The President was holding a squat glass dark with Kentucky sour mash bourbon whiskey. He had removed his jacket, revealing that he held up his trousers with suspenders. And he had draped his arm on the back of the couch and his right leg on the cushion.
Walter Cronkite, reporting the Evening News, spoke of events that caused the President of the United States to shake his head and mutter an obscenity. And then the CBS Broadcasting System paused for the delivery of a commercial message.
As the President raised his bourbon to his mouth, the door to the Oval Office opened.
Colonel Felter, Sir, the Presidents secretary announced.
She had been watching the CBS news on a small television in her office, not so much in order to pay attention to the news but to watch for a commercial. The President would prefer not to be interrupted while the news was on the screen.
The President looked
over his shoulder at the open door.
An Army officer stood there almost but not quite at attention. He wore a green uniform, and his leather-brimmed cap was under his left arm. Silver colonels eagles were on his epaulets; a Combat Infantry Badge was over his breast pocket; beneath that were the wings of a parachutist; and below those were four rows of colored ribbons, three ribbons to a row. There was another set of parachutists wings (which the President correctly guessed to be French) on the other breast pocket, together with the American and Korean Presidential Unit Citations. Below the pocket was the insignia which indicated the wearer had completed a tour of duty with the General Staff Corps of the United States Army.
The Colonel stood five feet seven inches tall, was in an advanced stage of male pattern baldness, and weighed 148 pounds.
He was carrying an attaché case. It was obviously well traveled, and in several places the leather had been gouged and torn, exposing the aluminum under the leather.
It was the first time the President had ever seen Colonel Sanford T. Felter in 1
2 / W. E. B. Griffin
uniform. When Kennedy became President, Johnson had noticed Felter now and again around the White House, but had then dismissed him as just one more baggy-suited intellectual, a specialist of some kind on the outer edges of Jack Kennedys staff. But he had soon sensed there was more to Felter than what showed. Felter was more even than just another soldier loaned to the White House by the Defense Department. For one thing, Bobby Kennedy hated Felters assas only Bobby Kennedy could hate anyones ass; and that meant that Felter had to have Jack Kennedys protection. Otherwise he would have been long gone.
When Johnson finally had a chance to ask Jack Kennedy what Felter did, the President had smiled and said he runs errands for me, which was the same thing as saying, None of your fucking business, Lyndon. This had not been the first question asked by the Vice President of the United States that the President had chosen not to answer.
It was only after Dallas and the funeral that Johnson had learned what kind of errands Colonel Felter had run for the President of the United States.
Ill be damned, the President said when Felters presence had sunk in. Then he raised his voice: Come in, Felter. Help yourself to a drink.
Good evening, Mr. President, Colonel Felter said and came into the room.
Help yourself, the President repeated. Its over there. Youll remember where.
Felter filled a glass with ice cubes and then poured it half full of vodka.
What is that, a martini? the President asked, a hint of disapproval in his Texas-accented voice.
No, Sir, Colonel Felter said. Vodka over ice.
A drink ought to have color in it, the President said, shaking his massive head.
But go ahead. Sit, he ordered, indicating the matching chair beside his couch.
Thank you, Sir, Colonel Felter said.
A quartet of men in service station uniforms finished their vocal entreaty to CBSs viewers to trust their cars to the men who wore Texaco Stars. Then Walter Cronkites face reappeared on the screen.
Finally he announced, And thats the way it is.
The President picked up a remote-control device and aimed it at the television screen as if it were a pistol intended to shoot the head off a rattlesnake. The screen went blank.
The President stood up, and Felter started to do the same.
Keep your seat, the President said. I can pour my own drink.
Yes, Sir, Colonel Felter said.
The reason Im alone in here, Felter, the President said, is that most people feel they have to say something whenever Cronkite pauses for breath. And if I watch it upstairs, Mrs. Johnson feels she has to say something to keep me from getting bored.
Yes, Sir, Colonel Felter said.
Unless you want another drink, the President said as an afterthought.
Thank you, Sir, Felter said, and got up and walked to the bar and poured more vodka over his ice.
You like the way that tastes? the President asked dubiously.
I dont like the way any of it tastes, Sir, Felter said.
The President laughed.