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Anderson M. Rearick III
Expository Writing Sec. 10
Prof. Rearick
February 9, 2016
Definition Theme
Fatherhood and FBI Agents of Robert Hanssen's Generation
My father, a retired special agent for the FBI, meets and stays in contact with
other ex-federal or "government men" (Dad still prefers "g-men") on a listserver
developed by another former agent. Following standard FBI procedure--habits endure
even after retirement--messages from this listserver regularly end with the phrase
"Privileged / Confidential Information May be Contained in this Message." In some
ways what I am about to share violates that confidentiality, drawn as it is from the private
thoughts of members who once belonged to agency well known for its official reticence.
Yet, in light of some of the criticism aimed at the agency recently along with what feels
to me to be a growing general, public mistrust of what motivates the average agent, it is a
point of view I think should be exposed to the broader American public.
There is a common misconception that most individuals—be they soldiers,
policemen, and or government agents—who develop the skills needed to use deadly force
do so because they enjoy the rush of hot dogging. Recently, while reporting on the
ongoing FBI-espionage scandal which involved veteran agent, Robert Hanssen, US News
and World Report quoted David Major, a retired FBI counterintelligence officer, as
describing his and Hanssen’s generation of agents as members of a “cigar-chomping,
door kicking” macho order (Duffy 24). I find this perception limiting and incomplete.
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My dad, a veteran of 24 years with the Bureau whose career centered around the urban
New York City office from 1955-78 and who was a part of that same generation, never
chomped on a cigar, but I did see him kick down a door--once. And the circumstances
are telling.
In my childhood home, a solidly built Tudor in Long Island, NY, the second floor
was laid out in an L with the entrance hallway and stairwell located in the short line. The
long line had two bedrooms, but--in an anomalous floor plan design I have not seen
since--the second bedroom was reachable only via the first. Each bedroom was used by
a sister. The older sister, Debbie, "guarded" the outer door, while Mary, three years
younger, slept in the inner room. For anyone who has had, or sired, siblings this setup
clearly has problematic privacy issues. Debbie controlled the only portal to Mary’s
room, and “Debs” had the only door that could be locked. Thus, Mary found that the
only way to assure the integrity of her personal space was to sometimes lock Debbie’s
outer door and then retreat to her own room. One day Mary locked her sister’s door, and
with her friend closed her own door to enjoy a private game of “Barbie.”
Downstairs the visiting girl’s parents and my family were enjoying one another’s
company when they noticed the girls had been missing for quite a while. They soon
found, with the help of a frustrated Debbie, the locked door, but as hard as they knocked
and as loud as they shouted, no response came from inside: no music, no chatter, just
silence. Furthermore, that room being on the second floor, there was no way to check
through any available windows. To this day we don’t know why the girls did not hear us,
probably lost in the world of pink corvettes, miniature fashions and plastic boyfriends.
But Dad, fearing some unknown tragedy, took two steps back, braced himself and with a
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hard swing, kicked the door down. In a moment he rushed in to find Mary and her friend
wide eyed in fear and surprise but completely safe. Debbie's door, meanwhile, was never
lockable again until my parents sold the house nearly ten years later.
I don’t tell this family story to embarrass Dad, although he blushes whenever this
comes up. I tell it to illustrate a basic quality that does not seem to be coming up in the
various descriptions of the men who served in Mr. Hanssen’s generation. Certainly Dad
was capable of using force—even deadly force. One of my prize possessions for years
was one of his firearms silhouette targets with a tight cluster of bullet holes around both
the figure’s heart and head. But Dad’s use of force was centered neither on a macho
lifestyle nor in a game of cops, robbers and spies: Dad kicked down the door because he
thought Mary was in trouble. He and the men with whom he served (women, then, had
not yet gained access to the bureau) were committed to protecting and preserving the
society that in turn protected and preserved their families.
Furthermore, my father was typical of agents in his generation in their
commitment to theirs and other's families. He once told me that the one case that could
galvanize an entire office was a kidnapping case. Other agents would stop their own
investigations to help the agent assigned the task. They were all fathers, and they knew
the clock was running on a child's life. Furthermore, when asked what was the
outstanding moment of his FBI career, my dad, who still proudly displays a wall lined
with commendations signed by J. Edgar Hoover, says it was the night he could put down
the phone, turn to a pair of terrified parents, and tell them that their child was safe.
When the story of Robert Hanssen's betrayal came out--and by the way, it is
notable to me that in a society in which so many seems to plead “not guilty” even when
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overtly caught, Hanssen ended the affair quickly with an admission--I avoided the topic
in my regular emails to Dad. I knew that the subject would be upsetting. I've watched
his pain in the face of the general cultural debasement of Hoover to whose memory he
still remains in many ways loyal. I also knew that everyone else, friends and family,
would be asking the retired but passionate man what he thought of the whole scenario.
So I left it alone.
For his part, Dad occasionally forwarded emails to me from the g-men listserver
maintained by former FBI agents. There were comments of self re-assurance and pride.
One was especially ironic considering the suspect’s and my Dad’s strong religious
feelings: “Even Jesus, after hand picking his twelve, still had a Judas.” But in it all I
could sense that there was a pained gritting of teeth behind the ironic smiles.
As I read about Hanssen, his role as a father has come up again and again. I
thought of the times I had seen FBI agents as fathers. While growing up, I occasionally
accompanied my dad to “firearms,” practice where I also saw other children with their
FBI dads. I even occasionally fired a weapon myself--like the time I learned that
shooting a shotgun is more like aiming a hose than firing a pistol. I came away with both
a profound sense of their power and of them not being toys. On the other hand, the
Styrofoam containers used for storing rounds of ammo, found everywhere on the firearm
compound, made great toy blocks and, because they floated, toy boats. Never was I
allowed to forget the difference between toys and not toys: I remember "the talk" when
Dad sat me down, like Harrison Ford in Witness, and clearly explained that his gun was
not and nor would ever to be used as, a toy. That speech--filled with serous, imminent
threat and protecting, abiding love--was echoed by other agent-fathers all around the
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firearms compound. Their fierce warnings heard amidst the single pistol shots and
thundering, rhythmic automatic fire of men sharpening their skills with deadly force. And
then, years later, I became a dad too and found myself under a different kind of fire.
My first son, Andy (the 4th) was born with a trachea and esophagus fistula, called
a TEF baby by all the doctors and nurses who now filled my life. His neck dead-ended
while his breathing tube was directly connected to his eating pipe. Massive surgery in
Rhode Island’s children’s hospital saved his life, but my wife, Loretta, and I began the
long journey traveled by so many parents who sit by bedsides holding the hands of little
ones who suffer in innocence. Part of our burden was lightened by the McDonald House
program. And it was while staying at the Providence Ronald McDonald House that I saw
for the last time FBI agents from my father’s generation.
Three men representing the FBI Foundation arrived to present a large donation to
the head of the Providence Ronald McDonald House. Thinking of that experience, I
wrote this email in response to those he had sent on about the Hanssen affair:
Dear Dad:
With all the news about the alleged treason committed by an FBI vet, I
was wondering how you were doing. I got my answer with the last few
emails you sent me.
I thought the points made by the other G-men and women were good and
important reminders of the bureau's right to still be proud. Still, I couldn’t
help but sense the wincing within the correspondence—a general suffering
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from the sting that something like this could happen in the bureau at all. I
know that for you, the FBI was not only a law enforcement agency: it was
a fellowship of men who believed that the good of the society within
which they and their families lived was important enough to defend. I
know that you weren’t alone in this perception.
It’s been years since this happened, but while the news was breaking about
this case of espionage, I thought of how you and your fellow agents came
to the Rhode Island Ronald McDonald House to give a large donation to
the McDonald program partly because of the extraordinary service they
had given Andy after his birth.
I don’t recall where Loretta was, but I believe I, you and the other men
ate together somewhere for lunch. I recall being struck by how similar
they were to you. You were all about the same age--graying if still fit.
You all still wore the same "regulation" trench coat over your suits in the
manner that I recall so well from my childhood. Some wore tan; some
wore navy blue, but it was in all in a similar mode. (I, myself. wear
something like it today. I like to let my London Fog flow out behind me
on windy days, but I'm not the same. I suspect that the tweed jacket and
the tummy warming sweater of an English teacher would not have met
with Mr. Hoover's approval.)
I can't recall the conversation, but I remember thinking that you all
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shared qualities besides those of style. I picked up that the dominant
political tone was conservative (I don't even recall who was president at
the time). There were shared bits of knowledge sometimes expressed in
an unintentional code of past experience: numbers relating to weapons or
details of some past case. And I was keenly aware of my greenness among
such old warriors.
And yet there was one other quality I recall. I don't know if I was
right. But I thought I sensed that they, like you, were all fathers and
grandfathers. Thus, the purpose of being a warrior was not the quality of
danger and action in the lifestyle, it was the quality of life which you
defended. As young as I felt back then, I also felt quite comfortable.
One detail from the present case which hurts is that this man is the
father of six. He, like you and they (and me) is a father. If he is
guilty, I wonder where he lost the vision of what it was he, a part of an
elite group of warriors, was defending.
Your Loving and Thankful Son,
Dad not only confirmed to me that they were all indeed fathers but thought this letter
worthwhile enough to send to the former agent listserver with an explanation of the
events and even the names of the agents to whom I had vaguely referred. Later he
forwarded me some of the responses. They confirm what I thought I knew. For
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privacy’s sake I have suppressed their names, but there seems to have been a strong sense
of something that needed to be said.
One former agent wrote that the theme of the family speaks “volumes that we
need to hear to get through this tragedy.” Another said “The letter placed the Hanssen
matter in its' proper perspective and put into words those values which we all cherish.”
Another agent went in a slightly different if related direction saying that the letter's
reminder of the family as motivation for all that generation “causes me concern for
Hanssen's children. That family surely needs our prayers.” This perspective, surprising
to some, was not unique; these former agents, these warriors, continued to think of and
care about even the family of the one who had failed them all. One agent especially
articulated this concern:
I can’t believe what this man has done to his family! It is unlikely that his
wife will be able to collect any of the monies that he has paid into his
government pension. That will probably be frozen by the government. As
a result, the family will likely lose their house, cars, ability to pay
college tuition. . .everything! He has undoubtedly been fired by now, so
the family loses their insurance coverage, not to mention his salary.
Add to this whatever fees Plato Cacheris and Co. will charge them to
represent this monster. . .My Lord, what a mess! Talk about innocent
victims. . .I hope we all go back to our families this evening and hold them
very, very tight.
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These letters express what does not seem to be coming up in all the ongoing
coverage about the agency nor its people. For the agents of my father’s generation the
protection of the society was an extension of the protection of their own and everyone
else’s children. I suppose we have all heard of criminals who were devoted family
figures. However true (and I question this), I want to make it clear that I am not just
trying to show that FBI agents were merely good family men.
What I am trying to express is that there was in most of them a direct connection
to what they did in the field to their familial responsibilities. People who are devoted to
their family can be selfish and savage to others outside of their unit. However, these men
tempered their lifestyles, worked to uncover evil, and used even their deadly force
because they were family men. Are there exceptions? Of course. But that’s what they
are—unusual. In the wake of the scandal occurring in Iraq I have been deeply bothered
by the tendency for newscasters, even Fox Channel, to use the phrase “the Military’s
torture of prisoners.” Why do we assume right away that our soldiers in general must be
psychotics? We have heard over and over again that these acts were done by a few not as
part of a general policy. Theses accused solders, and they have yet to actually face trial,
are suspected of violating the norm not being a representation of it. As has been pointed
out, the military found this problem and the military was dealing with it when it was
splashed all over the world’s newspapers.
Much of this foaming at the mouth by some of the press stems I think from the
belief of many that individuals who serve this nation by learning how to use deadly force
must be inherently evil. They forget that people raised in cultures of familial importance
will, even as tought individuals, be motivated by the need to protect rather than to play
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with dangerous and expensive toys. Oh sure, the FBI agents of my fathers generation
were macho, they could kick down doors, they could chew cigars, but that was not what
defined them nor should it define our attitudes towards them or any other member of pour
police or armed forces. We need to distance our perspective from the shaping forces of
Hollywood action adventure heroes. One agent wrote simply “Thank you for this email.
I cried.” Major’s description is wrong by omission. What a difference it makes in one’s
mind to think of the above agent weeping for and over families--even if he is chomping
on a cigar. Did he do so? I don’t know—I do know, however, there were tears of relief
in my father’s eyes when after kicking down the door he found my little sister safe.
Duffy, Brian. “Agent Hanssen: The Spy Who Came in From the Fold” US and News
Report. 2001 March: 23-24.