Buzz's Bedtime Stories

Gonna have to replay this tonight: Hey kids, gather around your device, put on your pajamas, it’s time for another Buzz’s Bedtime Stories. “Eagle departing , South Lawn,” crackled the radio in my van. The motorcade wound its way out of the South Gate, into the streets of Washington, DC, and onto the George Washington Parkway. On this rainy afternoon, we were on our way to watch the President’s Cup golf tournament in Lake Manassas, Virginia. It was September 13, 1996. I’d been working for President Clinton for about 3 months and I was well aware of his passion for golf and the chinks in his national security armor were starting to show. Shortly before 3 in the afternoon, we arrived at the course. Clinton was escorted to the VIP tent by the PGA dude on a deck overlooking the 18th green. During event like these, I kept close enough to the president, with the football, to always be within sight and on call, but far enough away to be unobtrusive. I was summoned to “Roadrunner,” the black communications van manned by members of the White House Communications Agency, sterling military professionals. On the phone was Sandy Berger, the White House national security advisor. Berger wanted me to talk with the president. He needed a decision quickly. “Major, we’re poised to launch air strikes on Iraq and I need the president’s nod.” Saddam Hussein was moving against the Kurds in northern Iraq in an attempt to exterminate them. We had pilots in cockpits (my peers) ready to take lives and possibly have theirs taken. I approached President Clinton 3 times in a 30 minute span. Our guys overseas only had a limited time under the cover of darkness to launch and return safely. Three times, Clinton rebuffed me (and Berger and innocent Kurds). In fact, he got angry with me. And Berger was beside himself angry at me. Bill simply wanted to watch Tiger Woods putt. In the end, we motorcaded back to the White House, Bill never talked with Berger, and thousands of Kurds were slaughtered.