by Tim Wood
August and September were always the two busiest months for a field office. In August all the politicians, including the President and Vice President, leave Washington, DC, for the summer recess. August has become the de facto vacation month, not only for current presidents, but former presidents as well. September is the annual head of state meetings at the United Nations in New York, thus all those Foreign Heads of State are afforded protection by the Secret Service, and believe me, September is one busy month for the Secret Service field offices. I used to tell all my young agents to forget about a personal life in August and September—and whatever you do, do not get married in August or September and for Pete’s sake don’t “kadoodle” with the wife in December or January because when your child is born in August or September you can plan on missing a lot of birthdays.
During my tenure as the Seattle ASAIC, for some unknown reason, presidents, vice presidents and former presidents always seemed to vacation in Seattle’s geographical jurisdiction. Consequently, I had some really nice trips in those days as the field office supervisor, especially for an outdoorsy guy like me.
One summer, former president George H. W. Bush took a fishing vacation at Lake Illimani, Alaska. We only had two agents assigned to the Anchorage RA in those days so I went up there to help them out. It turned out to be a great week in the Alaskan wilderness. One of the Anchorage agents stayed in Anchorage to provide the security advance for the airport arrival and departure. The other Anchorage agent and I went to Lake Illimani to make security preparations for the former President’s fishing trip.
Former President George H.W. Bush’s fishing buddies on this trip included a close friend from Houston and retired air force General Chuck Yeager. Yes…that Chuck Yeager…the first man to break the speed of sound in a jet aircraft. For an old Marine A6 Bombardier/Navigator it was a thrill to meet and speak with him.
The Anchorage agent and I flew into Lake Illimani Airport on an Alaskan Airlines 737. Great…with 737 air service this place must not be as remote as it looks on the map. When the wheels of that 737 hit the runaway, I almost jumped out of my skin. The runway was gravel and the noise from the gravel flying off the landing gear was deafening. Holy shit, a little gravel in one of those engines and this plane will be unflyable for weeks. Believe me, gravel was flying everywhere. I looked at the Anchorage agent and he said to me, “We’re in the middle of nowhere now, boss.” And he was right; but the middle of nowhere in Alaska is breathtakingly beautiful. “If we survive the landing and takeoff from this gravel runway,” I said, “This could be a good trip!”
Once we got checked into our “bunkhouse” we set out trying to find two SUVs we could rent to stand in for a limo and Secret Service follow-up. My agent from Anchorage had been in contact with the manager of the exclusive lodge where the fishing party would be staying and he was assured we could use one of their SUVs as a limo. The manager said we shouldn’t have any problem “renting” another SUV from one of the other lodges in Lake Illimani. Of course, Murphy’s Law always applies to a protection advance and we no sooner got to the lodge when we discovered their one and only SUV was a ten-year-old Chevy Suburban with a rear window stuck in the down position. But no problem, it runs and it’ll have to do
For our Secret Service vehicle we could find only one other SUV, which an outfitter was willing to “rent” out for the week, in the small village. You guessed it; it was even older and in worse shape. We had to jump start the engine with jumper cables every time we wanted to go someplace. The outfitter told us they had a new battery on order from Anchorage and it just hadn’t made it in yet. That’s life in rural Alaska.
None of this was really an issue, we only needed the SUVs for the drive to and from the airport on the arrival day and the departure day about five days later; however, our evacuation plan was to get the former President to the airport if there was a medical emergency or for any other emergency that required us to get him out of Lake Illimani. God knows there was only one dirt road through the village, so there weren’t many places to drive.
Every morning during his stay, former president Bush, his Houston buddy, and Chuck Yeager would load up on a floatplane and fly into the wilderness for some serious all-day fishing. The former president’s detail supervisor went with them in the small floatplane and we, of course, stayed back in the village to stand by with our satellite telephone in case there was an emergency and they needed to get back to civilization.
We didn’t have much to do all day in the village, so one day the outfitter at our bunkhouse lodge offered to take us salmon fishing in his jet boat up the Newhalen River, which flows into Lake Illimani. It didn’t take too long out on that river to understand why he had that type of boat. The river is more than a quarter of a mile wide where it dumps into the lake, but only about eighteen inches deep. With a very, very swift current. A jet boat is about the only thing that can traverse that shallow of water.
After we got a few miles upstream, the river narrowed to a more normal width for a mountain river and was choked full of rapids. The river curved through a canyon dotted with boulders as big as a house. That was one fun ride up (and down) that river.
“This is what we call ‘the slot’ boys,” he told us. “This is where we fish.” Millions of king salmon, and I mean millions, were “holding” in the pool under the last rapids; rapids so intense even the jet boat could go no further upriver. But not the salmon, they were resting up for the dash upstream to their spawning beds. It looked like you could walk across the river by stepping on salmon and you would not get your feet wet. Needless to say, I caught a ton of big king salmon that day. It was almost too easy.
That wasn’t the only fishing trip I took with a former President as the ASAIC in Seattle. Former president Carter went fishing on the Kenai River in Alaska one summer and I again was able to work in a day of fishing for trout. The Redhead always enjoyed these trips to Alaska…I was able to stock our freezer with some delicious salmon and trout.
Not all the good deals were in Alaska, either. One July day I got a telephone call from the headquarters Protection Operations agent. This agent was respectfully referred to as the “body snatcher.” Every month I had a quota to fill with headquarters, providing them the names of agents in the Seattle District (Seattle, Portland, Spokane, Great Falls, and Anchorage) who were available to travel in support of our protective mission during the upcoming month. As soon as I answered the phone, I figured he needed more agents for the August assignments. But no. He needed me. “Hey!” he said, “do you have any plans the last three weeks of July? Would you like to go to the French Riviera with Nancy Reagan?”
Would I like to go to the French Rivera? With my favorite cookie baker? I don’t even have to call the Redhead on this one, because I’m going with or without her blessing. Sometimes you’ve just got to do what the job requires!
The Secret Service has a field office in Paris to cover parts of Europe. It seemed the Paris field office had too many protection visits at one time and not enough agents to cover Nancy Reagan. They needed a field office supervisor and I was the man for the job. Mrs. Reagan and two girlfriends were planning on cruising the southern French coastline for fifteen days on a private yacht. I spent almost three full weeks on the French southern coast and I saw Mrs. Reagan three times. Once when we picked her up at the airport in Nice and motorcaded her to the yacht. The second time when she docked at Saint Tropez and we took her to Merv Griffin’s yacht for dinner. And the last time when the cruise was over and we motorcaded her from the boat dock to the Nice airport. Let me tell you, that was one nice trip to Nice. I saw the entire southern coast of France, got to explore Saint Tropez and live a bit of the high life.
But in Seattle I had even better trips with First Lady Laura Bush.
In July 2003 First Lady Laura Bush was planning a camping and hiking trip to Glacier National Park, Montana. I made the long drive in my G-ride to the Park headquarters to m
eet up with the PPD First Lady’s detail and review the security plan they had put together. Unfortunately, that year wildfires were consuming the park, and as I drove into Glacier National Park, I could see and smell the smoke from the still out-of-control fire.
The park superintendent had strongly recommended that Mrs. Bush and her party cancel the trip. Prior to traveling to Glacier, I had seen the news reports on the wildfire, and in the back of my mind I’d thought maybe she would have to cancel the trip. But until you see the massive destruction a wildfire can do, up close and personal, and you smell the smoke and see the flames; well, once I witnessed the fire, it was a no-brainer; she had to cancel.
Canceling a trip is not an easy task. Convincing the SAIC of PPD that this visit to the park was a really bad idea was the easy part. Convincing the White House staff that it was a bad idea to take camping and hiking vacation to Glacier National Park—a vacation the First Lady had planned for over one year—well, that was the hard part. It seemed like we were on the telephone for hours with Mrs. Bush’s staff before they finally got it. The park was being consumed by a wildfire, and there was no place to camp or hike without being in danger. One change in the wind direction and you could be in harm’s way.
For Mrs. Bush and her friends, changing those plans would result in a big disappointment. And since the plans had centered around the First Lady of the United States, that just made the decision that much more difficult—Secret Service agents had to conduct a security advance, logistics had to be ironed out, and emergency plans developed.
A few hours later, the staff contacted the PPD First Lady’s detail lead advance agent. Glacier National Park, eight to nine hours by G-ride east of Seattle, was canceled. However, the vacation would go as scheduled in Olympic National Park, three or fours hours west of Seattle, with no change to her arrival date.
Early the next morning the advance team hopped a commercial airline for Seattle, and yours truly hit the road in his G-ride for the twelve- or thirteen-hour drive to Olympic National Park.
The First Lady’s visit to Olympic National Park was a great success, but due to the last-minute change in location, the vacationers had to stay in a hotel instead of camping in the backcountry. The weather was perfect during their visit and the scenery in the park was spectacular. All in all, they seemed to really enjoy their visit.
When 2004 rolled around, I was hoping Mrs. Bush and her friends would return for their summer vacation to Glacier National Park, and I wasn’t disappointed.
In late July 2004, in the mist of a presidential reelection campaign, Mrs. Bush and her lady friends arrived in Glacier National Park. We backpacked to a backcountry campground and Ranger Station and set up camp. We accompanied the ladies every morning on their day hikes around the park, and in the evenings we sat around the campfire after dinner with them.
Mrs. Bush and her friends were some of the nicest people you could meet. We had a great time sitting around the campfire in the evenings and telling stories. One night, Mrs. Bush was telling us about some of the parks she and her friends had visited in the past and they were discussing future trips for inclusion in their quest to hike them all.
“Mrs. Bush,” I said to her, “have you been to Denali National Park in Alaska?”
“No,” she replied. “Have you been there?”
In the summer of 2003, the Redhead and I had taken a vacation to Denali National Park and the unspoiled beauty of Denali enthralled us. Denali is a huge park, but it only has one road. A dirt road ninety-three miles from the park entrance to the old mining town of Kantishna, Alaska.
No private cars are allowed in the park, but the Park Service has a vendor to take tourists down the ninety-three-mile dirt road to the town of Kantishna. The Redhead and I saw numerous grizzly bears, herds and herds of caribou and moose, all from the safety of a large converted school bus. We watched a grizzly bear stalk, pounce upon, kill, and devour a beaver—it was a National Geographic moment!
“Denali sounds wonderful,” she said to me. “We’ll have to give that some consideration.”
* * *
As the presidential campaign rolled toward the 2004 November election, the President was on a final West Coast campaign swing in mid-October and his reelection team scheduled a two-day visit to Medford, Oregon, with a huge rally planned at the Medford fairgrounds.
Mrs. Bush had had a separate campaign itinerary and she would arrive at the Medford airport minutes before Air Force One, where she would join the President for the Medford, Oregon, campaign rally. On arrival day, Mrs. Bush and her entourage arrived as scheduled a few minutes before Air Force One.
Upon the arrival of Mrs. Bush, some of her staff deplaned, while she waited on board for the President. I saw her military doctor deplane and he walked over to say hello to me. We shot the breeze for the bit and then he said, “I haven’t seen you since we were in Glacier National Park last July. We were just talking about you on the flight into Medford!”
“Really?” I said. I started to asked him about the conversation when he was called over by one of the staff.
“I have to go,” he said and shook my hand. “It was nice seeing you again, take care of yourself.”
The PPD First Lady’s detail leader walked out of the First Lady’s aircraft and walked over to me to say hello. “Good to see you again,” he said. “Mrs. Bush was just talking about you on the airplane as we flew into Medford.”
“No kidding,” I said, “what’s that all about?”
“She was discussing next summer’s hiking trip, trying to pinpoint a destination,” he told me, “and she said Tim wants to go to Denali, so let’s plan on that for the summer of 2006!”
Air Force One was on final approach to the Medford airport ending the conversation. But I had to smile—Denali! That’s going to be one great hiking trip with Mrs. Bush.
* * *
The staff decided to have the President and Mrs. Bush spent the night at the Jacksonville Inn and Cottages, located in the old gold mining town of Jacksonville, Oregon, five miles west of Medford. In 1966, downtown Jacksonville was designated a US National Historic Landmark. It is a picturesque western town.
The main street bisecting Jacksonville from east to west is California Street. The main inn and restaurant are located on the north side of California Street and the cottages are tucked behind the storefronts on the south side of California Street. The PPD advance team set up a secure perimeter around the city block south of California Street to ensure the safety of the President and Mrs. Bush—standard operating procedure for a presidential stay in a hotel. California Street marked the northern perimeter of the secure area and was left open for pedestrian and vehicular traffic, as were all the small businesses lining downtown Jacksonville.
We motorcaded the President and Mrs. Bush to the campaign rally and at the conclusion of that event, we motorcaded directly to the Jacksonville Inn to spend the night. When we were a few minutes away from arriving at the Inn, I heard on my Secret Service Motorola radio that President and Mrs. Bush were going to make an “off the record” stop for dinner at the Jacksonville Inn restaurant.
A presidential motorcade has many, many vehicles to carry the traveling party, comprised of White House staff, campaign staff, military personnel, Secret Service agents and the press corps. It is not unusual to have thirty cars or minivans in the motorcade. The arrival area, in a narrow alley east of the Inn, had room for the presidential limo and the Secret Service follow-up. The motorcade advance agent had the rest of the motorcade break off and park behind the Inn to the north.
By the time I made my way from my vehicle to the Jacksonville Inn, the President, Mrs. Bush and their staff were already in the restaurant. As I approached the limo, at the side door to the restaurant I could see California Street was packed full of Iraq war protesters. Most, if not all, had bandanas covering their faces; they appeared young and extremely angry. The scen
e reminded me of the protesters in Seattle at the World Trade Organization meeting in November of 1999.
The protesters were within feet of the presidential limo. I was told President and Mrs. Bush were seated in an outdoor patio dining area, behind the restaurant. I looked to my right and saw that a six- to seven-foot old, worn-out wooden wall was, the only barrier between the President of the United States and about three hundred very angry Americans. I remember thinking, “Oh shit. An assassin could easily throw a hand grenade from the street right into the patio dining area.”
Protests groups can turn into an uncontrollable mob in an instant. If the protesters were to get out of control, they could easily rush the patio area. And to make things worse, the protesters provided perfect cover for an assassin, someone who wasn’t at the scene to protest the war, but who was there to kill the President of the United States. This was a very dangerous situation.
Of course, the PPD supervisors with the President and the lead advance agent knew exactly what I knew and long before I arrived at the alley had already directed the police to move the protesters down the street to the east a couple of blocks. By moving them the one to two blocks east, we would mitigate the threat of handgun, thrown bomb, or Molotov cocktail. Moving them would place two-story brick buildings between them and the outdoor patio, blocking the line of sight to the President and First lady.
The United States Secret Service has the legal authority, by federal statute, to secure a building for safety of the President. And, of course, Americans have the first amendment right to voice their displeasure with the policies of their government.
