Next down the list is the stuff that is secret but is going to be known sooner or later, like where the aircraft carrier was heading or how fast a bomber could fly. You really don’t want the bad guys to know this stuff, but sooner or later they will learn, usually when the carrier shows up or the bomber flies by. There are various gradations of this stuff, and it is pretty serious, but it really isn’t code worded. For instance, while the location of an aircraft carrier might be Top Secret today, 19 years from now nobody will care.
At the lowest level is a vast sea of crap that people basically don’t want to see in the newspaper. The State Department didn’t want front page headlines made of what they were saying to the Iranians through Swiss intermediaries, not until a deal was finalized, that sort of thing. A lot of it is simply embarrassing to somebody, which is where the Nicaraguan jaunt came in. There were international ramifications, plus it was embarrassing to the Army that they had managed to lose one of their platoons for almost a week, and kill a few soldiers while they were doing it. Well, it was time for some embarrassment.
Karl Rove called mid afternoon. I was to be in New York the next morning at the CBS studios at 9 AM sharp. Then he told me that he didn’t know what kind of hold I had on the Governor, but he would see me dead and buried before this was over. I thanked him for the support and hung up.
Somebody over in the Pentagon must have been sympathetic to my cause, because I got a lot of information. If they don’t want you to learn stuff, they can make it next to impossible, at least in the short term. My bet was that what Clinton was trying to do was pissing somebody off. He had never had any sort of decent respect from or for the military, and it was showing this way. His predecessor, Bush 41, had been widely respected by the rank and file as a certified hero from World War II. Clinton’s reputation was as a draft dodging and pot smoking hippie hiding out in England while the Viet Nam War was going on. By late afternoon several large envelopes were messengered over. I looked through them and found a lot of useful information. Not all and not enough, but it was a start at least. I made copies of everything and went home.
I called Marilyn that night and talked to her and the twins. I tried to keep it light but I don’t think it was working. Marilyn pretty much knew the entire story from back then, but to the girls it was new. They knew their old man had a medal, but I never talked about it, and now the newspapers were calling me a bloodthirsty butcher. They were scared, not of me but of what might happen to me. The New York Post was calling for my arrest. I just told them to not worry, and that their old man was going to be just fine. I would be home for the weekend.
Tuesday morning I got up very early, and Frank and I flew to New York. For once I wasn’t taking a huge retinue with me. We took the LongRanger, and landed at the West 30th Street Heliport in New York, the closest heliport to the CBS studios on West 57th. A car was waiting to take us to the studio, and the helo would fly to JFK to refuel and wait for us. We made it to the studio by 8:30.
It was interesting, in that I had never been on 60 Minutes before. I had been on the Sunday morning talk shows before, but not 60 Minutes. There was definitely something of entering the lion’s den about it all. I met Mike Wallace and his producer and said hello, and then was ushered off to makeup. After that I was shown into a studio with just a couple of armchairs and several cameras. The cameras were aimed so that there was one pointing at each of us individually, and a third to catch us facing each other. What I didn’t tell anyone was that I had a very expensive tape recorder in my jacket pocket, voice activated and with a long battery life and long tape. Not that I didn’t trust them, but better to make sure the editing wasn’t a hack job.
One way or the other, this was all going to be over in a few weeks anyway. The show would be on this Sunday night, and my counterattack would begin then. I’d know within a week’s time if it worked or not. If not, I would pack up and head home and get out of the politics game. If it worked, I would bury Bill Clinton with a stake through his heart. More and more I realized that this was all Bill Clinton getting back at me for a variety of troubles, the most recent being the censure. Al Gore had been close to the Clintons, but the Lewinsky affair had devastated their relationship. Bill had told Al in a personal meeting, face-to-face, that he hadn’t cheated on his wife, and Al was a straight arrow. He felt betrayed, and didn’t take much campaign advice from the best politician of our age. Not only was Clinton getting back at me, he was proving his worth to Gore and hedging his bets for a future role. On the other hand, if I beat this, not only did I screw over Bill Clinton, Al Gore was going to look like a fucking moron.
By quarter after, Wallace came out and sat down in his chair, and after a few minutes of sound checks and other technical crap, we were able to start the interview.
Wallace: “Congressman Buckman, thank you for coming on our show.”
Me: “Thank you for having me. It’s like the old joke about having good news and bad news. The good news is that 60 Minutes wants to interview you. The bad news is they sent Mike Wallace.”
Wallace: “Congressman, my understanding is that you asked for me, not the other way around. Why is that?”
Me: “That’s true. I did ask for you, so that the American people will know that what I am telling them is the truth.”
Wallace: “How so?”
Me: “At one time Walter Cronkite was known as the most trusted reporter in America. Your reputation is the most feared reporter in America. You are the toughest interviewer around.”
Wallace: “So you think that if you can get something past me, you’ll be safe.”
Me: “No, because I don’t think I can get something past you. When you show this interview, the American people are going to think you did a fair presentation. If I survive, then maybe I’m not a bloodthirsty maniac after all.”
At that point Wallace gave a brief summary of what I had been accused of in the papers. As of this morning, one of my accusers was named, and it was indeed General Hawkins, coming back for his pound of flesh. I kept my mouth shut during the summary.
Wallace: “That is a summarized version of the story that the New York Times is reporting. Is that accurate?”
Me: “It is a summary of what the Times is reporting, but it is not an accurate summary of what actually happened.”
Wallace: “So your memory of events is different.”
Me: “It’s not just my memory that should be checked.”
With that, I pulled my briefcase from beside the chair I was sitting in, and opened it on my lap, and pulled out several large manila envelopes. They had tried to keep it off camera, but I had insisted it be there.
Me: “Up until now I haven’t spoken of this publicly, due to the Top Secret classification that was placed on the events. Inasmuch as the White House has seemingly declassified this, I can now speak. I only had about a day to pull together the information I am handing you now, but I am sure that it will give you a place to start in your own investigation. In those envelopes is at least a partial file on what happened in Honduras and Nicaragua. Also, I was able to find at least some names of personnel who were on that mission, as well as some names of others in attached units.”