by Dan Emmett
On a cool November afternoon in 1995, with the leaves on the trees bordering the Baltimore–Washington Parkway showing their brilliant colors of red and gold, John and I took 138 to Fort Meade. We began by explaining to the class the purpose of this training. We emphasized that, in addition to fitness, there was a job-related, practical reason for it. As criminal investigators in field offices, agents might very well find themselves in a foot chase with a criminal suspect, and failure to apprehend a suspect due to lack of fitness or the inability to negotiate a wall or fence was unacceptable. John and I then ran the course together as a team, demonstrating the best, most efficient way to negotiate each obstacle. Then it was the students’ turn.
We started them off two at a time and directed them to finish the course with their partner. After surviving the ordeal, we then sent them through again, this time individually. Some did well, and others looked, as we pointed out, like monkeys trying to mate with a football, but the exercise was a huge success. So much so, in fact, that our boss directed that all future classes undergo the Fort Meade obstacle course.
The problem with this order was that, other than John and me, few instructors would subject themselves to being checked out on the course. Many felt it beneath them to get dirty with a class, and many were afraid to try because of the risk of being embarrassed in front of a class if they could not negotiate an obstacle. This, in spite of never-ending offers by John and me to show each instructor all the tricks necessary in order to complete each obstacle.
As time went on, I took all SATC classes to the course and did demonstrations. Some course directors watched in sheepish discomfort, arms folded. Fatigue makes cowards of us all, and yet due to the true believers—among them John, Mike Carbone, Scott Marble, Todd Bagby, and a few others—no class failed to be introduced to the obstacle course during my tenure as an instructor.
As the week before graduation approached, it was apparent that all were going to make it. Our students would soon be agents. After our last official PT session together—as always, we ran the tower until someone threw up—I informed the class that they could now call us by our first names. There was stone silence as each student looked shocked and suspicious. Even after this offer, no one wanted to be the first to call us Dan and John. Training was almost over, and the Secret Service was about to receive a great group of new agents.
SATC 138 finally graduated, and at the ceremony, our students resembled recruiting poster models in their suits, with lean, chiseled faces created from the loss of any unnecessary fat. Awards were presented to students who had distinguished themselves in the areas of academics, firearms, and fitness. When the scores were read for the top fitness award, there was an audible response from the audience. All were amazed at the fitness level of this individual and of the class as a whole.
After the ceremony, our charges shook our hands and thanked us for the training, leadership, and guidance we had provided. John and I told them that no thanks were needed and that our final order to them was to be the best agents in Service history. I am proud to say that now, nineteen years later, most in the class lived up to that order.
The experience of being a course coordinator had been very rewarding but had practically consumed me, and I was ready to begin teaching the standard curriculum once more. After everyone had left the area following graduation, my boss took me aside and said that he wanted me to run another class, SATC 141, which would be arriving in the next few months. He said that he wanted 141 run exactly the same as 138 and expected another stellar class. I replied, “Yes, sir.” It would be done.
That afternoon, I had a few beers at home and fell into a deep sleep, totally satisfied that I had done the best job possible with the class. I never wanted another class. My goal had been to take one class, give it everything I had to produce the best possible group, then go back to my regular teaching in the Protection Squad. It was not to be so, as no good deed goes unpunished.
SATC 141
In that all classes were selected from the same basic applicant pool, I had always believed that most classes were more or less the same, with the only difference in class quality and performance being the people who led them. I firmly believed undisciplined coordinators produced undisciplined classes, while disciplined, demanding coordinators produced the best classes. While I continued to believe that throughout my years as an instructor, I came to realize that each class had its own distinct personality. I was also about to learn that, due to the new and yet unknown political sensitivity of Secret Service management at the headquarters level, it would only take one student’s groundless complaints of alleged mistreatment to damage careers and diminish most of what had been accomplished in changing the philosophy of training over the past year.
Unbeknownst to everyone outside of headquarters, the Service, like the US government, was in the process of moving into a new chapter of gender-related sensitivity. In this chapter, a vacuum was created between the old Service, where few complaints from any student would have been entertained, and the new Service, where one student making hollow accusations would result in an immediate rush to judgment against those accused. I was pulled into that vacuum along with my new assistant, Scott, and then we were both dropped into the perfect storm of the emerging political correctness mania of the 1990s, which, with the infamous navy Tailhook scandal, had overtaken the entire government.
Close to 141’s graduation, one of our female students failed to return to training on time after irresponsibly missing a flight from a city she had visited over the weekend. She was disciplined accordingly, as any other student would have been. The punishment did not sit well with her, and she made the accusation against Scott and me that we had singled her out for punishment and had imposed unreasonable physical fitness demands on her and the rest of the class.
While our student had merely alleged that she had been singled out for punishment, everyone who was aware of the situation assumed, because a female had lodged the complaint, that we were being accused of sexual harassment, which was never the case. The fact she had failed to return to training on time or at the earliest possible time after missing her flight seemed to go selectively unnoticed. It was also apparent that she either sensed or was informed of the change in the social paradigm of the Service as she continued to perfect her role of victim.
Although initially too naïve to realize it, she was a victim, but not of any action by my assistant or me. In the end, she was a victim of her own frivolous complaint, after which certain high-level managers used her as a pawn to demonstrate the new world order of the Secret Service.
INSPECTION
As a result of our student’s accusations, the assistant director of training ordered a formal investigation of the verbal allegations against Scott and me. After numerous interviews conducted by agents from the Office of Inspection with all students in the class, as well as with Scott and me, the investigation finally ended with the submission of a final report to the assistant director of training. The official findings of the six-month inquisition by the Office of Inspection were: “No evidence was found to support the accusations of individual harassment or the imposing of excessive physical training.” The matter was closed. Meanwhile, SATC 141, complete with the student who had complained, graduated and moved on to their careers.
This entire six-month debacle was much to do over nothing but was significant in that it marked the beginning of a new era for the Secret Service in terms of political correctness and acquiescing to certain groups that complained of being singled out when going along with the program like everyone else did not suit them.
During the course of the inspection and subsequent to 141’s graduation, I continued to teach physical training and the protection syllabus to all SATC classes. As always, I did my best to prepare these young men and women to survive in a world that is not politically correct, and where there is no gender norming. In that world, there are those who would kill a person because that person carries a badge, and no
ne of these predators care if the carrier of the badge is a man or a woman. I remained determined that no student under my instruction and leadership would ever meet such a fate because I had not done enough to prepare them.
AMERICA AT WAR
On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was teaching a practical exercise when an instructor told me that an airliner had flown into the World Trade Center. I had a bad feeling that it was not an accident, although no details were yet available. While assigned to New York and living in New Jersey, I had on many occasions rented a plane and flown up the Hudson corridor past the Trade Center. There was no way even a half-assed pilot could accidentally fly into either tower in the perfect weather experienced on the East Coast that day.
As I continued with my instruction, another instructor brought news that another plane had flown into the other tower of the Trade Center. Now I knew that we were at war, and I correctly guessed that Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda were behind it.
America was catching hell on 9/11, and I knew that training division was about to catch hell as a result. The automatic response of the US government in times of violent crisis is to hire more people. The Secret Service began hiring agents in record numbers to fill the newly authorized slots. It meant that we would be training classes six days per week for the foreseeable future.
I realized that due to the numbers involved and the shortage of instructors, I would probably be made course coordinator yet again, although I hoped it would be otherwise. In the time since the inspection, per my request I had not been given another class as a coordinator, and I was quite satisfied to teach the normal syllabus.
One day in 2002, my concern was realized. I returned from taking a class for a run to find my boss waiting for me in my office. He told me that, due to the number of classes under way, it was necessary for me to be assigned as the course coordinator for the next class coming aboard. He also informed me that the son of the director of the United States Secret Service would be a member of this group. Training legacies was nothing new, and most were decent students, although this would be the first son of a director to pass through the academy. Fortunately, things turned out well.
With nineteen years on the job and one year to go before I would be eligible for retirement, I proceeded to run this class with the usual reckless abandon, director’s son and all, with no concern about anything other than not killing a student.
There were some weak sisters in the class, and I don’t mean women. Several of the men had to be repeatedly counseled due to their lack of motivation and effort. The admission of many students with motivational issues was a result of mistakes in the hiring process that were prevalent for about one year following 9/11. Any time a small, elite organization expands too quickly, standards falter and quality can suffer.
In one particularly horrid case, an SAIC was summoned from his office to headquarters for the purpose of explaining in person to the director why he had hired a particularly problematic agent trainee. Following this appearance, the assistant director of training asked me for a retention or dismissal recommendation regarding this student. I recommended dismissal, explaining that this was the worst student I had seen during my eight years as an instructor and producing irrefutable documentation in support of my claim. The student graduated nonetheless.
From 2002 to 2003, about one third of the students in each class—eight students—were fireballs who loved training and would develop into fine agents; one third were average Caspar Milquetoast types; and one third essentially had no business being in armed law enforcement at any level. As the other instructors and I did our best to straighten out some of these mistakes, my boss said to me one day, “Dan, you can’t make chicken salad out of chicken shit.” I continued to don my magician hat and try, as I was being paid twice a month. Fortunately, due to strong leadership from the director, by the time I left training in 2003 this unfortunate episode in Secret Service history had largely reversed itself.
The class that would be my last as a course director finished their training with no major incidents other than the usual complaints from some about the perceived severity of the fitness program. After their graduation, I went about my regular instructor duties and forgot about them. With eight years in training and nearly two thousand students under or over the bridge, it was easy to forget a class the minute they walked out the door, and all students were beginning to look exactly the same to me.
HAVE SOME BALLS, AGENT
The indispensable trait of courage is a large part of the Secret Service culture and has been demonstrated by its agents countless times over the years. Many of these examples of courage are well documented, such as Tim McCarthy taking a bullet meant for President Reagan, while many others that occur each day will never be known by anyone outside the Secret Service.
Agents need high levels of both moral and physical courage to face the numerous challenges and dangers that arise over the course of a career. The necessity for this trait in an agent was perhaps summed up best one day at a Secret Service agent graduation in very black-and-white terms.
The keynote speaker at Secret Service agent graduations is usually a retired agent. Many of them still live in the DC area, which makes them easily available. The speeches are usually too long, hard to follow, too much about the accomplishments of the speaker, and boring. The students, soon to be real agents, have been in training for six months and care little for the keynote speaker’s words. They really just want to go home for some well-earned R & R.
I attended many such graduations as an instructor. There was one I will never forget; nor will anyone else who attended. The guest speaker was Red Auerbach, now deceased, former coaching great of the Boston Celtics.
As we instructors sat in our seats looking forward to hearing this icon of American sports speak, we could not help but notice the aromatic scent of a cigar somewhere in the area. Of course, this was not possible, as there was no smoking allowed any longer in government buildings. To light any tobacco product in a government facility could result in death by lecture from some offended, by-the-book type who could recite the regulation forbidding such conduct.
When Red took the podium, it became clear where the aroma was coming from. Red stood there halfway slumping over the podium and microphone, ready to begin his remarks with a lit cigar. He began his speech with some amusing anecdotes about coaching the Celtics and kept his audience highly entertained. As he began to wind down, he suddenly became dead serious, paused for effect, stared at the graduates, and proclaimed in a low bulldog voice to all the newly commissioned agents that throughout their careers they should above all else “have some balls.” For those not familiar with the phrase, it is a metaphor for having physical and moral courage—the willingness to face danger and stand for what one believes, no matter the price.
As I listened, I thought that no truer words had ever been spoken. As Red gave this, the most memorable speech I ever heard at an agent graduation, he smoked that giant, wonderfully offensive cigar, blue smoke drifting up past the No Smoking signs in the auditorium. He cared nothing about offending anyone or about some sign proclaiming “No Smoking.” He had been the invited guest speaker and was going to do and say what he damn well pleased. Red Auerbach came from a time in American history when men drank whiskey and beer with their giant hamburgers and steaks, not daiquiris and white wine with their salads. They also smoked cigars in public places if they wished.
One could almost hear the politically correct upper management from headquarters squirming in their seats on the stage. They worried that, with so many civilians in attendance, the Service image would suffer. As far as I know, no one complained, and Red Auerbach’s words were a good reminder to all in attendance to get back to the basics. To Red, balls mattered, and all should have them, especially in a profession such as the Secret Service. “Have some balls”; damned good advice, Coach. By the way, no one had the balls to tell or ask Red to put out the cigar.
PROMOTION AND RETURN TO PPD
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One uneventful day in 2002, I was teaching a class when my boss walked into the classroom and announced that I had been promoted to GS-14, assistant to the special agent in charge (ATSAIC) in the training division. He then walked out and left me with my class. While I was happy to finally be promoted, I had not really been expecting this good news and was a bit in shock over the matter for the remainder of the class, as well as the remainder of the day.
The following afternoon I received a telephone call from the director of the Secret Service, Brian Stafford, congratulating me on the promotion. I appreciated his taking the time to call and thanked him for his personal involvement in the matter. Afterward I sat at my desk and, in spite of the No Smoking signs, opened a window and lit a cigar.
Eligible for retirement in one more year, I decided to try to get back to PPD for one last operational assignment. I had spent far too long as an instructor and, like an actor too long in one role, had been typecast. Many believed that I had been away from the operational side of the house for so long that teaching was all I was capable of. Perhaps they were right, but I wanted the chance to find out.
In August 2003, I requested and was selected for reassignment back to PPD as one of two supervisors in charge of CAT. After a nine-year absence, I was returning to protection.
CHAPTER 14
Retirement and the CIA
November 2003 found me reporting back to PPD and CAT after a prolonged absence from operational life. For the past nine years, I had taught others how to protect presidents and get and stay in shape. Now I was back helping to accomplish the most important mission in the Secret Service, which, of course, is protecting the president of the United States.
On my first day back, a supervisors’ meeting was held by the SAIC of PPD. As I walked into the meeting, I was greeted by legions of old friends now in charge of the detail. In spite of having less hair on their heads and more lines on their faces, they were all in great shape. All but two or three were former CAT agents. It was, in my opinion, a Who’s Who of the best agents in protection and in the Secret Service. These were the men I had started the job with in 1983, traveled the world with, and respected greatly. Most were former CAT teammates and PPD shift mates, and I could see that the Secret Service was selecting the best people to protect the president. It was great to be back.
