Flawed Patriot Page 33

A DELICATE MATTER

  One day, I was summoned to a meeting in Dick Helms’s office. I go in, and there’s FitzGerald, Jim Angleton and, I think, Tom Karamessenes, and I don’t know who else, and the subject was: what are we going to do with Bill Harvey? I thought, “What am I doing here?” Jim Angleton spoke up, and he said, “Dick, there’s only one man in The Agency that can handle Bill Harvey today.” And Helms said, “Who’s that?” [Angleton] said, “Red.”

  I said, “Wait a cotton-picking minute…. I’ve always known Bill Harvey, known he was a good operator and all that, but don’t talk to me about taking over this thing now.”

  Helms said, “You would if I asked you, wouldn’t you?” I said, “I guess I wouldn’t have much choice, if you ask me.” He said, “I’m asking you.”

  So I took charge of Bill Harvey, and I talked to him immediately. I said, “Bill, you’ve got a wonderful reputation, and you’ve got a drinking problem. You and I have never had any supervisory relationship, but starting right now, we have a clean slate.”

  It wouldn’t be long before Bill would show up at some meeting just crocked. [I’d send] for him. He’d come in the door, apologizing every time. After about the third or fourth time, he said, “If I ever embarrass you or this Agency again, I’ll retire.” It wasn’t a month until he did; and he came in and said, “I made a promise to you, and I’m here to live up to it.”

  I said, “Bill, I hate to see your career end this way, but I guess that’s the way it has to be.” I said, “You’ve got some sick leave coming, why don’t you take that?” So he did, and he hung around town for about six months before he actually retired, but that was the kind of thing, once in a while, as Executive Director, you got into.

  Howard J. Osborn recorded the final steps in Harvey’s retirement in early 1968. “I met with Bill Harvey on Friday, January 5, 1968 in the Headquarters Building to debrief him of his clearances and pick up his badge. We parted amicably after he had grumbled and groused about the debriefing statements I had made him sign. He said that he plans next month to open offices with a small law firm in the Investment Building, but did not volunteer the name of the firm.”

  Harvey took the opportunity, however, to say that he didn’t think Helms should intercede with the Department of Justice; “[Harvey] does not believe that Rosselli will turn on The Agency or on the Government unless actually convicted and facing deportation.”

  A CIA memorandum dated June 4, 1968, written by Jim O’Connell, now back in the Office of Security, records that “the FBI recently advised that Johnny Rosselli had been convicted on six counts involving illegal entry into the United States…. There may be cautious optimism that he will not divulge his relationship with the Agency for personal gain.”

  The writer then hangs tough, even cynical.

  One individual holds many of the answers to our quest. This individual is Bill Harvey who took over the role of Case Officer from me in April, 1962. With the exception of a brief social luncheon that I had with Johnny in January, 1966 in Los Angeles, and a onetime meeting Rosselli had with Col. Edwards in Washington DC, all contacts since that time have been made by Harvey….

  We must assume that Harvey harbors a deep resentment for being terminated by the organization. This suggests the possibility that he may be encouraging Johnny to put pressure on The Agency….

  I’m inclined to believe, as a result of my own dealings with Rosselli, that he would not involve The Agency, regardless of the outcome of his personal situation. He gave me his assurance to this effect and fortified this by pointing out that he had spent several years in prison, rather than be a stool pigeon in past activities. However, with Mr. Harvey in the picture, and to a lesser degree, Mr. [Ed] Morgan, it is difficult to say what course of action Johnny may be counseled to take.

  Six weeks later, on July 26, 1968, O’Connell filed a further memorandum for the record, about a late night phone call he had from Rosselli. Johnny again asserted he would not ask for Agency testimony in his trials. But then he asked specifically for the date O’Connell had turned him over to Harvey in April 1962.

  “At this point, I asked if [Johnny] had seen Bill lately, and he stated that he had, on several occasions, and volunteered that he had been in the Washington area four or five times in the last few months, but did not feel it prudent to contact me. I observed that Bill was in private law practice, having recently received an announcement to this effect. Johnny hesitated, and then said he had been keeping Bill occupied on some legal work in Europe. I asked him if Bill was doing well, and he laughed, but did not comment.”

  O’Connell met Johnny at the Gaslight Club for lunch on December 11, 1968. “He mentioned that he had seen Bill Harvey the previous day, and I gather he was at Bill’s home, as he made reference to Harvey’s wife and the fact that they invited him to stay with them, which he declined in favor of the Madison Hotel.” Johnny told O’Connell that he didn’t need the CIA’s help in his legal problems. “He has many other people who are obligated to him that can help him. He implied that some are well-placed in the new [Nixon] administration. He seemed a little emotional when he told me that what he did for us was for himself and his country, and was in an entirely different category [from] things he has done during his lifetime.”

  Anthony Summers’s 1994 interview with the ever-loquacious ex-detective, Joe Shimon, gives some feel of Harvey and Rosselli in the late 1960s. Recall, however, that Shimon liked to place himself at the center of all the action. “When Bill Harvey retired, he opened up a law office here in the Southern Building…. Every time Johnny came to town, he stayed at the Madison [sic—Johnny may also have at times stayed at the Harveys’.]

  “Of course, that was our watering hole. It was only a couple of blocks from the Southern Building, and Harvey would come. And Harvey was a heavy drinker…. He could consume twelve martinis, and you’d never know he had one, and that was almost a daily thing.

  “While Johnny was there, we’d sit and talk. Of course, that thing [the JFK murder] was over, so it was safe to talk about everything that took place very freely…. And any questions I asked, they answered.”

  Unfortunately, just at that point the tape ends.7

  WASHINGTON MERRY-GO-ROUND

  Rosselli appeared before a federal grand jury, and in 1970, when prison really loomed, he threatened the CIA with further exposure of its role in the Castro assassination plots. He went into detail in a meeting with a Pearson/Anderson representative, in the company of lawyers, on January 11, 1971, and went to prison on January 25.

  A CIA memorandum on Rosselli was prompted by a call from Jack Anderson of the Merry-Go-Round column and is dated January 14, 1971. The signature is blanked out but is probably that of Jim O’Connell.

  During his phone call, Anderson said that O’Connell “undoubtedly knew about Rosselli’s present predicament and many people feel he is being given a ‘bum rap.’ [Anderson’s] sources feel that as a result of Johnny’s participation in certain government projects, he should be given a hero’s medal rather than be deported. He went on to say that he understood that Bill Harvey and myself had directed Rosselli in a CIA venture in Miami which had to do with the Bay of Pigs. He asked if I knew Harvey and I said I did.” Anderson tried to bait O’Connell with an allegation that Harvey had been the boss. He “asked if I was in Miami with Harvey and Rosselli at any time. I told him I did not want to discuss the matter any further. He could not be discouraged.” Anderson tried to plead on Johnny’s behalf, but the CIA officer “abruptly concluded the dialogue.”

  Anderson next had his assistant, Les Whitten, track down Harvey, who was by now living in Indianapolis. The memo continues, “Whitten tried to get substantiation … by calling Harvey, who was then retired from the CIA. ‘I’d like to help, but I can’t,’ Harvey said.” Whitten’s version of the contacts came in a sworn affidavit to the U.S. District Court, Central District of California, dated February 17, 1971, in support of a plea to reduce Rosselli’s prison sentence.

&nbs
p; I twice called William K. Harvey, a retired Central Intelligence Agency official, now of Indianapolis.

  On my first call, in January, I asked Harvey if it were not true that he had personally intervened with the Justice Department in order to mitigate the government’s prosecution of Rosselli on the basis that Rosselli had done a formidable service for his country. Harvey said, “this is a long story…. I don’t think it ought to be printed.” I asked him whether it was not true that he had a high regard for Rosselli. “I still do,” he earnestly replied.

  … I called Harvey again in Indianapolis, this date [February 17, 1971] and asked him whether he could comment on our story about Rosselli which by now has been published widely in the United States. He declined to comment. But he twice reaffirmed his “high regard” for Rosselli…. He expressed concern for Rosselli and said he would “follow up” on Rosselli’s behalf from his end.

  Six weeks later, on March 1, 1971, the CIA decided it had to intervene to protect its interests. Lawrence Houston and Edwards or Osborn called upon Immigration and Naturalization (INS) commissioner Raymond Farrell. “Houston got to the point by stating that we were concerned that Rosselli, in attempting to fight off deportation, may subpoena Bill Harvey and [O’Connell] to show that he worked for the Government, and use us as a plea for clemency.”

  The INS commissioner launched into a complicated explanation. Deportation would take a couple of years, and the Italian embassy would have to produce a document acknowledging that Johnny was Italian. It was INS’s experience “that the Italians are reluctant to issue such a paper on an individual of Rosselli’s ilk as they feel that he is a product of our environment and would prefer not to accept him back.”

  In a subsequent memo, the INS commissioner is quoted as having “assured us that they had no intention of returning Rosselli to Italy.”

  DISGRACE AND DRIFTING

  Tom Polgar recalls that sometime in 1966–67, Sally Harvey and the Polgars’ daughter exchanged overnights. “Bill was on the Board of Directors, Bethesda Country Club, and sponsored us for entry there.

  “He was not like the man I knew in the late ’40s and ’50s…. [CG and Bill] were still spitting venom about Rome station personnel and about John and Robert Kennedy. CG seemed to do most of the talking. Bill seemed rather withdrawn and quiet.”8

  A resumé Bill put together, probably around 1971, said he was “6 feet tall, 200 lbs., Health Excellent. Married, two children, 24 and 13.”

  He summarized his work experience from BOB to JMWAVE thus: “I directed units of 30 to 500 employees. These employees ranged from clerk typists to GS-18 level executives, including military personnel, scientists and specialists … also included assignment, career development and evaluation with supervision of personnel records and procedures.

  “I have an intimate knowledge of western Europe and the Middle East (12 yrs residence there). I have an excellent knowledge of German, usable Italian, fair French and some Russian.” The last assertions would have considerably amused even his close friends.

  That was the surface Harvey, out on the streets, looking for work. I asked Ted Shackley if Bill had been despondent after his retirement. Ted’s answer was laconic. “It was another phase of his life. He had to adjust to it. He was not visibly bitter.

  “Physically, he was beginning to have heart problems. He kept losing weight, then gaining it back. He stopped drinking for a while.

  “After he retired, he did some investigative work for corporations here in D.C. But he didn’t feel he had to work at it.”9

  JOHN BARRON ON THE OBSCURE YEARS

  The final memorandum in Bill’s FBI personnel file, dated June 12, 1969, notes that Harvey called Cartha DeLoach, a very senior Bureau officer, to make a matter of record that he had been approached by John Barron of Reader’s Digest for cooperation on Barron’s monumental book on the KGB. Harvey wanted to record that “he would probably talk with Barron.”

  Barron is one of the doughtiest supporters of Harvey, whom he first met when Barron was a Navy officer in Berlin in the early 1950s. The friendship waned until both were in Washington at the same time in the late 1960s.

  “When I learned he was in law practice, I invited him to the very elegant Reader’s Digest office on Rhode Island Avenue…. We had a drink, and he gave me the benefit of his judgment on the KGB. Then and later, he helped me a lot on the KGB book … gave me guidance and insights.

  “He was practicing law then, but a lot of people don’t know that he did a lot of pro bono work for his friends….

  “We developed the habit of meeting around five in the afternoon, having a few Scotches, talking till seven or eight, then going out to dinner, where we might have a glass of champagne and a bottle of wine.

  “When RD first considered attempting the book, we did what amounted to a feasibility study.” Bill helped Barron evaluate the confusing Soviet defectors. “Harvey gave me profound advice…. He told me how to appeal to the various foreign services. If you read the book, you’ll notice stuff from the Middle East … from Syria and Lebanon. Significant stuff. That’s because Bill told me [to cast a wide net].

  “He facilitated meetings with distinguished CIA officers, Win Scott, for instance, in 1969–1970, when he was still in Washington. It got to be, I was taking more and more of his time. He began to review draft chapters.

  “The Reader’s Digest never paid anyone for an interview, but I thought it was unfair…. I didn’t want to take too much advantage of him, so we offered to pay for his expertise. Bill answered, and I’ll never forget it, ‘What we are discussing is not for sale or barter!’ Thereafter, and because of that remark, it never occurred to me later to suggest we collaborate on a book.”10

  HARVEY AS A ROMANTIC

  Was Bill upset about leaving the Agency? Sally says, “He would never have let us know something like that, but it must have been a hell of a wrench for him.”

  There is a whiff of a story that his Chevy Chase house was burglarized in about September or October 1967, but we have no details. Sally Harvey recalls, “Dad said he was a marked man. There were bugs in our house in Washington. The Agency sent people out to debug it.

  “We never felt the pressure, ever. I can’t put emotions like ‘sad’ or ‘depressed’ on him. I simply didn’t see them.”

  Despite all the ups and the many downs of his last years around Washington, it may be well-nigh impossible to picture Harvey as a romantic. But he had his moments.

  Sally recalls that at some point, while they were still in Chevy Chase, Bill went to London on business and returned triumphantly with a beautiful one carat diamond, complete with authenticity certificate, which he presented to CG, to whom he never had given a ring. It was during a period when the family’s finances were iffy, and CG was upset about the expenditure. She never wore the ring, which, prudently, went into the family’s safe deposit box.

  Harvey more than once showed this streak of impulsiveness. Once, when they were broke, he bought Sally a seventy-five-dollar christening dress, which provoked CG to ask, “Jesus, Bill, what are you doing?”

  Then there was the time that he “went out and sold Mom’s white Ford station wagon—the one she had in Rome—just went right out and sold it, and bought a Dodge RV. One of those with a pop-top. He was so proud of it! It could sleep six. The back seat folded down to make a bed, and there were cots for us kids.”

  CG screamed, “What the hell have you done?”

  Bill explained, “We’re going to go camping for two months…. We’ll go out the southern route and come back the northern way. We’ll see the U.S. Hell, I know Europe better than I do my own country…. I even got a vehicle that has a toilet in it, just for you!”

  CG did not come on the trip. Bill and his two kids drove off across America. “Bill had been an Eagle Scout, remember. He cooked over a campfire all the time. We had to stop at every saloon, too, to see the history.” Sally says Bill was not drinking on the trip. “But Jim finally said, ‘I’m not getti
ng out of this car any more!’

  “We did Kentucky and Tennessee, Wyoming—we saw Old Faithful and the bears, and Colorado, and North and South Dakota, Canada. We came back to Washington through Indianapolis.”

  When they got back, they beheld CG’s revenge. She had put an addition onto the house in their absence. When Bill went back to work, he left the van with CG “to go shopping in.” She soon “bought something more suitable.”

  “Was he happy? Yes, I guess so. But I really can’t remember. If Bill talked to anyone, he talked to Mom, but he shielded us.

  “I had a happy time in D.C.”

  Bill worked, probably in criminal law, for an outfit called Bishop Services, and he tried to practice on his own for about a year. “One dinnertime, Mom was on edge. Dad had to go out to meet a client, in a very bad section of Washington, at a very late hour. Even Dad was skeptical about the meeting, but he went.

  “Then one day, he came home and said, very suddenly, ‘We’re moving.’ I really didn’t want to move out to Indianapolis.”11

  At some point, the Harveys must have assessed their situation and decided Washington 1969 was not Berlin 1956. Bill, for all his bravado, undoubtedly felt cut off from the brotherhood that had once crystallized around him. Maybe he felt bitter that the brothers so rarely looked him up or, when they did, that they acted awkwardly and could talk so little shop.

  The possibility of making a respectable living in the capital must have seemed increasingly illusory. He managed to find odd legal jobs here and there, including some work for Rosselli, but the contacts he had—people like Ed Morgan—just didn’t want to know. Bill’s copybook was too stained.

  Maybe Bill just felt life would be safer and more comfortable back in the Midwest. By 1970 the years of battering his physical self had taken their toll. The house next to his mother in Indianapolis’s northern suburbs was available. Maybe that was the decisive factor: Why not retreat to midwestern tranquility?