A Spy's Journey

by Floyd Paseman

  I gave a presentation on Vietnam to a history class. I followed up with a film and lecture on Vietnam, again for Phi Alpha Theta. I did this lecture with a professor who taught a course in the history of Vietnam. Basically, our presentation was to show the film Good Morning, Vietnam and then have a discussion about the film. My colleague, who had never been to the Far East, was a Vietnam trivia expert, and between the two of us we managed to generate a huge amount of interest. The film was two hours long, but the audience stayed an additional hour just to ask questions and talk about the film. The next morning a delegation of students who had attended the lecture showed up. They said the presentation had opened their eyes—that their parents, of the Vietnam generation, had never discussed Vietnam with them. They said they considered learning about the Vietnam War of great importance. My first semester was fruitful, and I was off to an excellent start.

  The chair of the history department, Father Steve Avella, gave me great latitude to prepare a history course, The History of Foreign Intelligence. He gave me tremendous support during my tenure. I learned a lot from him as well, and he was always available for me to discuss ideas for my course. He told me, “You are the expert in intelligence, teach the course any way you want to.” Likewise, Dean Thomas Hachey of the College of Arts and Sciences gave me full support, and, of course, Ralph Weber was always on hand to provide wise guidance as I proceeded. The course was offered for upper-division and graduate-level credit. We set a goal of enrolling 12 to 15 students, and the first time the course was offered 14 students enrolled. The course went very well, and enrollment kept growing over the next two years—24, then 34, students, plus a long waiting list.

  The librarian, John Jenz, is a history buff. He allocated $1,500 for me to select books on intelligence for the library. I put together a must-have list and a would-like-to-have list. Even though my wish list exceeded the budget, John ordered every book I requested. Together we built one of the best libraries on intelligence in the Midwest. As my tenure progressed, I sent John a note whenever a new book came out that I thought was important, and he would add it to our collection.

  As I got the hang of teaching at the college level, Father Avella asked me to consider taking advantage of my Asian experience and asked me, during my third semester, to teach a survey course on Asia. I taught it also at upper-division and graduate levels. In my last semester, we added an advanced colloquium in intelligence, which was quickly overenrolled, and I wound up teaching two sessions to accommodate the interest. It was very rewarding to watch the growth of interest in intelligence over the two-and-a-half years I was at Marquette.

  I received great help from the CIA in support of my teaching. As I put courses together, I decided to tap into the vast resources of the Agency for a couple of expert guest lecturers. The deputy chief of CSI lectured on congressional relations; a sitting DO division chief talked about his experiences with Aldrich Ames; a military officer from DIA spoke on military intelligence; and senior DI analyst Marty Petersen came frequently and lectured on intelligence estimates and how they reach the president.

  One of the really spectacular events was a visit from General Oleg Kalugin, former Director of Counterintelligence for the KGB. I approached Kalugin at a conference on intelligence in Berlin, and he agreed to come to Marquette and present to my students a picture of intelligence direct from a historic enemy—the KGB. He also made an evening address to Phi Alpha Theta.

  Kalugin’s visit stirred up great enthusiasm at Marquette. Dean Hachey was so enthusiastic that the college picked up the General’s stipend and expenses. Kalugin’s presentations were knockouts. I asked him to present an opponent’s view of the CIA, and the students loved it. Kalugin defended the KGB’s operating methods, and thereby validated all that I had lectured on about the KGB. He made a standing-room-only presentation in the evening, which drew high praise from the dean.

  I gave the keynote address on history and the intelligence officer at Phi Alpha Theta’s annual initiation dinner. At the request of the CIA office of public affairs (OPA), I made a presentation at Brookfield Alternative High School on the myth and reality of the CIA.

  I also helped teach a few class periods of historical methodology, a course for upper-division and graduate students. I did presentations on how to use the Internet for research, oral-history interviews from the Vietnam War, and I helped another professor teach his What Is History? course.

  Marquette has a substantial ROTC program, with the navy, air force, and army all well represented. The head of ROTC asked me to talk to the graduating seniors about future threats and taking care of yourself overseas. And for the next two years, I lectured to graduating ROTC seniors. I received warm praise for the realism of my presentations, and these young men and women better understood the unique risks they would undertake as U.S. officers abroad.

  The OIR program brought me great personal and professional satisfaction and the opportunity to attend conferences on intelligence. During my time at Marquette I attended three conferences sponsored by the Center for the Study of Intelligence, and one sponsored by the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA). The first was at DIA, in Washington, D.C., on the teaching of intelligence. It put me back in touch with some old friends, and gave me access to new ones involved in my new craft—teaching intelligence. The second conference, this time about the U-2 spy plane, was held at the Bush School of Government and Public Service at Texas A & M University. The CIA had declassified a large number of documents concerning the U-2 spy plane, and a few of the original pioneers told their fascinating tales about the U-2 program. One of the original test pilots talked about what it was like to fly this highly unstable experimental aircraft.1 It was a great conference.

  At a sideline reception at the Bush School, I had the great pleasure of meeting Colonel Ryszard Kuklinski—the man who had been a CIA agent on the Polish army general staff during the crisis in Poland in 1980–1981. Kuklinski had made his escape as the Polish Intelligence Service closed in, and remained in the United States. I had an interesting private meeting with him. Kuklinski continued to wear a disguise to protect his identity (he has since died). Some in Poland, especially many Polish dissidents—the very people Kuklinski’s spying helped the most—consider him a traitor. Others see him as one of the great heroes in Polish history.2

  I traveled back to Berlin and attended the first of two conferences on intelligence and the Cold War. In Berlin, I met scores of old friends, and some adversaries. I met for the first time Colonel Oleg Gordievsky, a defector from the KGB. He had been a British intelligence agent in London, and one of the spies who had probably been exposed by Aldrich Ames. Under hot pursuit, he escaped from Moscow to freedom. He gave a featured speech on what freedom meant to him. I managed to spend quite a bit of time with him. His tales of his harrowing experiences are contained in his book, Next Stop: Execution.3

  The second conference on the Cold War was at Texas A & M’s George Bush School of Government and Public Service. While there, I accepted an invitation to participate in a conference later in the fall at the Bush School: North Korea—Engagement or Confrontation?

  Because of my extensive experience in East Asia, I moderated one of the panels. I again met former President George H. W. Bush, who attended the conference. I had briefed him when he was Ambassador to China, and had met him once also when he was director of the CIA. I was pleased to be invited for private cocktails at his apartment at the Bush School, and I was surprised as I went through a small receiving line. He recognized me immediately, and said, “I don’t need to be introduced to this guy—he briefed me when I was ambassador.” I couldn’t have been more puffed up or more pleased. What a gentleman.

  One of the stipulations in OIR assignments is that we can’t actively recruit for the CIA while on campus. We are permitted to answer requests from students for information that will put them in contact with the appropriate career offices at the Agency, however.

  One of my students asked to see me about his intere
st in the CIA. He came to my office and hemmed and hawed a bit. Finally, I told him to come to the point. He said he was worried about taking a polygraph test, which he understood was required as part of the process of getting into the CIA. I told him yes, it was, and I said that we all go through it. I told him the most important thing is to be truthful. I also told him that the CIA understood we were all young once, and growing up sometimes involves doing things we wouldn’t want our parents to know about. I told him that the CIA accepted this as part of what makes us individuals. I told him if he was hiding something serious, such as the commission of a felony, he would be ruled out.

  No, he said, it wasn’t a felony. He was under probation for something he had done. Not knowing what he was talking about, I told him he would have to tell our security people about it, and I hoped it wasn’t serious. He turned red and told me he was caught streaking naked across the basketball court during one of the major Marquette tournament games last year. I managed not to laugh out loud, and assured him unless he was a frequent streaker, it probably wouldn’t rule him out. He said that he had learned his lesson.

  The Center for the Study of Intelligence sent a message to all their OIRs that they were sending a few publications out to each of us. One day, I walked into my office and was confronted by an angry history department chair who asked me why I had all those books and publications sent to the history conference room. I assured him that I had done no such thing. He walked me into the conference room where 24 large boxes of old CSI publications were strewn about. Sure enough, on top was a shipping note saying they all came to Marquette at my request.

  I could use maybe one copy each. Most of the materials were old and outdated. I could use some for research, but I couldn’t even get the library to accept the rest. It took me the next six hours to carry the boxes down to my small office—stacking them up against the walls in rows that almost blocked my only door. I spent six months quietly disposing of the materials in trash containers around town, although I briefly considered just tossing them in the Milwaukee River.

  One aspect of the OIR assignment aggravated me greatly. Like many other SIS officers who take these assignments, I agreed to downgrade my senior position to GS-15 status, with pay retention. They explained to me this was simply a formality to free up badly needed senior positions for operational spots. I had no problem with that. After all, I intended to retire after this assignment, so I saw no harm in it.

  Not quite! I was not told that the personnel system operates with downgrading as a punitive action. Although that was not intended in the OIR assignment, that is how the finance end of it turned out. Because of the punitive interpretation by bureaucrats, I was unable to get the pay raises Congress set aside for our officers while I was in the OIR program. I complained about this, as did many other OIRs, and everyone was sympathetic. It never changed. It was not Congress’ intent to downgrade the OIRs. But in the end, the officers in charge of supporting the OIR program rectified this unintentional injustice, and my SIS-04 rank was reinstated just as I retired.

  As my second year as an officer in residence wound down, I faced the decision of whether to retire or seek other work in the CIA. Both Marquette and the CIA asked me if I was interested in a third year, and the history department chair asked me to plan an advanced course on intelligence. I thought a lot about it. I liked the work I was doing, I felt I was being productive, and the students responded enthusiastically to learning about intelligence from a practitioner’s view.

  I agreed to a six-month extension, to be followed by full retirement. I now had over 35 years of government service, almost 34 with the CIA. I reached the maximum pension over a year ago, so I was really working for very little. And the leadership at Marquette changed—and not for the better. The position of dean of the College of Arts and Sciences was filled for over a year with an acting dean while the university searched for a qualified replacement. In addition, the leadership of the history department changed. The new chair was the antithesis of his predecessor. Everything had to be routed through him for approval before anything got done. Several examples will suffice. The new chair required that all requests for library acquisitions go through him. I told him I had an agreement with the librarian that I could forward my requests directly to him. I told the chair that I saw no reason to complicate the process, and, frankly, I was a better judge of what was a good library acquisition on intelligence than he was, yet he would not recant his demand. Secondly, he asked me to prepare an advanced course on intelligence. I agreed, but told him it that I would require substantial resources. Most of the teaching material I was using needed to be duplicated, since there was no real textbook that would meet my course requirements. He agreed.

  The course had a lengthy waiting list, so the chair asked me to consider teaching two sections. I agreed, and again asked for substantial assistance. He assured me this was no problem. We filled two sections for the course. However, several days after I began the new course, after all arrangements for classrooms and other needs were filled, the chair stopped the secretaries from duplicating the materials I needed for the students. I taught the course without all the materials I felt were necessary. I decided right then I would retire after the semester was over. I had no patience for this type of bureaucracy. And as a final aggravation, the chair held all staff meetings at 3:00 on Friday afternoons so the faculty couldn’t go home early. This particular department chair displayed all the traits of a poor leader that I had rebelled against throughout my entire career, and my decision was made. After the semester, I retired.

  I still support and believe in the OIR program. I am proud to have been a part of it. I also retain my fondness for Marquette University, which provided me with this unique opportunity. My OIR assignment was one of the most rewarding and productive of my 35-year career. The thirst for information about the CIA and intelligence is enormous, and I believe we need to expand the program and respond to the public interest and support for the CIA and intelligence in general.

  1. Gregory W. Pedlow and Donald E. Welzenbach, The CIA and the U-2 Program, 1954–1974 (Washington, D.C.: Center for the Study of Intelligence, 1998).

  2. Douglas J. MacEachin, U.S. Intelligence and the Polish Crisis 1980–1981 (Washington, D.C.: Center for the Study of Intelligence, 2000).

  3. Oleg Gordievsky, Next Stop: Execution (London: Macmillan, 1995).

  SIXTEEN

  RETIREMENT, OR LIFE

  AFTER DEATH

  2001–

  I always promised myself, my family, and those who worked for me that when I got my promotion to GS-13 I wouldn’t hang around past my time. I distinctly remember discussions when I was a junior officer about senior CIA folks who simply stayed around too long. “What’s that old fart doing here?” “I thought he was dead—maybe he is.” And so it went.

  I remembered when Bob, one of my deputies when I was chief of the East Asia division, and I went on a trip to Boston. We had both been promoted the day before. As we sipped a beer in our hotel room, we talked a lot. I had come from a dirt-poor family; he was an orphan who never knew his parents. We considered ourselves compatriots, and we were friends for the next 20 years, even though our assignments seldom crossed. As we sat there, we made a vow: No matter what happened from then on, we declared ourselves to be successes. We both made the elevated rank of GS-13, and it was a significant event in our lives. I lived up to that vow, and he did too.

  As I filed for retirement, I made several trips back to Washington and discovered that the CIA decided to do away with the executive dining room at headquarters. This was part of the plan to make all of us equal. The executive dining room was now the employee dining room, really an expensive cafeteria open to everyone. One table in the employee dining room was designated as the retiree corner. It seated six of our distinguished alumni, all over the age of 70, who met every Tuesday and expected their table to be waiting for them. Now I respect tradition, but I went up to have lunch, and every seat was taken except at
the retiree table. I didn’t know the tradition, and sat down there. Wow! You would have thought that I left the proverbial you-know-what in the punchbowl. A number of the old farts showed up, and I knew something was wrong. I knew every one of the guys sitting at that table, and when the last person showed up without a seat, I said that I had to take a phone call and left. As I left, I heard a lot of snickering, and someone who knew me said, “Sir, you can’t go to that table yet. You need a drool cup to sit there.” That reinforced my commitment to retire while I still had some respect.

  Realistically, in any other occupation, I would have had many good and productive years left. I was only 59 years old, and had 36 years of government service. But I lived up to my promise to myself: quit while you’re on top, while you’re feeling good about yourself—before they start calling you “an old fart who doesn’t know when to quit.”

  A number of recent retirees told me that once you retired from the CIA, offers of all sorts would pour in. Frankly, I suspected this was true—but only if you retired in the Washington, D.C., area, where the Beltway Bandits absorb huge contracts with the U.S. government and make their money utilizing our former officers, who retain their top-secret clearances.

  So I was surprised when, three days after retiring on January 3, 2001, I got my first few messages asking if I was available. It was astonishing. One pharmaceutical firm asked if I was available to be their director of security for their Asian operations. It was indeed an attractive offer—a base salary in the six-figure range, plus lodging in New York and in an Asian capital of my choice. The problem was they wanted me to be responsible for their operations in China, Taiwan, the Philippines, Indonesia, Singapore, and Malaysia. I told them that this was mission impossible. No one, myself included, could do the job requested. So I turned them down. One week later, they called again and asked if they could renegotiate the salary. I told them one last time that it wasn’t the salary, I just didn’t believe they were serious in looking at security—that, simply put, no one could do the job they were asking to be done. I asked them to remove my name from consideration. I don’t think they really understood my reasoning.