Since
Osama bin Laden's September 11 coming out party, the odds have changed a
little, but not much. Up to then, in Wash-ington, D C., the easiest bet
to win was that none could name three to Generals, and jobs held, a baffling
challenge to wagers. Hardly a person in the nation's capital was that “hep”,
and a lot of money changed hands when the inability was revealed.
Contrasting
severely with WW II, when Generals like George S. Patton, Joseph "Vinegar
Joe" Stillwell, the great shogun, Douglas McArthur, Omar Bradley, paratroopers
Matthew Ridgeway and James M. Gavin… and many more were “bankable" known
leaders, who delivered victories.
When
the go-get- 'em call went out, a great many hands were up-fronted and "roles
and missions" bracketed with them. That this change would come about was
unbelievable; even more so, the identity of the "whodunit” staggering. His
name was Arthur Sylvester, who ran the "one man bureau" in Washington for
the Newark Evening News in New Jersey. He had gone with John F. Kennedy
and seven or so press types to New Hampshire, and his first pulse-feeler
for his appeal as Presidential material. New Hampshire mostly ignored them,
so they had a lot of "talkie--talkie time", Kennedy posing questions.
If Sylvester was in his shoes and got elected, what would be the first
thing
he'd do? Art was used to the free whiskey of New Jersey boss Frank Hague,
and Kennedy's firewater loosened his tongue.
"The
first thing I would do is shut the mouths of every General and Admiral.
They make speeches all over the country to all kinds of audiences. They
seem to speak with more authority than elected and appointed office holders
in any given administration. Shouldn’t be that way. Anyway, you asked me
and I told you. The conversation direction changed and for all evidence
known then was just a “law aside.”
But
glory be, Kennedy got elected. And he also remembered, and so did the Kennedy
Press Secretary Pierre Salinger, who knew Sylvester would be an armpit nuzzler,
and “wow” Arthur Sylvester became the Assistant Secretary of Defense, Public
Affairs. My job then was Chief of Public Affairs for the North American
Air Defense Command, a creature called a “special command” since it had
units from the U.S Air Force, Army, Navy and Marine Corps, as well as
the
Royal Canadian Air Force. Sylvester said I should come to Washington
soonest, so we could talk about the way things were going to be. Not
a good sign,
methinks, so I checked with the Pentagon Press Desk and asked if he had
any military background at all, particularly where I was. He had only
called
in once in seven years asking what the acronym, ADC stood for, and was
told Air Defense Command.
Even
more ominous was that he took on the Navy’s Chief, highly respected Arleigh
Burke. Sylvester had asked to see an upcoming speech text, read a couple
of pages, told him to cancel the platform engagement…and get out of it
as gracefully as he could.
From
that day forward to now military professionals have been muzzled. The Pentagon
shook, and others committed for public appearances began to find requirements
to attend their mother’s funerals.
To
be invited, make that ORDERED, in for a Sylvester tęte-ŕ-tęte, gave me a
queasy feeling in my stomach. After all, I had been a longtime speech-writer.
But in I went. He shook hands, waved me into a chair beside his desk, and
started talking. I thought I heard him saying that I was highly respected,
the longest timer in public affairs, so “I have to take you on!”
“So
you know where I am coming from. I hate the military, probably the most
over-rated professionals on earth.” He said he had one experience with military
service that stuck in his craw from his youth when he had gone to a summer
camp along an Atlantic Beach. He said his officer was a postal clerk in
civilian life, one of those too-big-for-his-britches guys once donning a
uniform. Sylvester, through no fault of his own (that’s the way hated
are cooked up) was late to report for an inspection formation.
“So
what did this martinet do—he had me lay out on the beach sands every bit
of military equipment I had, looked it over, told me to repack and march
a mile down the sands, turn, return, take off the pack and lay it out for
a look-over. Under my breath, you jerk, I told myself, the day would come
and I would get even. And Barney…MY DAY has come. It’s payback time for
that pipsqueak. In telling you this, I want you to spread far and wide
who
Arthur Sylvester is, where he comes from and why. Get me?”
Imagine
that a man like that, so petty, would rise to power in high places.
He had
no balance. He was a newspaper hack. He actually walked up to the microphone
stand at Andrews Air Force base where incoming VIPS made their arrival
statements
and took the mike away.
The
first amendment that said Congress would make no law abridging freedom of
speech and the press was literal to him. RADIO and TV hadn’t been invented
yet when the Founding Fathers doodled about—too bad for them, as Sylvester
saw it. And he appeared before Congress and testified that a government
had an inherent right to lie to the public if it had chosen to do so.
All
our encounters were at his order. He said I was the worst example he
could
think of as a P.R. opportunist. Got away with too much, he said. He lunched
every day at the downtown Washington National Press Club, and gave
tips
about upcoming breaking news. After the third glass, others came up to
the bar as he noisily blabbed.
When
JFK was gone Arthur Sylvester was soon out of his “cushy” suite in the
Pentagon. He was not a lunch-buncher any more, a bore expressing his
opinions, the
insider now out.
Still
in uniform I was walking down Lexington Avenue in New York, and somebody
yelled my name loud enough to be heard over the roaring traffic. I turned
and there was Arthur Sylvester beckoning me to wait. There was no open manhole
I could step into. What a change! He was out of power, a has-been. He wanted
someone to talk to, have a drink with. I told him there was nothing I’d
rather do, but I was late for a very important appointment. He was the
one
who said a government has in inherent right to lie, and without quoting
the Sylvester source, I used it to get our of there.
When
generals were appointed to take on Bin Laden, the public of today asks “who-dat?” Known
leadership figures, with credentials for having won battles, the instantly
recognized and reassuring, how many do you recognize?
Arthur
Sylvester, the vengeful little man of forty years ago, interferes still.
Pipsqueaks still reach out into the new century. Not many remember
Arthur
Sylvester, but I do, face to face conversations. For me, he is not forgettable,
illustrating how high incompetence can fly.
