Saturday I went into the office, and found that things had been moved into the Oval Office. The Bushes were still up at Camp David. I had a visit from the Commanding General of the Military District of Washington, the guy who owns all the ceremonial troops around the city. The Army runs state funerals, which is what the memorial service for George was going to be. They had dusted off the funeral service for JFK, and then started editing it, since it's real hard to bury somebody who ain't around to bury! Kennedy had lain in his casket in the White House for 24 hours, and then a horse drawn artillery caisson took the casket to the Rotunda of the Capitol. After 24 hours of laying in state in the Capitol, in an even bigger march back to the White House, then on to St. Matthews Cathedral, and then on to Arlington.
Thankfully, I didn't have to make any decisions on this. The General had been in touch with President Bush at Camp David, and gone over a plan with him. We would basically use the Kennedy funeral plans, only with an empty casket. It would lie in state, first at the White House for a day, then another day at the Rotunda in the Capitol, and finally be transported to Arlington for interment on Thursday. Eventually it would get a perpetual flame like Kennedy's. I called the Bushes at Camp David to go over some of this with them. I had talked to the first President Bush several times, and I had called Laura at one point Tuesday afternoon during the mad scramble. Now I was able to speak to Barbara as well, though the twins were still too broken up to speak.
It was rather maudlin and grotesque, I thought, but I really wasn't in a position to criticize. We did have to make a change, though. By late Saturday morning, Roscoe was linked up with his family, and by that evening they were all, including Harlan in his casket, in Buckminster, with plans for a Sunday viewing and a Monday funeral. Anna Lee had asked us to attend the funeral and speak for Harlan. At that point I called Josh and informed him of my plans. Now I had to write a eulogy for Harlan on my own, and let the Secret Service and the 89th Airlift know what was going to happen. They would hate me for this!
The President of the United States doesn't just go somewhere. Security is simply crazy! The assholes who want to kill him are numbered in the thousands or more. When he flies off to someplace, it's not just him but an entourage of hundreds of people. For instance, my flight to Jackson for Harlan's funeral (the closest big city to Buckminster) would involve the following. An advance team of Secret Service agents would head down a couple of days before to scout out Jackson and Buckminster. The local cops would be called in and informed about what was happening and what would be required. The Secret Service got first call on all resources. If the locals were chasing a crazed serial killer and the Secret Service wanted the manpower, the serial killer would be left on the loose.
I wasn't planning on staying overnight, but if I was, they would find a room and set up security. That would probably involve agents investigating every employee and guest of the hotel and checking his or her name against various watch lists of local wackos. Rooms would be cleared out, reservations would be cancelled for other guests, and service deliveries would be investigated. Dozens of agents might be involved.
Prior to Air Force One showing up, one or two C-5 Galaxies would arrive, carrying the armored limo and a bunch of armored Chevrolet Suburban security SUVs, known as 'War Wagons'. Fuel would be bought for the planes, tested for safety, and then stored in tanker trucks with armed guards around it. Helicopters for local flights might be ferried in or packed into the C-5s for reassembly on site. Doctors would be present. In some places food and water are brought in. This was all choreographed to look seamless – the Big Man flies in and things are ready to go. Mind you, this was for friendly visits. If I was going someplace unfriendly, it was worse! Then, it would all be packed up and leave for the next trip to someplace else.
It could be worse sometimes. George Will once reported that when George Bush came to his house for a dinner party, advance teams of agents descended on his neighborhood and ordered his neighbors, under pain of arrest, to leave their yards and go inside their houses and stay there. It was insane. As a result, the President is practically a prisoner in the White House. There is a reason they have a movie theater in the White House – it is incredibly difficult for the President to actually get in a car and take his wife to the movies otherwise! It's actually cheaper to build him a theater than it is to go out on the town.
It isn't this crazy for the Vice President. He's just another spare part, nice to have around until the machine breaks. Otherwise, one is as good as another. There had been plans to get rid of me and bring in somebody more docile, or smarter, or more bloodthirsty. Now I had to get my own spare part lined up.
On Sunday Marilyn and I took Marine One up to Camp David. I had never been there before. The Presidential Retreat is actually a rustic cabin complex up near Thurmont in the Catoctins. That I wasn't invited before was due to two factors. First, Presidents are pretty picky about who goes there; they tend to think of it as their personal playground. Second, I was not on the favorites list with Bush and his closest people. He might have to put up with me in Washington, but not up there. Once there it was the first chance we had to see the Bush family since the tragedy. Everybody was present, George H.W. and Barbara, Laura and the girls, and most of the other kids and grandkids. George told me that they would stay up there until the Thursday ceremonies, and then go back to Texas. Laura and the girls wouldn't be coming back to the White House. I replied that we wouldn't move in until after the ceremonies. There was no point in being rude about it. I did have a chance to talk to Jeb and a few of the older grandsons, some of whom seemed interested in getting into politics on their own. This family was the Republican version of the Kennedys, though without all the drama.
The schedule that week was, for want of a better word, horrid. I would be officially mourning the entire week, from Sunday on, speechifying, shaking hands, looking somber, meeting every dignitary and VIP under the Sun, at least 25 or 26 hours every day. The current plan was to do Harlan's funeral on Monday and fly back that afternoon. The official Bush funeral ceremonies would start on Tuesday and conclude Thursday. The only one I really wanted to be at was Harlan's, which was the one I got the most grief over from everybody else on the planet. How dare I visit a private funeral this week? How could I pick this funeral and not any of the others? What makes this guy more deserving than anybody else? I dumped it into Ari Fleischer's lap. He could tell people that while I knew there were going to be thousands of individual ceremonies and sendoffs, my duties would allow me only two, one for a 'common man' – Harlan – and one for a 'great man' – the President. He needed to polish that turd up and get a few people to start spinning the story.
Monday morning Marilyn and I flew out at the crack of dawn. The girls were back in school in Hereford and Charlie was back at Camp Lejeune, and everybody probably had lots of stories to tell. Tessa was staying at the house keeping an eye on the girls. We were met in Jackson by the Governor of Mississippi, a fellow I had never met before named Ronnie Musgrove, and all the Mississippi Senators and Congressmen. None of them had ever met or heard of Harlan until I came to bury him, and all of them had wonderful things to say about him. I almost lost my lunch. I whispered to Marilyn, "Do you hear that high pitched whirring sound?"