Earlier this year I opened my eyes lying on the bathroom floor
with my majestic White Swiss Shepard checking me out. Attempts to
balance my blood pressure medication had resulted in me experiencing low
blood pressure and collapsing and hitting the floor. My wife called my
primary care doctor who said to call 911. A fire truck and two
ambulances arrived on the street, I was loaded into an ambulance and
driven away through congested roadways where the emergency lights and siren
cleared a path to Fairfax Hospital. Thus began my adventure with the
Old Boys.
CT scans revealed subdural hematoma- internal bleeding in the
brain that could be dangerous. I was initially offered emergency brain
surgery after midnight, although fortunately this proposal was not
acted upon. After several days spent battling a fever that came
on after the head injury, I was offered a less intrusive procedure
involving threading a plastic tube through the femoral artery into the
brain and cleaning out fluid and debris.
My family decided that I needed rehabilitation and I first did
inpatient rehab at a local hospital. I was then discharged to an assisted
living center with rehab services.
We live in McLean, VA, home of the Central Intelligence Agency and the
Directorate of National Intelligence. It was no surprise to encounter people
in the rehab center with government backgrounds. I was somewhat surprised
to be approached during a rehab session by a therapist who introduced
another patient as CIA. I explained to him AARC’s purpose and activities,
to obtain, preserve, and disseminate information on political assassinations,
and was told by the CIA man that “you are the good guys.” He also
empathetically stated that he would not believe anything the government said
about the JFK assassination. Beyond that most interesting remark, he said he
had nothing to add on the subject.
This introduction was followed by a conversation with another
patient who sat at the “CIA table” during meals but said he had been in
another government department. After my identity was revealed, the CIA
group retreated unto themselves and away from me. My best and most
meaningful conversations were early morning coffee sessions with “early-birds.”
One Old Boy relayed an insider’s perspective on Ronald Reagan’s
propaganda war against the Soviets. Soon after I got there, Senator
Lindsay Graham died unexpectedly, and the coffee group engaged in
analysis of whether this was an assassination by the Russians.
One morning, while pouring coffee, an early-bird was kidding around and
said, “I am on a secret mission.” A voice from the gathering replied, “He’s CIA.”
I responded, “Everyone’s CIA,” which was greeted by an eruption of hearty laughter
from around the room.
On another morning the CIA man who declared us “good guys” was
restricted to his room for two days. I felt a slight sore throat, sneezes and
nasal sensitivity. The facility was suffering a mild COVID outbreak affecting
a significant number of residents.
I recognized the seriousness of what we might face, especially
some of the more vulnerable and frail Old Boys. At the last early-bird coffee
session (before management shut them down), I told the others that for
their safety I must stay in my room. I said that, before I adjourned, I wanted
to say that our coffee gatherings had been the experience of a lifetime.
The senior Old Boy present stood and saluted me…. I don’t know what
happened to him or the others. I do know that neither he nor they will
soon be forgotten.
I am fine, having had only minor symptoms, and as of this writing, pleased
to report the “Old Boys” have also survived Covid.
