Boots in the Ashes by Cynthia Beebe

Author:Cynthia Beebe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Center Street
Published: 2020-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

I HAD BEEN BUSY in the four years between the time the Ashby fire occurred in 1991 and his trial in 1995. I had investigated other major cases and worked again with the Secret Service, which was always one of my favorite assignments.

The presidential campaign year of 1992 was even more hectic for me than 1988 had been. Beginning with a stint on a jump team in March, I spent much of the next six months engaged as an OTA for the Secret Service. I worked several jump teams and many shorter assignments, glad to get out of the office and away from internal office politics, which had become contentious at times. I protected Al Gore, Tipper Gore, Paul Tsongas, Bob Kerrey, Tom Harkin, and Patrick Buchanan. I also protected Bill Clinton, Hillary Clinton, and President Bush. It always meant a lot to me to protect the president, regardless of who held the office.

For me, one of the hardest things about working Secret Service details was disappointing nice people. I was in Seattle at a huge outdoor rally for Bill Clinton, who was then the governor of Arkansas and the Democratic candidate for president. Thousands of people descended on the venue, and I was standing post at a congested entry gate. I was watching for people who tried to enter carrying anything that could be used as a weapon, including handmade signs that anyone had attached to a wooden stick. I couldn’t let the sticks in, and I often felt terrible that I had to tell people no. One older woman pleaded with me to let her bring in her homemade sign.

I felt like I was being mean to my grandmother, but I had to tell her, “You can either stay with your stick or come into the event, but you can’t do both.” She sighed and looked crestfallen, but she left her stick behind, just like everyone else.

When I could, I enjoyed watching the candidates interact with the public. Not every candidate behaved according to my expectations. One day I protected Republican presidential candidate Patrick Buchanan, who had worked as President Reagan’s White House communications director in the mid-1980s. Buchanan was a loud, argumentative, well-known television commentator who loved to debate politics. One day I was on a routine detail protecting Buchanan in Flint, Michigan, which was home to union autoworkers who overwhelmingly voted Democratic.

Buchanan started his visit with an uneventful tour of one of the huge auto plants. As we were all walking outside between buildings, a large group of autoworkers exited the plant. They were at least thirty yards away from us when all of a sudden one of the men started yelling angrily at Buchanan. The protester made no move to approach and his hands were empty, so we stood by as Buchanan turned to address him.

I was expecting a sharp retort from this famously combative man, and I was surprised by Buchanan’s response. He smiled widely, beckoned with his hand, and called out, “Come here,

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