If Brennan ever decides to give up his ENT work, he really should teach a master’s class in medical bedside manner. He demonstrated that perfect combination of compassion, sincerity, and a professional intimacy that made you feel like you had known him for many years. Combined with his informal demeanor, I felt both reassured and much less tense.
“So that means you got everything?” I asked.
“I have a good feeling about it, but it will be another hour before we get the official results back from pathology. What we do is go in and remove samples of all the surrounding tissue and …”
“Excuse me, Doctor,” I interrupted. “I think you have me confused with someone who wants to hear the details. I don’t want to see anything, I don’t want to read about any of this online, I don’t want to hear about tissue samples unless they’re for my runny nose … I graduated from the ‘Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil’ school of medicine. Just, please, come back and tell me that he’ll be all right.”
About an hour later, that’s exactly what he did. Thank God, it came back all clear.
Norty: I spent the night in the hospital but I was so medicated there’s very little that I remember. I recall the wonderful protocol woman from Lackland AFB who took such special care of Suzie. On the flip side, my aide and security staff kept barging in—which was very attentive of them, but at times like these, I would think that common sense would dictate that one’s privacy should be respected. On one of these intrusions, I remember trying to convince my aide to hook up my computer in the room so I could check my emails, but Suzie vetoed that one in no uncertain terms.
I’m told that Ron Keys called back to check on us. In fact, Suzie tells me that he called from the bus transporting all the generals back from the Air Force Memorial dedication, and Suzie held the phone up to my ear as every one of them took turns on the phone to send their best. It was very thoughtful of them, but it might as well have been Captain Kangaroo calling because I don’t remember any of it.
It probably took a year to get full functionality back. As it turned out, speaking wasn’t as much of a problem as control of saliva. I became a spitter. When I spoke, I frequently had to pause to swallow the moisture that had accumulated in my mouth. We don’t even notice it, but our salivary glands are constantly secreting saliva that a fully functioning tongue involuntarily moves to the back of the mouth to be swallowed. The part of my tongue that handles that process had been removed. Eventually this took care of itself, but for the first twelve months, it took a conscious effort on my part to “drain the lake.” Doing so was not always at the forefront of my mind, which at times led to some embarrassing situations.
The real cause for celebration occurred in October of 2011, when tests determined that I was still cancer-free; the rule of thumb being that if you are cancer-free for five years, the chance of recurrence is less than 5 percent. I will be forever indebted to Dr. Joe Brennan for granting me admission to that life-saving club.
Chapter Six
ALL IN
AUGUST 2008–AUGUST 2012
There had only been eighteen Air Force Chiefs of Staff in the entire history of the United States, and I never thought that I would be one of them. It didn’t really sink in when the president announced my nomination, or even when the Secretary of the Air Force swore me in. But when Suzie and I walked into Air House (the Chief’s official residence) and were welcomed by our aides, it suddenly became real. As you enter, there’s a little foyer with a plaque on the wall that has the names of all the chiefs who lived in that house. Curtis LeMay is on there, Whiting is on there, Vandenberg is on there. All these legends. I looked at Suzie and just shook my head. Ironically, just over sixty years earlier, this had also been the residence of General Omar Bradley, the very general my dad had referenced when he doubted me.
The Chief is the highest ranking officer in the Air Force, a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and military advisor to the president. Every prior Chief was chosen from either the fighter or bomber communities; I was the very first from Special Ops. Somehow that made it even more special for me. I was proud of my provenance at the tip of the spear, and with it came an escalated sense of responsibility to make every moment count. I knew my four years would fly by faster than a bullet—it truly felt like just yesterday that Dad dropped me off at the TWA terminal for that flight to the Academy—but when the day finally arrived that I would hang up that uniform for the very last time, I wanted it to be with a deep sense of satisfaction that only comes with the understanding that we had served the nation well and enhanced the lives of the airmen and their families.
But what was I walking into? We were a nation at war and the Air Force was in trouble. Our fleet of aircraft was aging, the nuclear enterprise had decayed, we were insufficiently committed to the war, and our greatest asset—the airmen and their families—were not getting the levels of care to which they were entitled. Between the war and the current state of the Air Force, I’d have to institute rigorous accountability and refocus our priorities in order to prove ourselves completely worthy of America’s trust. I couldn’t wait to begin. But first, there was that not insignificant matter of confirmation.
* * *
After thirty-four years I should have known better, but I failed to perform. Blindsided by a sucker punch. Instead of fighting back I became defensive, and losing this match would mean the end of my career. Mullen and Gates were in my corner, as was President Bush. The final hurdle was one that I had encountered many times before, the Senate Armed Services Committee, and word on the street placed them in my corner and supportive of my confirmation. I’d been given a heads-up on one potential challenge that might arise, but forewarned is forearmed, so I was fully prepared to meet the issue head-on.
Michigan Congressman Mike Rogers had called me to say that he believed I had misled him in 2003–2004 surrounding unsecured arms caches in Iraq. I remembered it well. It was during my time as J-3, so I wasn’t even in the direct chain of command at the time; answering that question, if it were to be asked, would be easy. Besides that, I anticipated a few softballs tossed my way, but in the big picture I expected this session to be one of my easiest—and certainly most successful—testimonies before the committee. After all, they had already demonstrated their support by promoting me to four-star and backing my nomination to TRANSCOM commander. That’s a far cry from how it would unfold on this blistering Tuesday morning, July 22, 2008, in room SR-325 of the Senate Russell Office Building—the recently named Kennedy Caucus Room.
I began my opening statement and thanked Suzie for being my best friend. Then I fielded questions from Senator Akaka about the long-range strike aircraft, and Senator Inhofe about our aging fleet. This went on for over two hours as I comfortably responded to queries from Senators Warner, Levin, Graham, and others.
As the main hearing began to wind down, I started to relax. Before these things begin, I have to get geared up for them; I have to will myself to become mentally engaged. Without this intentional focus, I tend to let my guard down, and that’s exactly what happened. Bill Nelson from Florida brought up the 2003 testimony in which I declined to speculate as to the number of troops I believed would be required for Iraq, and questioned whether I had been candid with the committee. I indicated that back then I didn’t feel qualified to make the assessment necessary to directly answer their question, so I didn’t. It was not a great answer, but I was fading fast.
Then Senator Chambliss chimed in to inquire about the Rogers issue surrounding the unsecured munitions sites. I’d forgotten that they’d become close when both served in the House. “You became aware of the ammunition sites that were unsecured in Iraq during the course of [the early 2003] period of time…. What action did you take to ensure that the information relative to the fact that there were a number of sites that were unsecured were in fact going to be secured so that there could not be pilferage of the ammunition sites and the consequences of that being that insurgents would have the munitions
with which to make IEDs which in fact they did?”
I explained that we did receive the information, we provided analytical resources to attempt to confirm the locations, then I passed the information along to my counterparts at CENTCOM and Combined Task Force 7.
He pushed. Did I follow up to ensure that they acted on that information?
I explained that I did my job by following up that the information was received and understood, but it really wasn’t my place to get into what they did with the data. It was the truth, but I was less than eloquent in my presentation.
Senator Warner announced that they would continue this discussion in “executive session”—a follow-up closed hearing. It would take place immediately after this one in room SR-222, a secure room frequently used by the Armed Services Committee for their classified hearings. My hunch was that this was a setup and they had agreed to it ahead of time.
Downstairs we went. There were nine senators (of the original fifteen or so) and it was brutal. Bill Nelson pulled out a thick notebook and began to read from it—it was the transcript of that 2003 hearing. Nelson, Senator Levin, and others on the panel felt that I had been deliberately evasive. They were having second thoughts as to whether I would be candid with the committee as a service chief. I went on the defensive and tried to reiterate what the context of all this was, but I was not being impressive. I had lost my focus and I was unable to recover. I went from treading water to sinking fast. By the time I left the chamber I had very bad vibes as to the session’s outcome, fairly certain that my lackluster performance had allowed this opportunity to slip away.
Suzie was waiting for me back upstairs.
Suzie: When Norty told me what had happened in there, I was mad! I will never understand why he couldn’t suck it up and be strong. How could he possibly lose focus and go down at a time like that? Because he got tired?! I told him that the next time he was in a situation like that, he had to bring Chief McQuiston, who was the Chief Master Sergeant (senior enlisted leader) at TRANSCOM. He’s the most positive, inspirational person I know, and I wanted his face to be the last one Norty saw before he stepped into another situation like that.
My confirmation was unraveling. The firestorm that would ensue played out in back-channel communications between Congress, the secretary of defense, the chairman, and even a retired service chief.
That night I got a call from Chairman Mike Mullen, who also saw this whole thing going south. He and Secretary Gates had worked this very hard. After I mishandled that closed hearing, even Senator Warner—usually an ally—called Gates and essentially asked, “Are you sure Schwartz is your man?” Gates called Mullen, who called me.
“Schwartz, you’re going to have a second closed hearing,” he said, making it crystal clear that if I wanted to salvage the confirmation I’d have to hit it out of the park. “Get your shit together this time.”
Always maintain a reserve for the unexpected.
Before that second closed hearing, I went back to see Mike Rogers on this. Heather Wilson, a congresswoman from New Mexico, former Rhodes Scholar, and Air Force Academy graduate, heard about this situation from my friend and colleague, Bob Otto, who had quietly intervened on my behalf. Congresswoman Wilson knew Mike Rogers well and offered to facilitate a meeting.
When he and I met, I explained to him the situation surrounding the unprotected arms and I think he appreciated the explanation. I told him candidly, “Sir, we didn’t blow you off. You had to appreciate that these were priorities chosen by folks on the ground. We don’t command the folks on the ground from Washington.” He got that, and it was a good meeting. I went on to explain that I was a young three-star at that time. “This is six years later; I am more mature than I was then. I think that I’m prepared to be a service chief in a way that he would respect.” He let it go, and I assume he contacted Saxby to do the same, because I never heard any more about it.
Incidentally, years later as I was leaving the Chief’s job, I went to see him again. I told him that I appreciated his accepting the explanation that was given during the confirmation process and that I hoped that my tenure had confirmed that his judgment to allow the confirmation to proceed was a good judgment and he concurred. He acknowledged that the commitments I made to him regarding faithful service had been fulfilled.
I wish the issue of “troop strength” could have been mollified in a similar manner. But that was not the case. Certain members were still very much on the fence.
Unbeknownst to me, an important private meeting was about to take place, one that I wouldn’t hear about until years later. Senators Warner and Levin had reached out and met with General Eric Shinseki, who had long since retired as Army chief of staff. They essentially asked him for the “no shit” story on the numbers. Ric confirmed that the numbers were all over the place and there was really no way that I could have given them a definitive answer. I am told that Ric also expressed that “Schwartz is your man.”
I went back for the second closed hearing.
Bill Nelson called me into a side office before the hearing started and we had a long talk. He indicated that if I reassured the members that I understood the necessity for candor with the committee, he would no longer hold the nomination, but would instead vote for my confirmation. He wanted to double down on the reason he had initiated this whole thing in the first place. I realized at that moment that the odds had swung back in my favor.
That whole episode reminded me that it is not always about the facts; it’s about influence and position. Nelson is a senior senator. He’s going to be around. Basically what he was saying was, “I can turn the committee for you. I’m the key.”
True to her word, Suzie had contacted Chief Master Sergeant McQuiston, and she made sure that his would be the last face I saw before walking into that second closed hearing. He pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “This is not about you and it’s not about those politicians. It’s about me and the other 600,000 members of our Air Force who need you to get us back on track! It’s about the 300 million Americans who rely on you to keep them free! Now get in there and show them what General Norty Schwartz is made of! Go kick ass! You are going to be our Chief.”
I nodded, stepped inside, and kicked ass. I was totally psyched and didn’t care what they threw at me; I was going to smash it out of the park. I went on the offensive with the most eloquent, passionate, convincing four-minute soliloquy of my life.
Then something very interesting happened. They almost seemed to forget about my presence, and it turned into an internal discussion among themselves—and a real civics lesson for me. They started discussing that maybe one of the things they should do was to inquire of secretary of defense nominees about what kind of building they’re going to run. There was this underlying notion that they liked the way Gates was running the building, but that certainly was less the case in the Rumsfeld days. So it turned into this larger discussion of the Rumsfeld versus the Gates Pentagon.
Suzie: That’s part of the whole dynamic of how this turned south in the first place. They saw Norty as the last vestige of the Rumsfeld era and they still felt blindsided by what played out during those days. The points they were attacking Norty on were from 2002 and 2003—the Rumsfeld years. And they needed to know if he was still going to have that sort of mindset. They’re thinking, “The Rumsfeld era is gone; we’re moving on. Are you coming with us?”
Norty: Absolutely. They realized that the real issue was far more complex than what Norty Schwartz may or may not have done back in 2003. What happened at the end of the hearing is that I was able to observe the senior leadership having this wonderful discussion about whether they should be just as concerned about what kind of building a SECDEF nominee might run, as they were about his opinions on policy issues. Obviously, they felt that Gates was a better partner than Rumsfeld had been.
I almost felt like a real-life Frank Capra film was playing out right in front of me. All it needed was Jimmy Stewart up there. It really was a wo
nderful privilege to observe how—behind the scenes when the cameras were off—Democrats and Republicans and elders spoke about good governance. Bottom line, it was their way of concluding that management style matters.
We took a deep breath, returned home, and called Gates with an update. I could tell by his tone that this was not breaking news to him; I’m sure Warner had already called and said something like, “Don’t worry, Schwartz is in. He did fine.”
Two days later the confirmation was announced and we were off and running.
There were two big lessons in this for me.
Members of Congress have very long memories.
This is something to take very seriously because things you say and do years before will be quoted back to you, so you shouldn’t be surprised when this happens.
Never relax prematurely.
From that moment on, I always psyched myself up and stayed up until it was absolutely clear that the hearing was over or the interview was done or the presser was complete. I dodged a bullet that time, but I never allowed myself to be in that position again.
Suzie: And my lesson was that these things are just too much pressure for me. I never went to another hearing and I never watched them on TV. Norty can sit there and be attacked by them for hours on end and he’s as cool as a cucumber—professional, respectful—I’ve never seen anything like it. I’d go ballistic and throw it right back in their faces. See no evil, hear no evil—works every time.
NUKES
One of our first orders of business was cleaning up the nuclear debacle. It meant looking at both events (the unaccounted-for warheads and mistaken shipment to Taiwan) and the larger enterprise issues. Who was involved? What did they do? Where were they culpable? Did this warrant discipline? These were high-level people, commanders not fulfilling expectations. It was a defining moment for us because that kind of ineptitude could not be allowed to continue. We acted on that. We restored accountability and we put the nuclear business back into the organization of the Air Force. We did it with care, but resolutely.
Journey Page 32