The cold war was at a peak of intensity: the United States versus Russia, NATO versus the Warsaw Pact, East versus West, communism versus democracy. And, especially in Berlin, spies versus counterspies. The Berlin airlift of 1948 was fresh in the memories of Berliners and Americans were welcomed and appreciated. The work we were doing was interesting and, we felt, meaningful. Berlin, one of the great cities of the world, was an exciting place of history, culture, and adventure. I enjoyed my time in the army so much that I seriously considered extending my tenure in Berlin and making the army my career. But I was pulled in other directions as well.
Charlie McKelvey had been born and raised in Pennsylvania. Following college, he attended and graduated from the Georgetown University Law Center in Washington, after which he was called into the army. He later had a successful career in the law in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. In Berlin we became close friends, along with a third colleague, George Padgett, who was from New Jersey. He later became the general counsel of the Lionel Corporation. In long discussions over many pleasant evenings we and other friends talked about our lives and our futures. I was trying to decide whether to stay in the army or go to graduate school for an advanced degree in European history or go to law school. As always, money was a factor; I didn’t know if I could afford either graduate or law school. McKelvey urged me to go to Georgetown. It had an evening program that would permit me to work full time. Padgett had already applied for and been accepted at Georgetown; he too urged me to go there and suggested that we could room together in Washington. Those were important factors for me. I applied for and was admitted to Georgetown for the semester beginning in January 1957.
It was a bittersweet decision. I looked forward to law school, especially since I would be living with someone I liked and trusted. But I was sad to leave Berlin and especially to leave the army. Those who don’t serve in the military miss one of life’s great experiences, although some who do serve would not agree. But my experience could not have been better. I was a boy when I entered. When I left I was, if not a man, at least well on the way. The army taught or reinforced for me the value of patriotism, discipline, loyalty, and how to work with others. During my lifetime I’ve been privileged to receive many honors and awards; none means more to me than the George Catlett Marshall Award “for selfless service to the United States of America” that I received in 2002 from the Association of the U.S. Army.
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I. The legal voting age was then twenty-one.
II. I later wrote a book on the contest between democracy and communism: George J. Mitchell, Not for America Alone: The Triumph of Democracy and the Fall of Communism (New York: Kodansha America, 1997).
A LIGHT FOR INGRID BERGMAN
Before I entered the Army I had never been on a plane or a train, had never left the United States, indeed had traveled little within the country. So it was an unforgettable experience for me to travel with friends and see some of the great cities of Europe. Berlin was a wonderful and enjoyable city to live in. An extra benefit was the chance to visit London, Amsterdam, Paris, and Vienna. My visit to London coincided with the official celebration of the queen’s birthday, which was colorful and crowded. Amsterdam and Vienna were fascinating. Paris, then as now, was special. There we did what young visitors have done for centuries: walked the cobbled streets, gaped at Versailles, the Louvre, and the Eiffel Tower, watched the passersby as we sat in the outdoor cafes, and lingered over conversation in inexpensive restaurants. Late one night, as we walked across one of the bridges over the river Seine toward our low-cost hotel, we saw bright lights and a small knot of people at the far end. Curious, we walked toward them and discovered that a scene was being shot for a movie. The film, later released as Anastasia, featured Ingrid Bergman, the beautiful and then famous Swedish actress. There were only a few members of the crew and spectators there, so we were able to stand right next to a camera on a large dolly and watch Bergman walk from the bridge down concrete steps toward the river. Then, suddenly, there was a pause in the filming, and there was Ingrid Bergman moving toward us. At first I thought it must be my imagination, but she was in fact looking right at me and then walking toward me. Although dressed in a long shabby coat with a kerchief over her head, with little or no makeup, she was as beautiful in person as she had been on the screen. She walked right up to me, pulled out a cigarette, and said, “Do you have a light?” My first thought was “This is what movies are made of. In the middle of the night, on a bridge over the river Seine, a famous forty-year-old actress asking an unknown twenty-two-year-old boy for a light!” I’ve never smoked, so I knew I didn’t have a lighter or any matches. Nevertheless, I went through the motions of going through all my pockets before I was forced to confess that I didn’t. But, hoping to prolong the moment, I pointed to a member of the crew standing a few feet away and said, “I’ll go ask him.”
“That’s okay,” she replied as she walked toward the man, “I’ll ask him.” She did, he had a lighter, and he lit her cigarette. I watched in silent dismay as they then engaged in conversation for several minutes until the filming resumed. When we left to return to our hotel we all laughed as my friends made fun of me, and I spent the night wondering what might have happened if I’d had the chance to talk with her. What a missed opportunity! For several years thereafter I made it a point to carry matches whenever I went out just in case I ran into Ingrid Bergman again. But, of course, I never did.
GEORGETOWN LAW
I returned from Berlin in time to spend the Christmas holiday with my family in Maine. I hadn’t seen them for eighteen months, so we had a great reunion. My sister had graduated from the University of Maine a few months earlier, so my parents had realized their dream: each of their five children had graduated from college. Paul had gone on to get a graduate degree from Columbia, and I was headed to law school, in part because of his influence. As the oldest child, Paul was treated with special respect, and I looked up to him for advice.
The intelligence unit to which I was assigned in Berlin worked with the Central Intelligence Agency, and I had somehow come to the attention of some of the agency’s employees there; they urged me to join. I submitted an application to the headquarters in Washington; I thought it would be interesting to continue in intelligence while I attended law school. The money I earned there, combined with the GI Bill benefits to which I was now entitled, would be enough to cover the cost of law school and my living expenses.
I arrived in Washington with high hopes and with $100 in my pocket. I found a room for a few dollars a night in an inexpensive hotel not far from the agency’s headquarters. Early the next morning I headed for my interview. I had done well in Berlin and had the endorsement of some of the agency’s employees, so I was brimming with confidence. I told the official conducting the interview about my work in Berlin and about my plans for law school. In response he made it painfully clear that there were many well-qualified applicants for what were relatively few openings; the process was lengthy and competitive and would take months; if I were fortunate enough to be offered a position it would be full time, and to the CIA full time meant just that. Employment at the agency would preclude going to law school, by day or night. I was totally deflated.
Although my hotel was just a few blocks away, when I left the interview I walked the streets of downtown Washington trying to figure out what to do. I was in a precarious position. Foolishly I had assumed I would be hired by the CIA. I was scheduled to start law school in a week, and I had barely enough money to get through that week. After two hours of walking I was tired, discouraged, and hungry. But I knew I had to find a job, so I bought a morning paper and stopped in a small coffee shop to get a sandwich and read the want ads. One caught my attention. It sought applicants for the position of insurance adjustor for the Travelers Insurance Company. I quickly finished my sandwich, found a pay telephone, and called the number. The kind woman who answered set up an appointment for me for that afternoon, and when I explained that this wa
s my first day in Washington, she gave me precise directions to their office on Fourteenth Street. It wasn’t far from where I was standing, so I went immediately, arriving early to give myself plenty of time to complete the application form. I handed it in and was asked to wait. I used the time to read the rest of the want ads, circling a few for follow-up if that became necessary. I had been overconfident with the CIA; I wouldn’t repeat that mistake.
Almost everyone in the large office worked out in the open, at desks in neat rows. In one corner a small office was separated by a glass-topped partition. There I was introduced to the office manager, a man named Rupert Morrill. I was immediately struck by the name; the Morrell family in Maine had been so helpful to me, perhaps this Morrill would also, even though the spelling was different. He was kind and considerate, and after a brief and friendly chat, he hired me on the spot, subject to verification of my record and checking with my references. I began a training program the next morning and spent the next four and a half years working as an insurance adjustor while attending law school five evenings a week from 5:30 to 7:30. It was both physically and mentally demanding, but it was good for me because it forced me to apply the discipline I had learned in the army and had so sorely lacked in high school and college.
I cannot say that I enjoyed either the working days or the evenings at law school. I found both occasionally difficult, sometimes unpleasant, often boring. They were far removed from the exciting and challenging work I’d done in Berlin, but I was thankful for both, and I knew I had to and could get through them. I also found it hard to adjust to the heat of summer in Washington. Padgett was not due to arrive until later that year, so I shared an apartment in Virginia with a friend from Maine. It was not air-conditioned, which made it intolerable in July and August. When Padge arrived, we rented a townhouse in Washington, close to the Capitol building. Although tiny, it was air-conditioned and made me feel as though I had made a leap into luxury. Padge attended school full time during the day while I worked days and went to school at night, but we still spent a great deal of time together. Our friendship deepened and we never had a disagreement of any kind. Such a good relationship eased the difficulties of work and school.
Just around the corner from our townhouse was a Catholic church where I attended Mass every Sunday morning. For weeks, as I walked back to our townhouse afterward, I noticed a tall, slender, attractive woman walking just ahead of or behind me, to a townhouse just two doors away. I very much wanted to meet her but couldn’t figure out an appropriate opening line. “I wish Robbie were here,” I thought. “He’d know what to say.” Thankfully, on the fourth week, as we walked down the church steps, she turned and spoke first. “Hello neighbor,” she said. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Her name was Sally Heath. She was from Concord, New Hampshire, and she worked as a secretary for one of the U.S. senators from that state, Styles Bridges. Before that she had worked in the office of the governor of New Hampshire. We had a cup of coffee that morning, dinner a few nights later, and before long we were seeing each other regularly.
As an insurance adjustor I investigated, evaluated, and settled claims made against companies or individuals insured by the Travelers. My work included investigating automobile accidents, interviewing people who slipped and fell in grocery stores, evaluating disability claimants, and other similar activities. Washington is divided into four quadrants, centered on the Capitol building, and an adjustor was assigned to cover each of them. My first assignment was the Northwest, the largest of the four quadrants in land area and population. For two years I learned every street, block, and alley. Many years later, as Senate majority leader, I was assigned a car and driver. Willie was a cheerful and pleasant companion. While he generally knew his way around Washington, he didn’t know every street as I did. More often than I should have, I gave him driving directions: “Take a left here”; “No, don’t go that way, go this way.” One day, as he was about to drop me off at the Capitol, he suggested that I take up a certain bill on the Senate agenda. Surprised, I looked at him and asked, “What did you say?” With a huge smile on his face he replied, “Well, you’re always telling me how to do my job, so I thought just this once I’d tell you how to do yours.” We both laughed hard and loud. It was a good lesson. If you want people to work hard and succeed, there are times when you’ve got to let them find their own way. Overmanaging is a constant danger. I never again gave Willie driving directions.
After two years in Northwest Washington I was assigned to southern Maryland, a much larger geographic area but with fewer people. It was a promotion of sorts because I was also granted more autonomy in how I handled my time and in processing and settling claims.
I entered law school in the middle of the first year and had great difficulty adapting. The classes were much larger, the institution less personal, the relationships more transient than they had been at Bowdoin. Many of the students were older, with families, so there was little or no time to get to know my classmates. The case method of study was unfamiliar, and I was a full semester behind in adjusting to it. But gradually my performance and my grades improved, and when I graduated I was near the top of my class. I had matured, acquiring some discipline in studying and writing, and had decided where I would live and work.
I wanted to practice law in Maine. My years in Berlin and Washington were exciting and interesting, but, far more than I had anticipated, I missed Maine and my family. As much as I had enjoyed new and different experiences, I found myself being pulled back by the old and familiar. My hopes fit in well with Sally’s. She too wanted to leave Washington, and Maine was close to her family in Concord. In the early summer of 1959 we went on vacation together to Cape Cod. We had been together for nearly a year and a half, and it seemed inevitable to both of us that we would marry. It was only a long weekend, but we had plenty of time to share our hopes and dreams about the future. Living in Portland, less than two hours’ drive from both families, where I could practice law and we could raise a family, seemed ideal. So she was not surprised when I asked her to marry me, and I was not surprised when she said yes. She expressed only one concern. Her years of working in political offices had bred in her an intense dislike of politics. She had left the Senate for a position in a nonpolitical department of the Federal Aviation Agency. Although she was not specific about the reasons, she made it clear she didn’t want to have anything more to do with what she referred to as “that business.” That was not a problem for me. While I had a general interest in public affairs I had no desire to become personally involved in any way. The first time I met a senator, governor, or other major elected official was when I shook hands with Styles Bridges at our wedding in Concord in August 1959.
As law school graduation neared I sent letters of application to fifteen law firms in Maine, most in the Portland area. I was uneasy when only three responded to my request for an interview but heartened by the fact that all three were well-known firms. Two of the three told me they weren’t interested after the first interview. The third asked me to return for another meeting, but the result was the same; they offered the position to another applicant. Disappointed but still determined, I asked the Travelers to transfer me to their Portland office. I was confident that if I could just get to Maine I could find a position with a law firm. The Travelers may have discerned my motive because without explanation my request was declined. I began to research the possibilities of employment with a law firm in Washington or some other city, but it was halfhearted, not something I was interested in or enthusiastic about.
Just as my disappointment deepened I received a letter from the U.S. Department of Justice. It informed me that under the Department’s Honors Law Graduate Program I was eligible for a position there. I had never met or spoken with anyone at the Department and had never heard of the Honors Program. My first thought was, “My father was right. It does pay to study and work hard.” Without hesitation I accepted. In September 1960 I joined the Department as a trial attorney in the
Anti-Trust Division. The people with whom I worked were first-rate and the work was interesting. With our combined incomes Sally and I could now begin to plan for a family, although buying a house was still beyond our reach. And I still had Maine on my mind.
Two months after I began working at Justice, John F. Kennedy was elected president. Sally and I had voted for him and were impressed by the new, young leader. On two occasions I was one of a large number of young Justice lawyers who met with the new attorney general, Robert Kennedy. It was an exciting time to be in Washington, in government, but I had no thought of elected office. My goal was unchanged. I wanted to move back to Maine to enter the private practice of law. I would work hard and do well at Justice until that opportunity came. It did so, again unexpectedly, in January 1962.
I received a telephone call from a man who identified himself as Don Nicoll, the administrative assistant to U.S. Senator Edmund Muskie of Maine. Muskie had a vacancy on his staff and was looking for someone from Maine with a background in law. Muskie’s wife, Jane, was from Waterville, and he had lived and practiced law there. He knew my older brothers, but didn’t know me. Would I come to his Senate office to meet him and discuss the position on his staff? I asked if I could have a day or two to think about it, and he readily agreed. I had competing concerns: this might give me the chance to meet and interact with many people in Maine, including and especially lawyers and law firms, but what would Sally think? Although she was wary about my getting involved in political office, she wanted to move home as much as I did, so she agreed that I should talk to Senator Muskie.
The Negotiator Page 8
