of my superiors was instantly available—this was before cell phones. Trying to look as if I knew what I were doing, I excused myself and found the Jordanian ambassador to the United States and a Jordanian brigadier general I’d met who were still in the hotel. Both insisted that the king would be offended if the gifts were refused.
In desperation I thought of a third way. I agreed to accept the envelopes if the ambassador himself would write a letter explaining the circumstances surrounding this gift. He complied on the spot, and I accepted the envelopes, expressing appreciation. I finally reached Deputy Assistant Director Clint Hill, who agreed that to refuse the money would have caused an awkward situation.
The envelopes contained traveler’s checks in the amounts of three hundred dollars for me, two hundred dollars for my number-two man, and twenty hundred-dollar traveler’s checks to be distributed to the troops. That was a lot of money in 1970 (three hundred dollars then was equal to about eighteen hundred dollars in 2013), but I was not in the least tempted. I loved my job and wanted to keep it!
As soon as the king’s entourage took off, I sat down and wrote a memorandum to my boss, Ken Balge, with copies to Assistant Director Boggs and to Hill. I attached all envelopes with original contents to the report, together with the ambassador’s letter.
The men on the shift never knew about this (nor, perhaps, did the king). It was the first time in my knowledge that a protectee had ever tried to tip an agent—but it would not be the last, especially with Third World leaders. (An African leader once tried to give me five hundred dollars.) King Hussein came to the United States many times after that, and the agents would receive cuff links or some other memorabilia, but no one from his party ever again offered us cash.
During my first round with FDPD I led protection for fourteen heads of state. Aside from King Hussein (whom I guarded several times), some of the others included Prince (now king) Juan Carlos and Princess Sophia of Spain, Prime Minister Lynch of Ireland, President Léopold Sédar Senghor of Senegal, Marshal Tito of Yugoslavia, Willy Brandt of West Germany, President Echeverria of Mexico, and various high Israeli officials including Prime Minister Golda Meir, Deputy Prime Minister Yigal Allon, and Foreign Minister Abba Eban.
Some were persons of world-shaking stature and power. Some were petty tyrants. Some were cruel, some corrupt, some ruthless. (I was shocked to hear a Latin American leader refer to his people as “monkeys.”) Some were US allies; some were enemies. And some were spiritual giants.
Léopold Sédar Senghor, first president of the Republic of Senegal, was such a man. I knew very little about him until I led his security, but almost immediately I felt honored to be in his presence.
Senghor was the founding father of independent Senegal, winning independence from France not by revolution but by persuading Charles de Gaulle to peacefully cede control. Senegal became a republic in 1960 and Senghor its first president. He was reelected four times until 1980, when he voluntarily retired. A Roman Catholic, he led a predominantly Muslim country. He was a poet, professor, philosopher, and chief theoretician of Négritude (“blackness”), a term for the common culture and spiritual heritage of the peoples of black Africa. (He gave me an autographed copy of his book by that title. Though I don’t read French, I treasure it.)
Senghor studied at the Sorbonne and respected Western literature and political thought. When African rivals criticized his friendly relations with colonialist powers, he said, “I wear European clothing and the Americans dance to jazz . . . from our African rhythms: civilization in the 20th century is universal. No people can get along without others.”[57]
From several advances to African countries with Vice President Humphrey, I knew that the country of Senegal was unique in its stability. I asked President Senghor how he managed that.
“Tribes are very important in African thought and culture,” he told me. “When I became president, I called together leaders of every tribe in Senegal, and we agreed upon a power-sharing arrangement. It has held. Most other African leaders favor their own tribe, but that’s not what I did. That’s why Senegal has peace.”
Because protection is always high-tension work, we agents often joked around to relieve stress. So when the opportunity arose on my first tour, I couldn’t resist trying my hand at satire. I wrote the following tongue-in-cheek memo to my former boss, who was still with Agnew:
To: SAIC Sulliman—Vice Presidential Protective Division, Dec. 2, 1971
From: ASAIC Parr—Foreign Dignitary Prot. Div.
Re: President Maga of Dahomey
It has come to my attention that the Vice President will be staying at the Park Lane Hotel in New York City at the same time as President Hubert Maga of the Republic of Dahomey.
Inasmuch as a President has precedence over a Vice President in all matters, I would appreciate it if you would comply with the following:
That your Detail not interfere with my elevator operation.
That your Detail not get the best parking area in the hotel and not block our parking entrance to the hotel.
That your Detail not interfere with the Foreign Dignitary Protective Division radio frequencies.
That your Detail not start false rumors with my Detail.
Inasmuch as my Detail will be using the permanent lapel pins with the green down, it is necessary for you to obtain other identification for your agents.
Advise your agents to keep the noise level down in the hotel as my principal likes complete solitude and silence.
Please check with me daily for any other restrictions that might develop on the scene.
If the above items are adhered to I will see that the Vice President, you and DSAIC Simpson receive an autographed picture.
Jerry S. Parr
Assistant Special Agent in Charge
Fortunately, Sam got a kick out of my parody of the privileges that the PPD sometimes claimed.
Sometimes the principals themselves provided the humor. There were endless opportunities for foul-ups. In New York I was once stuck in a Waldorf Hotel elevator with Golda Meir, prime minister of Israel. She was headed for a banquet upstairs, and everyone was waiting to hear her speak. And waiting. And waiting. I radioed for help, but it seemed to take forever to get us out of that elevator. My feet hurt and my stomach rumbled. Hearing that familiar sound, Mrs. Meir turned to me and asked, “Mr. Parr, do you think we could send out for a kosher pastrami on rye?”
Mrs. Meir was my first female head of state to protect, a large woman in her seventies with steely gray hair pulled back in a bun, strong features, and plenty of power. She was good natured. She once said, “Not being beautiful was the true blessing. Not being beautiful forced me to develop my inner resources. The pretty girl has a handicap to overcome.” Feminists were proud of her achievements, but she wore them lightly. She said, “Whether women are better than men I cannot say—but I can say they are certainly no worse.”
The women’s movement arrived at the Secret Service on September 15, 1970, when our Executive Protective Service appointed its first female officer, followed quickly by others. (We led federal law enforcement agencies in this regard.) In December 1971 five EPS female officers became special agents. Several of those women hired in the first few years would work with me at FDP
D: Shawn Campbell, Kathy Clarke, and Mary Ann Gordon.[58]
As the father of three girls, I absorbed this culture shock more easily than some of my colleagues. I wanted the world to be open to my daughters. And there was another reason: for a few years Carolyn had been subtly breaking me in about the women’s movement. In fact, she was still thinking about law school. In the late 1960s she had enjoyed work as an assistant to a K Street lobbyist, but when we discovered our live-in nanny had a drinking problem, Carolyn resigned to stay home. When Trish was born in 1970, Carolyn put her long-deferred dream of law school on hold yet again, but her career clock was ticking. She was already thirty-three years old, and law school would take at least three years. While I worried a little about how this change would affect the family, I was not about to try to stop her. Carolyn had always encouraged my dreams, postponing her own. When she was ready, she could count on my wholehearted support. I never doubted she would succeed. And I knew our love would make a way.
Beginning in May 1972, I yo-yoed back and forth between foreign digs and temporary assignments to the Agnew detail and to various other individuals who needed protection. Nixon ordered security for Senator Ted Kennedy and House Speaker Wilbur Mills when they started to get threats. In May I put in 172 hours of overtime, reminiscent of the Humphrey days. Advances for major heads of state also ate a lot of time, especially if they planned a long visit. In the single month of August, I also led advances for Agnew’s detail to Miami, Arkansas, Phoenix, Los Angeles, and Palm Springs, which totaled 176 hours of overtime. Still, these periods were rare, and there was time to recuperate between them.
I returned to Vice President Agnew in November 1972 and then moved to Ford in October 1973. My second tour at foreign digs, now as SAIC Bill Barton’s deputy, began March 17, 1974.
The bicentennial of our nation’s founding was coming up, along with another United Nations meeting. A flood of dignitaries poured into the United States, among them Emperor Hirohito of Japan, making his first and only visit to the United States. Others returned and specifically requested me: President Senghor, Prince Juan Carlos, and King Hussein. In 1976, after I moved to the Inspection Division, I was called back to protect Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip.
Two protectees, Emperor Hirohito and Yasser Arafat, leader of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) and sworn enemy of Israel, would require special handling.
My introduction to the Hirohito assignment was unusual and a little awkward. It was cherry blossom time in Washington in 1975, and Maseo Tachibana, Japanese embassy security officer, looked embarrassed. “Mr. Parr,” he said, “please don’t be offended, but I have to ask you a question.” Tachibana and three other security officers, including Mr. Katsuta, chief of security, were visiting my office six months before the emperor’s planned visit.[59] Normally, the only security forces who came more than a week or two ahead of time were Israelis and Palestinians. In this case, the Japanese planned exceptionally early. I understood: they wanted to learn how we did security. I didn’t mind because we were building relationships that would help us when we came to Japan in the future.
And they wanted to look me over personally.
I was puzzled at Tachibana’s diffidence. “Of course,” I said. “Ask me anything you like.”
“Mr. Parr, do you remember Pearl Harbor?” Oh. That was it. Indeed I did remember when the Japanese drew us into World War II by bombing our naval fleet anchored in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
“Yes. I was eleven years old.”
Unaccustomed to speaking so directly, he looked down at his feet. “Um. Mr. Parr, how do you feel about it now? Would you be able to protect our emperor?”
I hesitated, because his question deserved a serious, truthful answer. Many people don’t understand that the identity of the person we protect and how well we do it do not depend on our personal feelings. It is in America’s interest to assure the safety of foreign leaders—whoever they are—when they are guests in our country. As I write this, we’ve never lost one, although some (presidents Tolbert, Somoza, and Anwar Sadat) were murdered later in their own countries.
But I also recalled how violently my friends and I all hated the Japanese between 1941 and 1946, my formative years. I remembered a movie cartoon of Popeye the Sailor Man crushing a can of spinach, pouring its contents down his throat, instantly sprouting huge muscles, then punching out a cartoon caricature of Hirohito. It’s no exaggeration to say that anyone who had killed Hirohito in those days would have been an American hero.
But that was 1941, more than thirty years in the past. This was 1975. I certainly didn’t feel that way now.
“Well, like many Americans, I was shocked, then angry,” I responded. “But that was a long time ago. Most of our agents weren’t even born then.” I flashed what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I don’t hold any anger. Your emperor will be safe with me.” Tachibana returned my smile and visibly relaxed. Putting their hands together, he and his men bowed. I bowed back. We had reached an understanding.
I took Tachibana and the other Japanese security officers to every site the emperor would visit in Washington, including the monuments, Arlington Cemetery, and Blair House, where he would stay. I showed them where our people would probably set up posts, and invited them to have their men double up with us if they wanted to. They began to trust me, asking and taking my advice. I told them that if the emperor were threatened, we would “cover and evacuate.” I warned, “We might have to handle him roughly. But as soon as the crisis passes, you can take over.” At first the thought of anyone throwing their emperor to the ground or in a car was shocking. But they quickly agreed to prepare him for this possibility and explain the reasons.
The Japanese visit was not a small operation: an estimated two thousand policemen and security personnel would protect Emperor Hirohito and Empress Nagako on their monthlong, eighteen-thousand-mile itinerary. We started the actual advance about a month before their arrival in late September. Seven or eight security officers—a big contingent for a foreign visit—showed up a couple of weeks ahead of the principals and shadowed our advance team. When the emperor arrived, his team worked right alongside our own.
I had to prepare my agents for some cultural differences. I told them to watch the protocol officers from the State Department who accompanied our guests and to do as they did. The emperor was small in stature and unaccustomed to being touched by strangers, so no backslapping or hand shaking unless the royals initiated it. It was okay to bow. The empress customarily walked behind her husband at a respectful distance, so we had to adjust our usual formations to accommodate that. I learned to bow and say, “Ah, so,” to indicate agreement.
In spite of their ages (he was seventy-four, she seventy-two), they were indefatigable tourists, and every stop had to be advanced. They explored colonial Williamsburg, where the emperor rode on an open car with me beside him holding his belt (with his permission) to keep him from falling off. A Japanese agent told me that a photo of this caused a stir in Japan. He said, “Jerry, everyone is trying to guess your identity. They say you must be a very important person to be allowed to touch the emperor!”
President and Mrs. Ford entertained the royal couple at a White House state dinner. They toured Washington, then Manhattan, from which we helicoptered out to Vice President Nelson Rockefeller’s Japanese-style house on his Pocantico Hills estate. The laboratories at Woods Hole on Cape Cod fascinated the emperor, himself a marine biologist. In Chicago he toasted Mayor Daley and made a side trip to inspect a corn and soybean farm. In San Diego the couple visited the Scripps Institute of Oceanography. In San Francisco they visited Japan Town, and in Los Angeles they greeted Mickey Mouse and watched a bicentennial parade in Disneyland and, at the emperor’s request, lunched with John Wayne. Large crowds of excited Japanese Americans greeted them everywhere, especially in Hawaii, where they ended their tour.
The emperor visited Pearl Harbor without public comment. Thirty years before, he had accepted full responsib
ility for Japan’s role in the war, and his humility at Japan’s surrender convinced General Douglas MacArthur, leader of US occupying forces, to spare his life and even to allow Hirohito to remain in place. The only condition was to tell his people he was not divine, which he did.
Although the crowds were friendly and happy—not angry and threatening, as with Humphrey—it was never safe to relax. The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence: an audience member could have been a survivor of the Bataan Death March or a Japanese prison camp.
As in the 1960s, we all worked long hours and got little sleep on airplanes and buses. But one agent, John Pforr, went above and beyond. He was assigned to the Japanese press corps. In Williamsburg on September 29 he mentioned a dull pain in his left leg but said, “It’s not too bad,” and kept working. Back in Washington three days later, I sent him to Bill Voss, Agnew’s former doctor, who gave him the option of returning home or continuing with the detail. John said, “Being with the press doesn’t require much physical activity. I’ll keep going.”
Pforr continued to work from October 2 to October 10, traveling through DC, Cape Cod, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, San Diego, and San Francisco. But at eight thirty in the morning on October 10, Agent Jim Beary called me. He said, “John Pforr can’t walk. He’s in terrible pain. An ambulance is on its way to the Hilton.” I radioed Marty Haskell at San Francisco’s field office. He accompanied Pforr to the hospital, then put him aboard a plane for New Haven. Pforr had worked fourteen days with a herniated disc!
When the visit was over, I was still bowing and saying, “Ah, so.” Carolyn had to tell me to stop or the neighbors would wonder if I’d gone round the bend.
If working Hirohito was Battlestar Galactica, Yasser Arafat was The Twilight Zone. As chairman of the PLO, Arafat was the sworn enemy of Israel. Not only that, the PLO was widely blamed for the Munich Massacre two years before at the 1972 Olympic Games, when terrorists kidnapped and murdered eleven members of the Israeli Olympic team. Jews—and many others—passionately hated Arafat.