This 44-part series began running in WCT Nov. 8. Readers can read all the installments to date at www.windycitymediagroup.com
From the journal of John 'Jack' Quincy Adams, Chief Secret Service Special Agent in Charge, The White House. Code Name: One.
Part 29. A Hero's Hero
Jack Adams, the Secret Service agent charged with assassinating President George W. Bush and being held for psychiatric evaluation, is telling about Christmas dinner with his family after the death of the Vice President. They are trying to define what a hero is and they have asked Jackson for his definition.
'Go on,' I said. 'Tell us exactly what makes a hero.'
And Jackson did. 'Strictly speaking, a hero is someone who performs a selfless act in which he endangers his own well being, even his life, for the good or safety of another. Take the World Trade Center. The people who were in their offices doing their daily jobs weren't heroes. They were doing what they normally did every day of their lives: they showed up for work. But the firemen and the policemen, and anyone who ran into that building to help get people out, now they were real heroes.'
'Smart boyfriend, Quince,' Abbie said, reaching over and wiping drool off JP's chin. He was busy building a turkey and broccoli Tower of Pisa, while Abbie's son JJ—imitating his cousin—had been clandestinely scooping the entire serving bowl of mashed potatoes onto his plate. Studded with peas and topped with a sweet potato hat, it looked like something out of Dr. Seuss.'
'That makes you a hero, doesn't it?' Quincy said to me with a smile. 'You risked your life to save the president. Three times!'
'I'm not sure that qualifies, son. Remember, I get paid to do that. It's not like I'm in pursuit of any virtue at the time.'
'Well, what about Vera's original question, then, Mr. Adams—if you'll let me off the hot seat for a moment. Would you say it could ever be possible for a person to be a hero by killing the president?' Jackson said.
'Honey, I'm not sure we want to phrase the question just that way,' said Quincy. I realized this was the first time I had heard Quincy call Jackson 'honey,' or any other endearing name. I could feel my face color.
Vera, of course, picked up on my embarrassment instantly. She took my hand and leaned in. 'It's okay, Jack. That's how people who love each other talk.'
'What about it, Dad? Is that possible? Classically speaking only, of course,' Quincy said and everybody gave a nervous titter, waiting for the president's 'bodyguard' to answer.
'I really don't know, son. I would have to give it some serious thought. I have always thought of an assassin as a coward and murder as a cowardly act. I think everybody should have a fighting chance to protect himself.'
Jackson was quick with his rebuttal. 'Don't you think the millions of Americans who are going without health care and prescription drugs should get a fighting chance? What about people like JJ? Doesn't he deserve a fighting chance? It seems to me that when the game is rigged, when politicians and corporations go into back rooms and decide the fate of millions of people, that is cowardly. When does JJ get his turn to take a punch?'
'And Jean-Paul, too. Who's going to protect him?' Abbie said. 'They aren't just going after gay people anymore, remember. Now they're talking about single parents, unwed mothers, practically anybody who doesn't pray with them on Sunday. South Dakota has included 'unwed mothers' in their bill. It's like their law about abortion with no exceptions: single parents are evil no matter what the cause for their being alone.'
This wasn't going to be resolved at the table and I certainly wasn't the one to defend the administration's position on any of this. 'Can I get back to you on this? Say next Christmas?'
There was polite laughter and Vera began scolding us for letting our food get cold. 'This is why I hate television!' she said. 'We were having a happy family meal until that damned political ad came on.'
'Well, let's either heat the food up or clear the table,' Abbie said.
'Pie!' Jean-Paul shouted, and we all seconded his motion. He was virtually covered in gravy and cranberry sauce. While everyone stood to clear the table or attend to the children, Jackson and I sat still. 'It must be a difficult position,' he said.
'Pardon?'
'Your job. It must be a challenge these days. Ethically, I mean.'
'I never discuss my job, Jackson. Even with my family.'
'I can attest to that,' Vera said, reaching to take my plate. 'He may live with the president, but he never talks about him.'
