REPORTER RECALLS BRUSHES WITH CIA

• Document Type: CREST
• Collection: General CIA Records
• Document Number (FOIA) /ESDN (CREST): CIA-RDP75-00001R000200630026-9
• Release Decision: RIPPUB
• Original Classification: K
• Document Page Count: 1
• Document Creation Date: November 11, 2016
• Document Release Date: February 17, 1999
• Sequence Number: 26
• Publication Date: February 22, 1967
• Content Type: NSPR

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KANSAS CITY STAR
Feb. 22, 1967
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This is a piece about travel,
the C e n t r a l Intelligence
agency, the University. of
Kansas, 30 feet of forms; the
U-2 spy plane, and a young
newspaperman.
With the commotion last
week about the CIA contrib-
uting funds to several student
and trust funds, some may
;pink that the CIA has "opera-
tives" or recruiters coming
out of the walls of every col-
. tege campus.
It isn't that way at all.
(By a Mrmber of The Star's Staff)
ALL the CIA man
working out of the
t:,e small office on the
second floor of Strong
hall at the University of Kan-
sas, Mr. Brown.
It was January, 1964, I was
working at The Star 40 hours a
week and commuting to K. U.
in get a degree. Any degree, it
really didn't matter at that
point.
Indian Saw It
A friend of mine, part Potta-
watomie Indian, told me about
the notice on the bulletin
board. The announcement'said
the CIA was recruiting. You
couldn't miss it.
I wandered in the office and
there was Mr. Brown. He was
a big, sha ;gy-inoking, man. He
inked like a Western Kansas
rancher.
"How are you," he said,
sticking out his hand in the
best big corporation recruiting
manner. "Here to see about
the CIA, ch?"
"Well, I wondered. . .." I
started.
"Fine. fine," he said.
Eyes Light Up
He asked me what I did. I
said I was reporter. His eyes
lighted up.
"Very good, very good," he
said.
"Why?" I asked.
"oh,' we have a lot of news-
men, or better, former news-
men, working for the agency,"
he said.
"You do?" I replied.
"Oh, yes. You know, we
have to transmit the informa-
tion we get. We have to have
people who can write reports."
Mr. Brown wont on. Usually
I'm pretty good at remember-
ing what, people say. But I
wasn't about to take notes.
The gist of Mr. Brown's con-
versation, however, .was that
.all these people come out (out
of where is something I didn't
ask but I assumed out of un-
parts we were milling for a J-
75 turbo jet would he used in a
plane to over-fly Russia. That
was four years before Gary
Francis Powers was shot
clown. Ile worked for the CIA.
Anyway, who wanted , to
work for the government and
fill out reports? Not I. Mr.
Brown was a fine man, cour-
teous, not at all secretive, and
he hadn't sullied my academic
freedom. I'd walked into the
second floor office of my own
accord.
Were Locked Away
So two and one half years
went by and the forms re-
mained locked away.
I'd see Jerry, the Pottawato-
mie, every so often and we'd
kid each other about the CIA
man. Jerry still says they
didn't want him because the
CIA wasn't spying on Pottawa-
tomie Indians that, year.
"Someday, you'll see," he
said. "They'll want me when
my people go to war with the
white man again."
Then last suninmer, one of
the editors brought a tall,
emaciated young nian back to
my desk. Ile said he wanted a
story run in the paper.
"A story," I said. "What
kind of`story?"
"Cover story," the ~ oung
man said.
"Cover stony," I repeated.
Worry About Mob
"Yes," he said. "You see,
I'm a CIA agent and I want it
to look like I was shot to death
out in Olathe so the mobsters
who are following me will pull
'off the chase."
"CIA," I said, "I thought, the
CIA only worked overseas."
"I'm with the domestic
branch," he said. "No, we
don't carry credentials.
"Oh," I said.
The young man went on.
There had been several at-
tempts on his life, he had been
shot at'more than once, and he
needed a cover story. He was
less than coherent. I told him
we would see what we could
do. We didn't do anything. He
wasn't a CIA man, domestic
or foreign.
And just the other day I saw
that applications by college
students have swamped the
agency. I thought of Mr.,.
Brown, a big, shaggy-looking
man with an open face and
ready smile who looked like a
Western Kansas rancher. And
I thought of the young man
with the nonexistent domestic
friendly countries) and ex- back to 1956 and a job as a branch.
newspaper reporters faithfully milling machine operator at The forms I got are still
ley
report or the en ra n e i Hartford, Conn., and every- 51196t going t set d
? ``ENCY
gence Agency, Washington 25,
D. C.
Poses P. Question
I do recall asking what hap-
pened if the man "coming
out" didn't speak English.
"We hire interpreters," Mr.
Brown said.
We went on and talked about
salary. That wasn't too satis-
factory a subject. Then there
was some talk about bases
overseas. There were five, Mr.
Brown said. No, he couldn't
say where. I would learn that
when I joined the agency.
The conversation lasted
about 20 minutes and Mr.
Brown gave me some forms. I
had to sign one, saying I'd
never reveal what had taken
place. That's why there's no
name on this piece. Mr. Brown
didn't say it, but I gathered I
could be punished in some
manner.
I left with other forms, Jer-
ry, the part Pottawatomic In-
dian, was outside. He grinned
at me.
"I figured I'd come up and
talk to him, tog," Jerry said.
"But I doubt if they'll have
anything for me, My people
were once kind of -on the other
side."
Returns a Grin
I grinned, too.
"This isn't the CIA man," I
said. "This is an ethics class."
Well, it was winter, and
maybe it was travel out of the
cold I wanted instead of the
CIA. And then there were the
forms, bound like booklets, but
totaling 30 feet in length. It
took me three days to fill them
out. And that was all that ever
happened.
But I kept remembering
P}r J`717,.
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