by Shaun Usher
The “Old Guard” Fife & Drum of the 3rd infantry did a fife-by in their white-powdered wigs (“perukes,” if you want the proper nomenclature), red coats and linen tubular pants. (I remarked to Russell that, given the guest, they might have worn blue coats this time.) “The World Turned Upside-Down,” something I didn’t recognize, and “Yankee Doodle.”
CO, Honor Guard, says, “Sir, The Honor is concluded.”
The speeches were the normal diplomatic stuff. Took about eight minutes each. Trans:
Hi, how are you? Glad you’re here.
Fine, thanks. Glad to be here, let’s talk some.
Sounds great, let’s.
CO, Honor Guard, says, “Sir, the ceremony is concluded.”
The Army Honor Guard (easy to spot, they have “Honor Guard” flashes instead of something useful like RANGER) is noted for its severe haircuts. They’d have to grow a couple of weeks to be mohawks. Actually, it’s a real bunch of soldiers. In a recent exercise, quoath Larry Bond, they beat a unit from the 82nd Abn. [!] I bet there was hell to pay down at Bragg after that.
And that was that. We left the way we came. One final task, in the waiting room, everyone is supposed to sign an egg for the Easter Egg Roll. Back tonight for dinner.
3/20/85 The Day After.
I look pretty decent in a penguin suit. Vest instead of cumberbund– you don’t have to button the coat. Arrived at the same place as that AM at 0720±, walked to the same gate, had to show my driver’s license, and we got waved in by a black SS man in normal clothes. (No metal detectors this time…hmm…) After that all were in black tie, and therefore rather more difficult to pick out of the crowd. The way in is actually a basement (the White House grounds roll off a bit to the east). Lots of uniforms. Honor Guard (3rd Infantry Regiment) at the east entrance (unlike marines, these army guys don’t salute, the pigs.) Inside it was all officers, except the musicians. All services, all 0–2 to 0–4, all in full dress. (NOTE: The Marine full dress [Head Waiter] outfits win the militant fashion contest because of the blood-red sashes. Sorry, squids and doggies.) A Navy flutist and harp greeted us (both 4.0 female E–6s), and a string of officers guided us to the coat room. (You Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fans, our number was 42. I believe in fate.)
(Further note on fate: The idea for Hunt hit me the Monday after Argentina assaulted the Falkland Islands, the day on which I had lunch with [now] CDR Ralph Chatham, USN; the President got the book because a chap named O’Leary [editor on The Washington Times] sent his copy to one Mr. Ruiz, our ambassador to Argentina, and the courier, Mrs. Nancy Clark Reynolds, read it on the plane, and liked it so much…; and the functions I get invited to–the arrival of His Excellency, the President of the Argentine Republic. And people wonder why the Irish are supersticious???)
Proceeded west down the corridor, stopped by a LT, USN. Gina Lolabrigitta was just ahead of us, in the Press Gauntlet. For the first time, we were announced: “Mr. & Mrs. Tom Clancy!”
The Press Gauntlet is a line of photographers and reporters. Two ladies (USA Today and someone else) questioned me–oddly they take notes without looking at their pads; they look at you with upturned faces and open mouths, rather like the witches in MacBeth–and the cameras snapped. We escaped. Further west down the same corridor as in the morning, right (if you please, sir, quoath a handsome young officer) up some stairs to what is actually the White House’s first floor.
At the top of the stairs, we got our table cards. I was Table 4. Wanda was Table 1. Then did an extended U-turn past the Marine Corps Band in the main lobby to the East Room. A room of perhaps 1,000 sqft, white walls, high ceiling, hardwood floor, lots of people. Got announced again, this time with a microphone. “My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen! Mr. & Mrs. Thomas Clancy, Jr.” (A little poetic license there.) I mentioned earlier Michael and Carolyn Deaver. Mr. Deaver is the outgoing Deputy Chief of Staff for the President. Be it recorded here that he and his wife are fine people; and that to anyone who knows me and who should ever have a chance to be of service to thee people, be ye advised that in doing so ye do service also unto me. These are important folks yet with a surfeit of kindness and humanity. Yea, verily, the Lord God has not made better these people than these, and Wanda and I are beholden to them. In other words, with all the really important people around, they came to us, and verily we spoke, and verily they are genuinely nice, decent people, hence (so far as D.C. is concerned) entitled to federal protection under the Endangered Species Act. Damn, this sort of thing will renew one’s faith in humanity.
I didn’t want to drink. I had Perrier. It’s French water, and it tastes used. Other people present: Irene Cara, a lovely little pixie every bit as overwhelmed to be there as I, and when I met her later, thoroughly nice; Armand Hammer, his first time in the White House since Carter, and it must have been a mistake; Lee Trevino; Doug Flutie; all those I saw that morning; a total of 120 guests. About the time I finished my French Fizz the music in the distance changed. The Presidents were coming. First the colors, then the folks. The waiters (more about them later) discretely collected drinks (I skillfully pocketed the napkin), and an amorphous line generated itself to file past the hose and featured guest. Ronal Reagan didn’t look at all that great that AM in a brown suit–just not his color. In a tux, he’s dynamite. Shook hands again. Charm, firm handshake. President Alfonsin is a shorter guy, darker, mustache, with dignity. Mrs. Reagan is so friggin’ skinny she practically isn’t there. Mrs. Alfonsin was quite attractive. Past the receiving life, we went into a side room, then back to the main east-west corridor heading to the West Room.
12 (NOTE: Inside, the White House isn’t all that large–perhaps the cleaning staff thinks differently. In fact, it seems almost small in the building proper, as opposed to the administrative additions.)
In the West Room, we split up. Table 4 was in the S/E corner. Wanda was right at the exit at the N/E one, Table 1.
Dinner.
The White House Staff (that is, the serving folks) is entirely black (at least all those I saw were; Wanda claims to have seen an Anglo or two, and maybe some Filipinos). Rather an irksome thing, times having changed since emancipation, nevertheless these are the most consummately skilled people I’ve ever seen. A neurosurgeon would do well to have such technique. Under crowded conditions, with numbers of self-inflated people, their service was quite simply 4.0, 100%, perfection itself. Never have I seen anything like it. Period. Maybe white people just can’t cut it. Maybe, like with the Chesapeake Bay Pilots Association, you have to be born into the job. In any case, I hope they get paid enough. They earn it.
Mike–excuse me, Mr. Deaver was at my table, but the boy-girl-boy- girl seating prevented conversation. Found myself between Mrs. Pete Fountain (jass clarinet, he played later), and an aristocratic lady from Brazil who’d endured a nine hour flight to be here.
Dinner was: (photocopy attached)
The salmon was garbage, but everything else was spiffy.
While I was speaking with two rather nice ladies, Wanda at Table 1 was between Bud McFarland (National Security Advisor) and some Argentine asshole who could not understand A) why an author was here, and B) why an author’s wife was here. I suppose Argentina needs additional work on democracy (the guy turned out to be an instructor at Harvard, a further problem for his personal development). Not to mention manners–I mean, it is OUR house!
Dinner ended on a nice note: the Army band’s Strolling Strings serenaded our GIs (a cute blond E–6 played at our table; she was obviously tired; I gave her a me-too smile, and got one back [Clancy, champion of the working man, and working woman; I also complemented one of the waiters]) with violins, two cellos, a bass and an acordian (?), then came the toasts. Etiquette is that you stand when it’s finished. Some Spanish- speaking photographer in his haste to get his Nikon fed shoved Wanda back into her chair. Wanda endured the indignity (one doesn’t make waves in the White House). When Alfonsin’s turn came, said Nikon jock practically leaned on her. A good thing I wasn’t
there, but our guardian angel of the evening, Carolyn Deaver, noted this, gestured to an aide, a pretty girl in red, who approached photographer. Photographer, of course, ignored her. (ASIDE, the girl was too pretty to be ignored, and I thought the Spanish had an eye for female persons.) What followed is called, I think, escalation. A small gesture from Mrs. Deaver, and the next person to touch the photographer was one of those serious-looking chaps with a do-dad in his ear. There is just something about their manner that says: GO AHEAD: MAKE MY DAY! No words were exchanged: said SS man simply moved the bastard five feet about the way I move Tommy. Except that the Nikon jockey behaved a lot better.
We exited to the Blue (I think; maybe Green) room. This is the one that bows out the south side of the building (the Jefferson Portico, I think). Yet another staff chap held out a box of cigars (did you like it, Mike?). Others circulated with coffee (small cups) and cordial glasses, while another held a tray with brandy (Hennessy!), etc. (Sorely tempted, but I had to drive….) Met and spoke a few minutes with Mrs. Reagan. Dear God, she’s skinny. I wonder if she has a shadow? Takes her charm lessons from her husband, I suppose. Got “shot” shaking hands with her, and the photographer (one of “ours”) came over to say that, indeed, everyone in the White House has read my book, “And I liked it, too!” Gee.
Next met Bud McFarland, the President’s National Security Advisor. He is not at all like Jeffrey Pelt in Hunt, and said so jokingly. We exchanged views on sea-power and mobility. (That sounds haughty. I floated an idea that he liked, no big deal.) Nice wife–in red, that must be the current “in” color. Went east to the Green (maybe Blue) room, then back around to the westernmost colored room, Red (I’m sure of this). Lots of pictures of presidents, etc. Spoke with some of the officer-guides. Wanda’s feet were sore by this time, she informed me.
Entertainment back in the East Room, Pete Fountain and his group played some cool jazz for a while. Excellent.
Final act was dancing and general carousing in the lobby. Ronnie and Nancy danced, then made a graceful exit. As did we. I thanked Mrs. Deaver for being such a nice person. She said that Arnold Schwartzenegger had been approached to be in the film version of my book. [?] And we left, escorted all the way by relays of spiffy young officers. And floated home.
And that’s the end of the tale.
For now.
Letter No. 034
THE JL123 ISHO
FLIGHT 123 PASSENGERS TO VARIOUS
August 12th, 1985
On August 12th 1985, Japan Airlines Flight 123 took off from Tokyo International Airport and headed for its destination, Osaka International Airport, with 509 passengers and 15 crew aboard. Problems began just 12 minutes later, when the plane’s rear pressure bulkhead suffered a catastrophic failure, which resulted in the plane’s tail being partially destroyed and the severance of its hydraulic lines. Unsurprisingly, Flight 123 was soon proving impossible to control – sadly, approximately 32 minutes after the initial failure, the plane crashed into Mount Takamagahara. Four people survived.
During those 32 terrifying minutes, fearing the worst, many of the plane’s passengers wrote letters to their loved ones, a devastating collection of missives now known as the JL123 Isho (last notes).
The Isho handwritten by Hirotsugu Kawaguchi in his notebook
Hirotsugu Kawaguchi
Mariko, Tsuyoshi, Chiyoko,
Be good to each other and work hard.
Help your mother.
It’s sad, but I’m sure I won’t make it.
I don’t know the cause.
It’s been five minutes now.
I don’t want to take any more planes.
Please kami-sama help me.
To think that our dinner last night was the last time.
There was some sort of explosion in the cabin
There was smoke and we started to descend
Where are we going, what will happen?
Tsuyoshi, I’m counting on you
Darling, it’s too bad that this has happened.
Goodbye
Please take good care of the children
It’s 6:30 now.
The plane is turning around and descending rapidly.
I am grateful for the truly happy life I have enjoyed until now.
Keiichi Matsumoto
PM 6:30
Tomoko
Look after Tetsuya (and parents)
Keiichi
Suddenly there was an explosion and the masks dropped With the explosion we began to fall
Be brave and live
Tetsuya be good.
Ryohei Murakami
The plane is swaying a lot left and right, 18:30 descending rapidly
Flying steady
Japan Air Lines 18:00 flight to Osaka accident I might die.
Murakami Ryohei
Everybody please live happily.
Goodbye Sumiko Miki Kyoko Kentaro
18:45 The plane is level and stable
There’s little oxygen, I feel sick
Inside the plane voices are saying let’s do our best I don’t know what happened to the plane
18:46 I am worried about the landing
The stewardesses are calm.
Mariko Shirai
I’m scared. I’m scared. I’m scared. Help me. I feel sick. I don’t want to die. Mariko’
‘Keiji, Hisako, Tadaomi, Shin’ichi, Rihiya, Sakura’
Masakazu Taniguchi
‘Machiko,
Look after the children
Osaka Minoo
Taniguchi Masakazu
6 30
Kazuo Yoshimura
Please live bravely. Please look after the children
Letter No. 035
DARE TO STAND ALONE
BUD WILKINSON TO JAY WILKINSON
September, 1960
Bud Wilkinson remains one of the most successful American football coaches of all time at college level, having guided the University of Oklahoma Sooners to victory in a record 47 consecutive games between 1953 and 1957; during his 16 years as their head coach, the Sooners also won three national championships and 14 conference titles. Bud’s youngest son, Jay, was a gifted footballer and dreamt of one day playing for his father; however, in 1960, after much deliberation and with support from his father, Jay accepted an offer to study and play somewhere else: at Duke University, 1200 miles from home. For the next six years Bud offered his son invaluable advice by letter. This was his first, sent soon after Jay’s arrival at Duke.
University of Oklahoma coach Bud Wilkinson during spring practice at Memorial Stadium, 1955
September, 1960
Dear Jay,
It was good to talk to you—I know things will get better because you are the kind of person who can adjust and find the good in all situations.
When I read your letter, I recalled vividly many similar times in my life. When I left home to go to Shattuck, I was truly blue. Yet I know now how fine a thing it was for me and my future. The training I received has made my life good. When I left you, Pat, and Mother to go to sea during the war, I was really shaken. I loved you and wanted to watch you and help you as you grew up—and I was leaving not knowing if I’d ever get back again. But once more, the experience and training I received more than compensated for the heartaches. Then too, I had the personal satisfaction of knowing I had done my duty.
One of the first things an education brings to people is the realization that the world is a big place—full of many different ideas and ways of doing things. You have watched our team practice and quite naturally are attuned to our ways of doing things. Bill Murray has been a fine coach for many years. Instead of wondering why they do things differently, you should be studying what they do so you will understand that their approach will get the job done more effectively—maybe more easily than we can.
When any person leaves a pleasant situation to enter the “unknown,” there is always the realization of how nice, good and comfortable things were befo
re. Yet only by facing the future and accepting new and progressively more difficult challenges are we able to grow, develop, and avoid stagnation. You have more total, all-around ability in all fields than anyone I have ever known. You will certainly be a great man and make a great contribution to the world. But to do this you must take on new and progressively more difficult challenges. You will grow and develop in direct relationship to the way you meet and overcome what at first seem to be hard assignments. You will learn to love Duke—to take great pride in the school and their football team. You’re that kind of person. By developing as a student and an athlete, you will prepare yourself to do bigger and better things when you graduate.
Always remember that I believe in you no matter what. You must do what seems right to you. Don’t ever be swayed by what “other people will think.” My grandmother, a great lady—one of the finest I‘ve ever known—always told me when I was a young boy growing up to “dare to be a Daniel; dare to stand alone.” It is the best advice one can have for happy, successful living. After analyzing and evaluating the circumstances—always do what seems best to you in the light of your own good judgment. Only in this way can you find peace of mind because you cannot be happy doing “what other people think you should do.” You must do what you think you should do.
I didn’t quite finish this letter yesterday before practice so am doing so this morning, Saturday. Norman tied Capitol Hill last night 26–26. They miss their “Big Tiger” on defense—as well as offense.
I love you, Jay, more than anything in life. Don’t worry about things—live each day by doing your best. Will look forward to talking to you tomorrow.
Love always,
Dad
Letter No. 036
ARKELL V. PRESSDRAM
PRIVATE EYE TO GOODMAN DERRICK & CO.
