REPORTER RECALLS BRUSHES WITH CIA

Document Type: 
Collection: 
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
Case Number: 
Publication Date: 
February 22, 1967
Content Type: 
NSPR
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PDF icon CIA-RDP75-00001R000200630026-9.pdf118.25 KB
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Appro: CPYRGHT t Ap KANSAS CITY STAR Feb. 22, 1967 d For Release,.A999/0 8 ;,~IA-R 7 T rte . .eealls :rushes v i a 1 FOIAb3b 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,. 6-9