Now stroll we byways of autumnal days
And golden moments meld with some replays.
And golden moments meld with some replays.
Retirement from career employment does not mean retirement from life. The reaction of the individual to a sudden gift of the hours previously devoted to the demands of the workplace varies enormously. Some adapt quickly to a day featuring golf, bridge, and travel. Others, at the other end of the spectrum, though freed from any need to earn a livelihood, are inescapably drawn back to a full-time job. Most, I would say, establish over time a pattern mixing volunteerism and leisure activities. It is in this middle category that I found myself without any determined effort to pursue a particular course.
Having been very busy until age 60, I felt it was time that such activities as henceforth would occupy my time either involve my wife or at least would not separate us, and permit us both to see as much of our family as would yield mutual enjoyment.
At the time of my retirement in 1972, four daughters were all out on their own; two sons were still in college. Our first project was to plan a trip to Switzerland so the boys could be added to the one daughter, Julie, who had already been there. This we did, and a grand trip we had in July-August.
By rented car, an Opel Ascona, we covered much of the ground my father and mother, and later I, had known, adding as bonus a week at the school for mountain climbers in the Bernese Oberland village of Meiringen. Such a trip is forever a joy.
River Bend House
In 1965, we had acquired a nice building lot on the River Bend golf course in Great Falls. It was time to do something about that. My wife tells me that I spend more time planning a project than it takes to complete it. There is a measure of truth in that.
While planning the house to build on the lot, we enrolled in a course in real estate given by the Fairfax County adult education program. We would both study the lesson, then I would carry our books and we headed for class, held at Herndon High School. Our instructor was John Ellis, a realtor. We much enjoyed his superior presentations.
Come graduation, we took the examination given by the Virginia Real Estate Commission. Later, I dusted off my license and worked part-time for Great Falls Country Properties. It was a good way of really getting acquainted with what was to become our new neighborhood.
The big adventure came in the building of our new home. I wanted to participate in its construction. In my younger days I had drawn many plans for others to execute. Now it was time to be more personally involved in the finished product.
I was fortunate to find Harold Schrock, a builder who liked to do most of the work himself. A careful workman from Pennsylvania Dutch country, he was willing to sign me on as his helper. We started in May 1974. Miriam and I moved in on Memorial Day, 1975.
After several starts, the plan used was a modification of one found in one of the numerous magazines of the early 1970s featuring house plans. It is not our ideal home, but we stuck to our budget, making compromises and trade-offs as necessary in accordance with the priorities we had set. Indeed, we sit comfortably on a three-acre lot overlooking well-fenced fairways. We pretty much live on the upper story of a split-level house. The lower level accommodates visiting family and other guests.
Having spent more than 30 years, first in the Navy, then in CIA, I was no stranger to the intricacies and frustrations common to dealing with bureaucracies. In getting the necessary permits, approvals of my plans, the septic system, the well, and countless stages during construction, I was given a full course in big county government by the authorities of Fairfax County.
But the satisfaction of building something that has at least some longevity far outweighs the trials and tribulations that are very much a part of such an undertaking. I know where every nail in the house is.
At first, I walked the timbers with some timidity. Soon I was like a cat on the roof. By the time it came to nailing down the asphalt shingles, it was August and seasonably hot. Shirtless and in shorts I knelt, my knees on the hot tarpaper. So hot was it that when I got up, the skin on my knees remained, forever part of the roof.
By coldest winter, the fireplace was operational, giving off some heat, while Miriam and I, bundled up, mounted the exterior plywood sheets on sawhorses and liberally applied stain prior to their being nailed on. A stain smudge on the fireplace survives as a mark of our enthusiasm.
County inspectors also showed enthusiasm. One inspector didn't like the hearth. That called for a special project. Another didn't like the size of a window. It had to be ripped out. But eventually, there it was, and is.
What fun we had shopping for lumber, bricks, paint, fixtures, carpeting, appliances, and furniture. And how proud we were as we viewed a structure others surely by no means considered out of the ordinary.
After living in it now for more than ten years, there is little we would change in the basic layout. We have had other projects, but none to match this one in scope.
Realtor
My short career in real estate affiliated with the Great Falls Country Properties must surely have been a disappointment to my broker, Pauline Ross. Meetings would be held, and all were encouraged to set high sales targets for the coming months. I would respond with a very low figure and could not be talked into raising it. I wanted my participation to be minimal, with no interference with Saturday's golf or our Sunday routine. I refused to baby-sit homes on show. I disliked the task of constantly updating office records.
What I did like was land exploration. Miriam and I would start off with a spool of colorful ribbon, stakes, rangefinder, maps, plats and machete. Donned with protective jeans, hiking shoes and gloves, we would locate and mark lot corners and lines so each property could readily be shown to a prospect. We put up signs and generally made it a fun outing, on occasion even taking along a snack should we decide to picnic.
Clients were acquired while on duty when someone called the office in response to an ad or having a general interest in the Great Falls area. Or someone, knowing I was involved, would recommend me to an acquaintance. Or casual conversation on the golf course or elsewhere might reveal an interest in property as an investment. My greatest pleasure came from finding a young couple who were looking for a lot where one day they might be able to afford to build a home. Ingenuity in arranging financing was often the key to a sale. My style was soft-sell. An investment in real property is too important a step for anyone to be talked into a purchase he or she might later regret. I wanted people to be able to think back upon the day they bought as a lucky day.
I recall one couple who did not at first buy. We had spent much time together and had had lunch at the Country Club. Two years later they showed up at the office. I was not on duty, and they could not remember my name. But they refused to do business with anyone else. Finally, I was identified because they remembered the make of car I drove. I was called at home. They were now ready to buy. And two hours later they did buy a lot. That is a happy story.
Other stories are not so happy. The real estate business, like any other human activity, has its full range of saints and scoundrels. Some people, agents and clients, will tell you anything to make a buck or to get you to do work they themselves should be doing.
Once the novelty of the business wore off, an increasing impatience welled within me as calls from prospects reached me. Moreover, the local firm I was with, GFCP, was being acquired by a large, multi-branch organization. This was sure to bring in its wake an augmentation of bureaucratic practices. It was time to get out.
Still, I cherish this experience and have retained very good friends among fellow realtors and clients. Only recently my wife and I had dinner with Richard and Jane Gephardt. Gephardt had come to Washington as a freshman congressman from St. Louis, and I had sold him his house. Snow days had held up the arrival of his household goods, and, as a consequence, Dick, Jane, their two children, two aides and a dog spent something over a week as our houseguests. Neither they nor we have forgotten those days.
Here is a bit of verse I read at the GFCP Christmas party (1976):
Time has come to take a reading
Of our jolly office band.
Is the bustle truly leading
To the REALTOR'S promised land?
Some of us return for schooling
Code of ethics we are taught
Is the honored golden rule in
Simply being what we ought.
Pauline's working on her taxes
Pat is killing snakes galore
DuLac peddles printing still as
Reinhardt visits Oman's shore.
Maureen lures elusive clients
Still more homes and lots are shown
Listings mount in grim defiance
Borel sorts them with a groan.
Will the Summer's house yet sell?
Shall we climb the Eagon Hills?
Can the Vet make Pat's dog well?
Where's the dough to pay the bills?
But since Christmas is upon us
Let us pass a word of cheer
Thankful that we are in business
Ready for another year.
Community Mental Health
In 1978, I became aware of the work of the Northwest Center for Community Mental Health (NWCCMH).
One of my neighbors told me something about the work of the Center. I attended a meeting of the Governing Board and shortly was asked to become a member. I told them I was interested in the Board's work, but did not want to attend lengthy meetings in a smoke-filled conference room. To my surprise, I was told that, if I would join, smoking in the conference room itself would thereafter be prohibited. Thus my introduction to public attempts to come to grips with one of our most serious national problems: mental health.
I was to serve four years, until 1982, as a member of the Board of Governors, as vice president, as member of the executive committee, and as chairman of the special committee formed for the selection of a new director for the Center.
The Center is one of three located in Virginia's Fairfax County, operating under the general umbrella of the Community Services Board, which covers Northern Virginia. Our "catchment area" encompassed 177 square miles (44% of the County's land area) and over 204,000 people (one-third of the population). The main office was at Isaac Newton Square in Reston which, together with satellite offices, provided space for the 100 clinical and administrative professionals. This staff was assisted by some 125 volunteers, without whose services the entire effort would have been appreciably curtailed. The clinical staff were psychiatrists, psychologists and social service workers.
Our clients were all ages. The nature of their troubles seemed endless. For one reason or another they were unable to cope. Some felt their lives were going out of control. Some were depressed and bordered on the suicidal. Some were alcoholics, others undernourished. There were kids who couldn't cope with school or parents. Parents who couldn't control their kids. The aged who couldn't cope with being shunted aside. Battered wives and abused children. The lost soul just released from the State institution.
To respond to these needs, the Center organized emergency hotlines and partial hospitalization for patients needing intensive therapy; contracted for inpatient treatment; conducted outreach programs; made available shelter for battered wives; held Relax N Rap sessions with teenagers; and staffed a comprehensive program of education through lectures and workshops. It was, of course, essential to keep very good records of cases handled, which numbered some 3,000 per year. The educational phase reached an additional 16,000.
The role of the Governing Board was to set policy and to assure the proper operation of the Center in its response to community needs, reviewing all budgets, program changes and priorities. Board members were drawn from the community and represented the Center to the community.
For these purposes we had about $2½ million a year. As we moved into the period when the Federal Government shifted the burden to the States, program expansion came to a halt and curtailments loomed.
It takes a special kind of person to work in this field full-time without getting discouraged – or rather, in the face of discouragement to persist – and to bring a measure of surcease to this growing segment of our population. For the stress of life as we know it adds daily to the population residing between those able to cope and the mentally retarded.
On the occasion of the departure of a colleague on the Board, I wrote some farewell lines, which ended with a wish shared by us all:
Thus we want to wish you well
As we share a warm embrace
And that fortune not compel
That you come back as a case!
Capital University
In the spring of 1977, the Reverend William L. Nies, my former pastor, then living in Florida, passed through Washington. He came by the house for a visit, which, it turned out, had a purpose other than social. He wanted me to stand for election as a Regent of Capital University, located in Columbus, Ohio. Our conversation led to my agreement to run, and his preliminary work led to my election. This surprised me inasmuch as I had never set foot on that campus. Thus began an association of four years, 1977-1981, which I much enjoyed and value still.
Capital University, founded in 1850, is the oldest of the educational institutions of the American Lutheran Church. It has a campus of 25 buildings set on 48 acres and it is committed to the liberal arts and science philosophy. Its program is both broad and strong and includes an outstanding conservatory of music, a school of nursing, a graduate school of administration, and a law school. In 1977, the student body numbered 2700 (with a hundred more women than men because of the nursing school); the full-time faculty numbered 150.
The Board of Regents consisted of twenty some clerical and lay members representing the three districts of the ALC which "owned" Capital University. Our job was to oversee university operations. We hired the president, approved senior appointments, set the budget, promoted faculty, approved curriculae, set tuition rates. Indeed no important aspect of university life did not come under our aegis.
At the time of my appearance on the scene, a major capital improvement drive was underway which was supposed to bring in $8 million for new construction. The endowment fund was low for a university of this size and age. Student applications were falling off. This was serious because 80% of our revenue was dependent on student tuition. But if we raised tuition too much, we risked driving away prospective students. We were not far from Ohio State, where tuition was half what we had to charge. Worse, construction was underway for the new Science and Nursing Building based on pledges that it became apparent would never be collected. There was also turmoil in the academic community generally concerning the "core" curriculum.
Why was our endowment so low? It appeared that the president, Tom Langevin, had used funds to keep the school going that normally would have gone to augment the endowment fund. About that time Langevin, having served as president nine years, decided to retire. So the regents were faced with a major task: to select a new president in the face of very difficult financial problems.
So they were exciting years, years during which the regents, the faculty, the owner church, alumni and students were all concerned. Would we end up by having to close shop? We were optimistic enough to reject such an alternative.
Next to us, on what used to be a common campus, was the Trinity Lutheran Seminary, a fine institution that at one time had been a part of Capital University and under the same Board of Regents. We could not see forsaking this sister institution. We also shunned the harm that Capital's demise would bring to Bexley, the Columbus suburb in which Cap stands. However, our main motivation was a shared feeling that this, and other small, private universities, had a unique and indispensable role to play in keeping America strong.
The lay members of the Board were an interesting cross-section of institutional representation: the foundation president; the insurance company president; the executive vice president of the leading department store; the head of an investment company; a farmer; a minister's wife; the mother of a Cap student who was a Cap alumna; an attorney; the president of a local manufacturing company, also an alumnus; a vice president of a leading rubber company (Goodrich).
These and the clerical members were assigned to various committees responsible for recommending action to the Board itself. My first assignment was to the academic committee whose main task was to restructure the curriculum. From there I moved to the finance committee, where hard decisions had to be made regarding investments, sale and acquisition of property, tuition rates, salaries, and reconciling the disparity between income and outgo. On one occasion I spent an entire week at the school trying to get on top of these problems. This was a task made more enjoyable because at that time my daughter Elaine Foster and her family made their home in the Columbus suburb of Worthington.
Later, I was elected to the Executive Committee, which met with some frequency to prepare for meetings of the full Board and to conduct business requiring action between Board meetings. All in all, this experience gave me an insight into the running of a university that my many years as student at five campuses had not provided.
The activities on campus provided pleasurable hours: soirees at the residence of the president, dinners of the Capital Foundation, campus tours, chats with faculty and students, and, of course, graduation exercises.
The most memorable commencement resulted less from what was said than from the renown of the commencement speaker, Bob Hope, who spoke to the graduates on May 21, 1978. As he, the regents and others gathered to form the cortege, we found him delightfully informal and unrepressed in his conversation. Even his address, after our solemn march down the aisle to the strains of Walton's "Crown Imperial," was rife with illustrative humor: ". . . This is your graduation day and you must feel like Phyllis Diller's skin – you’ve gone about as far as you can go. And today you get your sheepskin. I hope it brings more luck to you than it did to the sheep."
I have mentioned our eventual need to find a new president. This is a procedure beyond belief in its deliberateness, the need to check with every constituent group having a stake in the university, and the checking of the credentials of those who have in response to our invitation indicated an interest in the position.
It used to be that presidents once in place stayed put. No more. Four or so years
and they are ready to move on – some to better jobs at other schools, some to the private sector, some are just burned out by the demands of raising money, fighting government regulations, reconciling contentious faculties, coping with student unrest, avoiding suits by minorities believing themselves discriminated against.
We eventually found an excellent man, Rev. Harvey Stegemoeller, whose gracious wife, Marian, added much to the gifts he brought to our campus. One weekend, they were guests in our home, for he had been chosen to preach on Reformation Sunday in Washington's great National Cathedral. We had the man we needed, and things have improved financially and in every way since he took over. He did say that had he known how bad our financial picture was he would probably have turned down the job. Know anyone with an extra two million dollars?
Borel Company Reprise
My recent association with Jules Borel & Co. of Kansas City and its associated entities in Miami (Borel), Los Angeles (Borel-Frei), and Oakland (Frei-Borel), was formalized shortly after the death of the Company's president, my brother Pete.
I say recent because in earlier years I had had ties with the Company, first as part-time employee during high school days, and for a time beginning in 1947, as a silent partner holding a small share (5%).
In late 1952, my father and my brothers encouraged me to leave government service and return to Kansas City to assume an active part in the direction of the Company.
Dec. 25, 1952
Dear Paul,
I've been wanting to write you for sometime, but as usual seem never to find the time. Christmas day is nearly over and the children are in bed, so I thought I'd finish up this fine day by telling you what has been on your partners' minds since sometime ago. I am sure it is nothing new to you.
Dad, Mark, John and I have frequently talked together regarding the condition of our business. All in all we haven't done too badly with the way things have been handled, but we all feel that we are just scratching the surface of the possibilities that lie ahead. I find that the larger we become the more important real leadership is, and I know that my lack of training and inclination along this line will not allow us to take full advantage of these possibilities.
Because of this, we all think it would be wonderful if you could see your way clear to coming to Kansas City and taking over the management of the company. I don't have any idea whether you wish to stay with the government the rest of your life, but if coming to Kansas City and being with the rest of the clan appeals to you, I feel sure that we can work out something satisfactory as far as money is concerned. We figure that some sort of arrangement would be made so that you could buy into the partnership and that eventually the ownership could perhaps be split 24% for John, Mark, you and myself; with the remaining 4% to Toni. Of course this is something that would have to be worked out to everyone's satisfaction, but it shows you that we are all in a very cooperative frame of mind.
We would make a good team – all of us – and you could certainly count on my cooperation 100%. Financially, in the long run, I am sure you would come out considerably ahead and the families would have a grand time being together. I surely hope you will give this plan serious consideration. It would be wonderful working together and there is no doubt in my mind that we would make great strides ahead with you at the helm. Paul, drop us just a note as soon as you can giving us your thoughts on this matter. We are all very anxious to hear from you. Wanting you here is unanimous with all of us without any reservations whatsover.
Many thanks to Mid for the lovely sport shirt she sent me for Christmas and also for the little sweater and toy for the boys. The big get-together took place at John's house today and, as always, a wonderful time was had by all.
I hope Mid is feeling well. Please give her our love. Joyce joins me in sending each one of you our warmest thoughts.
Your brother,
Pete
Again, I was torn between continuing what I had set out to do in CIA and returning to join family members and thus further strengthening blood ties that over the years had remained close. I persisted with my post-war choice.
Nevertheless over the years I occasionally was involved in assignments of short duration, particularly when my presence in Washington was useful. At one point, for example, we were looking for a name for a line of watches we wished to market, and I learned something of the job of researching the holdings of the Department of Commerce's Patent and Trademark Office. We eventually chose "Mallard." Then we got into difficulties with the U.S. Customs. Civil and criminal charges were brought alleging collaboration with a Swiss supplier to misrepresent the value of imported watch crowns and therefore paying insufficient import duties. The financial impact of paying accumulated back charges, interest, and treble damages for intent to defraud would have been a blow to this small company. The time and expense involved in the defense efforts over a period of over two years was a heavy toll in itself.
How does something like this happen? Three independent factors were at work: (1) the complexity (and ambiguity) of customs regulations; (2) company importation through different sources – mainly Kansas City and Miami; (3) differing interpretation of regulations among customs officials as well as by us. For example: if a watch crown is made of one piece, the tariff is so much. If made of two pieces, it's twice as much. And, is the crown part of the movement when attached to the winding stem or part of the watch case? That would make a difference also.
Another complication. A suit was brought against us in Miami; another in Kansas City. I met with Treasury officials about consolidating suits.
The outcome for the Company was entirely satisfactory. A Grand Jury threw out the Government's criminal charges. Later, the civil suits were consolidated in Miami. Much later, August 16, 1979, we got a letter from Miami customs: "We are in receipt of a decision rendered by our Washington Headquarters. With regard to the violation of the misdescription of watch crowns, the claim is remitted. The claim for failure to declare certain discounts is cancelled. In view of the above, the matter is closed in the files of this office."
David had conquered Goliath.
A more formal affiliation with the Company began on November 16, 1978, when action was taken by the shareholders of Jules Borel & Co. A board of directors was elected, and from that date until May 1985, I served as chairman, and remained thereafter as board member. Our main effort in this period has been to guide the Company toward greater profitability while giving it a clearer sense of identity. This in a period when four of my nephews are actively engaged as middle managers under the direction of my brother Mark, the Company's president.
The psychological rewards of working closely with family members are, as anyone would guess, somewhat offset by the accommodations necessary to avoid rifts within the family, whose members in this case happen also to own the business. Basic to this situation is the fact that you can't fire the owners! An even keel must be held as between owner-employees bringing to the demands of the business their differing abilities, talents, commitments and expectations. Moreover, non-family employees who have no prospect of becoming owners must be provided with some incentive if they are to remain and give a credible performance.
With an opportunity to place family members in Oakland, Los Angeles and Miami as well as in Kansas City, it had been my hope that there would be interest on the part of my nephews to move and in this sense be more on their own. But no. The attractions of all staying together in Kansas City were too great, in some way reminding me of my father's once-held dream of having a Swiss village concept for his sons and daughter: There, within close proximity the family could expand and keep strong the ties of blood. It was this absence of interest on the part of any of my nephews to take over the Miami office that led to its sale to a competitor in 1983.
In 1972, we had organized a Borel Group. This included companies in Cleveland, Denver, Pittsburgh in which Jules Borel & Co. had no financial interest joining with us for limited purposes: joint purchasing, advertising, warehousing, communications (WATS lines). This Group was abolished in 1984. Both Steve Borel, our attorney and board secretary, and I had reservations about our being able to continue the Group without violating the geographic and organizational restrictions of the Anti-Trust laws, believing the risks outweighed the benefit of this corporate arrangement with our various company entities and competitors.
All in all we've had some interesting times and good meetings. Always we move easily from business discussions to the more relaxed family social affairs that follow our board meetings. Business has been good, and everyone is still eating. And I know that my father, the Company's founder, would be pleased to see things going as smoothly as they are over 65 years since he began his operation out of a portable case.
CIA Retiree
Since their inception I have been active in two groups of retired intelligence officers: AFIO – Association of Former Intelligence Officers, and CIRA – Central Intelligence Retirees' Association. The former, AFIO, includes people from all intelligence agencies of the U.S. government: CIA; State; Defense; Treasury; FBI. It is mission oriented, that is, its purpose is to educate Congress and the public to the need for a strong U.S. intelligence effort. The latter, CIRA, limits its membership to CIA retirees and exists solely for fraternal and social purposes – people keeping in touch with those with whom they have worked or shared a unique experience.
We started CIRA in 1974. I say we because I was a charter member and represented the Intelligence Directorate on the five-man organizing team which drew up our constitution and by-laws. I served CIRA as vice president (1977-78), as editor of its quarterly journal (1982-83) and as a member of its governing board (1984-present).
The duties of the vice president were minimal. At one point I did do considerable calling and leg-work to line up a luncheon speaker, former presidential Republican nominee Senator Barry Goldwater. That luncheon was held at the Kenwood Country Club in April 1978. After I completed my introduction of him – I have always liked him – he turned and said: "You know, Paul, I tell my wife all these nice things about myself every night. But she just turns over and goes to sleep." We do get interesting speakers. Henry Kissinger, Dick Helms, Hugh Sidey and Alexander Haig come to mind as among the best.
Taking over the editorship of the CIRA Newsletter was another matter. The only editor the magazine had had was Al Ginder. He, over a period of seven years (during which our membership had grown to 2,300 and our readership perhaps 10,000), had developed an easy and effective manner of communication. About half our membership is in the greater Washington area, the rest all over the world, with concentrations in Florida, California and Texas. This splendid man, Ginder, died in 1981, and somehow I was asked to write something appropriate for the CIRA Newsletter to accompany a review of his stewardship. It was this piece that, I believe, led to my then being asked to take on the editorship. So I gave it a shot. It was an interesting undertaking, while time-consuming and, yes, confining, as might be expected when one man puts out a printed, profusely illustrated magazine that ran up to 48 pages per issue. But it was quite good fun. The magazine was a quarterly, but deadlines for each of many steps leading to publication appeared surprisingly soon.
The satisfaction yielded by this project was two-fold. The sheer joy of starting with nothing and ending up some weeks later with something approaching the standard for which I had striven. And the generous response of the journal's recipients expressed in many ways, not least in their letters reporting publishable news items.
In the end, I gave up the editorship to obtain a greater degree of flexibility in my schedule and to free time that might result in other writing.
From time to time news items served to remind me of a subject ever in the minds of CIA management: Security, physical as well as personal. In the fight to maintain security, all were enlisted. There were two special activities, however, whose sole mission it was to deal with this aspect of our work: the office of security and the counterintelligence staff.
When the polygraph machine was first introduced to assist in the Agency's security program, I had been a voluntary participant. For years we felt reassured, perhaps even smug, that security breaches experienced by British intelligence (e.g. Burgess, McLean, Philby) had no counterparts in CIA.
Ultimately, we found we were wrong. It was painful, even if it was after I retired, to read about those who betrayed the trust placed in them, the more so because they appeared of a sudden in such numbers, many in the very organizations I had considered it a privilege to serve most of my life, the Navy and CIA.
The year 1985, when a dozen some micreants surfaced, was indeed the year of the spy. Of these only one was known to me personally, Larry Wu-Tai Chin. He had been an analyst in FBIS during the administration of several directorships, including my own. According to his own statement, he had been spying for China for over 30 years in order to effect a rapproachment between the US and China. This altruistic motive was suspect when it became known that over time he had been paid in excess of $800,000 for his services to China. I knew him as a gifted linguist, a tall, quiet-spoken and courtly man. During my tenure as head of FBIS, I had transferred him in 1970 from our West Coast Bureau in Santa Rosa, California, to headquarters. On February 21, 1986, two weeks after a federal jury found him guilty of crimes that could have led to life imprisonment, Chin committed suicide in his cell by placing a plastic bag over his head.
The year before, a retired CIA employee with whom I had worked, Dr. Waldo Dubberstein, one of CIA's top experts on the Middle East, was found to be involved with Edmund Wilson, illegally furnishing information and arms to Libya's Gaddaffi. Dubberstein placed a shotgun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.
Such matters brought pain beyond the depredations visited upon CIA by often politically motivated outcries by members of Congress, or by irresponsible members of the Press.
Such matters also brought a smile as I recollected my mother's response when publicity adverse to CIA was brought to her attention by acquaintances: "I know CIA is all right or my son would not be working there."
Class Reunions
For those who have had a happy experience on campus, one of the dividends of the later years is the occasional return there. New buildings may be encroaching on the green of the yard. The bustle of students much increased by a multiplication of the number of enrollees. But still is heard the echo of past voices in those distant classrooms.
The big events are, of course, those planned to commemorate special anniversaries, especially the 25th and the 50th. High schools are less prone than universities to do this – and the changes at high schools likely to be more drastic, and usually more disappointing, than those at colleges.
As an alumnus of four universities, there is much to choose from. In fact my participation has been very limited. I have never been back for an affair at Columbia, but have attended three or four held in Washington. Apart from an occasional special event held by the George Washington University Law School, my return there is when Miriam and I take in some of the First Wednesday lectures, where dinner at the Faculty Club in advance of the lecture can be very pleasant. The Class of '38 of the Harvard Business School is another matter. It holds reunions at the drop of a hat, and these may be anywhere. Last year's was in Bangkok. The one before at Boston-Cape Cod. Another at Boston- London-Scotland (for some), Iberia (for others). We have enjoyed the ones we have attended, often limiting our participation to the Boston phase. The School schedules first-class lectures especially for these. It is in every sense a return to school (without the burden of homework).
Three reunions in the Middle West come especially to mind. In 1974, the Class of'34 of the University of Kansas held its 40th anniversary reunion. I served as Emcee for that affair, so was much involved. Then in 1979, Kansas City's Northeast High School Class of '29 held its 50th, the first reunion the Class had ever held. Again I served as Emcee. Believe me when I say I really studied the yearbooks, and my telephone bill went sky-high. But much good work had been done in preparation for the event by a fine planning committee. Its members had worked for two years locating classmates. What a time we had, first at the school itself, then at the Alameda Plaza Hotel.
Then in 1984, KU's Class of '34 had its 50th, and I was tagged to chair the organizing committee. Lot of work, lot of satisfaction, lot of fun. With spouses we numbered 200. They came from all over, even from abroad.
Such events are well worth the investment of time and personal effort, for they bring joy to many in the remembering and in the present doing.
Excerpt from Kansas Alumni, September 1984:
Borel Defines Class's Mystique
Though he would be the last to admit it, Paul Arnold Borel, e'34, was a Big Man on Campus in the early '30s. He roomed with Charles Spahr, later head of Standard Oil of Ohio; he ran with Glenn Cunningham, then the world's best miler; and he knew his way around the dance floor so well that, 50 years later, one former coed's favorite KU memory is of tripping the light fantastic with Borel.
After graduation, Borel worked in private industry until entering the Navy in 1940. From the Navy, he moved on to the Central Intelligence Agency, where, among other posts, he served as general manager of the entire intelligence production directorate.
Now retired, Borel plays golf, writes poetry and helps coordinate the affairs of a family business. He is the personification of the Class of 1934 and, as such, was asked by Kansas Alumni to explain the whys and wherefores of the extraordinary degree of success achieved by his classmates and himself. His response:
You have referred to the cluster of stars in the Class of '34 and asked: Why is this so?
I have never thought of our class in those terms, assuming rather that each class considered itself something a little special by reason of the shared experiences of its members.
Certainly each had to react to the times, which made unusual demands upon us: First, staying in school when, for many, to do so was often not easy; second, variously making our way in an economic environment where there were fewer desirable jobs than those who sought them; third, involvement in a world war of unprecedented dimensions during which we were for extended periods called upon to do new things, in strange places, with people not often of our choosing; fourth, readjusting to the imperatives of the normal life we had yearned for but missed for a goodly piece of our young adult lives.
We thus learned self-reliance. We felt the pulse of the moments of our learning. Muscle was toned by experience. We may have been captives of events, but the result was a self-confidence to tackle the new, certain that in all probability we could bring it off about as well as the next.
Someone has said that we live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths. On occasion, the times call for greater deeds and for clearer thinking. On such occasions past generations have responded, and future generations will respond again, each person seeking to fill the abyss in the center of himself.
Which to me means that our class may not after all be more special than its predecessor or any other.
I think of KU in very personal terms: Where I spent four flourishing years; where I met a roommate who has been my lifelong friend; where I ran with a world-class miler whose vocabulary did not include the word quit; where four of my six children chose to matriculate, as has now a granddaughter; where two of my daughters met their husbands, who in turn now enrich our lives; and where the strains of "Crimson and the Blue" carry still their special message.
The Warming Hours of Leisure
I have mentioned travel abroad elsewhere, but perhaps it would not be amiss to add reference here to two outings closer to home. Both had unusual features.
My friend Burdick "Bert" Britten is a man of ideas. Most of them call for action. In early 1981, he resurrected the Indefatigable Marching Society (IMS), the name borne by a group that had in earlier days taken weekend trips in Switzerland while negotiations were being held with the Russians in Geneva on the Law of the Sea.
In its new mode, IMS was to be friends banded together to hike the towpath of the C&O Canal which extends for 184.5 miles from Cumberland, Maryland, to Georgetown, D.C. Some twenty people expressed interest in participating.
The scheme was to do so intermittently, primarily over a series of weekends. Advance scouts were to select starting and stopping points guided by the availability of parking and overnight accommodations, keeping in mind the point of participant exhaustion.
So it was. After 18 days, scattered intermittently between March 21 and November 7, four of us could say "we did it." Our average was just over ten miles per day, ranging from a high of 15.9 to a low of five, this by design the last day in order to preserve our strength for the party at The Foundry in Georgetown. We were even joined there by Dick Kearney, who had not walked one step of the way but was sufficiently impressed as to show up with ample champagne.
The scenery, always interesting, often splendid, the joy of the great outdoors, the stops for lunch (including champagne in plastic glasses of classic shape), all combined to make it a memorable experience.
The other trip was to our largest state.
In August 1985, Miriam and I did what many of you have done: we visited Alaska. It was our first trip there, and we undertook it with keen anticipation, based upon what we had heard and read. We were not disappointed.
Our pleasure in the trip was much enhanced by our travelling companions, my college roommate Charles Spahr and his wife, Jane. Spahr, retired chairman of SOHIO, had been there many times before – 66 to be exact – for SOHIO played a key role in the acquisition and development of petroleum reserves in the North Slope, as well as in the construction of the Alyeska Pipeline, the largest privately financed undertaking in history, involving costs of some $10 billion. The 48 " pipeline extends 800 miles from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez (where oil is loaded into tankers).
We flew to Vancouver, visited Victoria, then went by ship (the Cunard Princess) to Whittier via intercoastal waters (with stops at Ketchikan, Juneau and Skagway), made our way by train, bus, rental car and air successively to Anchorage, Denali National Park (Mt. McKinley), and Fairbanks. There, as guests of the head of the pipeline, we flew along the pipeline, stopping at pumping stations for briefings. Our return trip to Washington was by air out of Fairbanks.
Thus, we in effect had three distinctly different tours: the cruise along the coastline, never out of sight of incomparable beauty; the observation of wildlife, unique to the natural habitat that is the Denali park preserve; and low-level observation from the air following the course of the pipeline, that silver river, above ground when crossing the tundra, and otherwise below, through which the black gold of oil flows, bringing energy to U.S industry and accounting for 20% of all U.S. oil production.
Any one of these three things would have made our trip worthwhile. August seems the best of times to be in Alaska. Extremes of weather were not encountered. And life aboard a cruise ship permits of a full range of experiences: culinary, amusement, friendship, or just plain relaxation. Money you'll need. But as was said when someone asked how much the deceased left – he left it all!
I must get on with this, but cannot leave without mention of golf.
For years I have enjoyed the game. It is one sport calling for play against oneself, which permits of an enjoyable game with a stranger, and, most enjoyably, where one may share the camaraderie of playing with regulars in an ideal environment as I have done for 20 years with Bob Yorty and for perhaps half as long with Bert Brittin and Dick Kearney. This is something rather special. Included is participation in the Northern Virginia Golf League for Retired Men. I play badly, but the handicap system is a great equalizer.
Increasingly, I devote time to sorting out the accumulation of a lifetime. Letters, photographs, special books on Intelligence, reports and other memorabilia. Coming across bits long forgotten I reread – and the mind goes back to other times and climes when work or play with others, some long gone, was good and lent lustre to the quality of life.
With my books around me, in the quiet of my study, I examine the weavings of the past. To others I shall leave the uncertain future.
But excuse me. I hear Miriam, just returned from her jail ministry. Or is it bridge? Or a day with daughter Jane?
So I am happily brought back in time. After all, we two still have the present.
Having been very busy until age 60, I felt it was time that such activities as henceforth would occupy my time either involve my wife or at least would not separate us, and permit us both to see as much of our family as would yield mutual enjoyment.
At the time of my retirement in 1972, four daughters were all out on their own; two sons were still in college. Our first project was to plan a trip to Switzerland so the boys could be added to the one daughter, Julie, who had already been there. This we did, and a grand trip we had in July-August.
By rented car, an Opel Ascona, we covered much of the ground my father and mother, and later I, had known, adding as bonus a week at the school for mountain climbers in the Bernese Oberland village of Meiringen. Such a trip is forever a joy.
River Bend House
In 1965, we had acquired a nice building lot on the River Bend golf course in Great Falls. It was time to do something about that. My wife tells me that I spend more time planning a project than it takes to complete it. There is a measure of truth in that.
While planning the house to build on the lot, we enrolled in a course in real estate given by the Fairfax County adult education program. We would both study the lesson, then I would carry our books and we headed for class, held at Herndon High School. Our instructor was John Ellis, a realtor. We much enjoyed his superior presentations.
Come graduation, we took the examination given by the Virginia Real Estate Commission. Later, I dusted off my license and worked part-time for Great Falls Country Properties. It was a good way of really getting acquainted with what was to become our new neighborhood.
The big adventure came in the building of our new home. I wanted to participate in its construction. In my younger days I had drawn many plans for others to execute. Now it was time to be more personally involved in the finished product.
I was fortunate to find Harold Schrock, a builder who liked to do most of the work himself. A careful workman from Pennsylvania Dutch country, he was willing to sign me on as his helper. We started in May 1974. Miriam and I moved in on Memorial Day, 1975.
After several starts, the plan used was a modification of one found in one of the numerous magazines of the early 1970s featuring house plans. It is not our ideal home, but we stuck to our budget, making compromises and trade-offs as necessary in accordance with the priorities we had set. Indeed, we sit comfortably on a three-acre lot overlooking well-fenced fairways. We pretty much live on the upper story of a split-level house. The lower level accommodates visiting family and other guests.
Having spent more than 30 years, first in the Navy, then in CIA, I was no stranger to the intricacies and frustrations common to dealing with bureaucracies. In getting the necessary permits, approvals of my plans, the septic system, the well, and countless stages during construction, I was given a full course in big county government by the authorities of Fairfax County.
But the satisfaction of building something that has at least some longevity far outweighs the trials and tribulations that are very much a part of such an undertaking. I know where every nail in the house is.
At first, I walked the timbers with some timidity. Soon I was like a cat on the roof. By the time it came to nailing down the asphalt shingles, it was August and seasonably hot. Shirtless and in shorts I knelt, my knees on the hot tarpaper. So hot was it that when I got up, the skin on my knees remained, forever part of the roof.
By coldest winter, the fireplace was operational, giving off some heat, while Miriam and I, bundled up, mounted the exterior plywood sheets on sawhorses and liberally applied stain prior to their being nailed on. A stain smudge on the fireplace survives as a mark of our enthusiasm.
County inspectors also showed enthusiasm. One inspector didn't like the hearth. That called for a special project. Another didn't like the size of a window. It had to be ripped out. But eventually, there it was, and is.
What fun we had shopping for lumber, bricks, paint, fixtures, carpeting, appliances, and furniture. And how proud we were as we viewed a structure others surely by no means considered out of the ordinary.
After living in it now for more than ten years, there is little we would change in the basic layout. We have had other projects, but none to match this one in scope.
Realtor
My short career in real estate affiliated with the Great Falls Country Properties must surely have been a disappointment to my broker, Pauline Ross. Meetings would be held, and all were encouraged to set high sales targets for the coming months. I would respond with a very low figure and could not be talked into raising it. I wanted my participation to be minimal, with no interference with Saturday's golf or our Sunday routine. I refused to baby-sit homes on show. I disliked the task of constantly updating office records.
What I did like was land exploration. Miriam and I would start off with a spool of colorful ribbon, stakes, rangefinder, maps, plats and machete. Donned with protective jeans, hiking shoes and gloves, we would locate and mark lot corners and lines so each property could readily be shown to a prospect. We put up signs and generally made it a fun outing, on occasion even taking along a snack should we decide to picnic.
Clients were acquired while on duty when someone called the office in response to an ad or having a general interest in the Great Falls area. Or someone, knowing I was involved, would recommend me to an acquaintance. Or casual conversation on the golf course or elsewhere might reveal an interest in property as an investment. My greatest pleasure came from finding a young couple who were looking for a lot where one day they might be able to afford to build a home. Ingenuity in arranging financing was often the key to a sale. My style was soft-sell. An investment in real property is too important a step for anyone to be talked into a purchase he or she might later regret. I wanted people to be able to think back upon the day they bought as a lucky day.
I recall one couple who did not at first buy. We had spent much time together and had had lunch at the Country Club. Two years later they showed up at the office. I was not on duty, and they could not remember my name. But they refused to do business with anyone else. Finally, I was identified because they remembered the make of car I drove. I was called at home. They were now ready to buy. And two hours later they did buy a lot. That is a happy story.
Other stories are not so happy. The real estate business, like any other human activity, has its full range of saints and scoundrels. Some people, agents and clients, will tell you anything to make a buck or to get you to do work they themselves should be doing.
Once the novelty of the business wore off, an increasing impatience welled within me as calls from prospects reached me. Moreover, the local firm I was with, GFCP, was being acquired by a large, multi-branch organization. This was sure to bring in its wake an augmentation of bureaucratic practices. It was time to get out.
Still, I cherish this experience and have retained very good friends among fellow realtors and clients. Only recently my wife and I had dinner with Richard and Jane Gephardt. Gephardt had come to Washington as a freshman congressman from St. Louis, and I had sold him his house. Snow days had held up the arrival of his household goods, and, as a consequence, Dick, Jane, their two children, two aides and a dog spent something over a week as our houseguests. Neither they nor we have forgotten those days.
Here is a bit of verse I read at the GFCP Christmas party (1976):
Time has come to take a reading
Of our jolly office band.
Is the bustle truly leading
To the REALTOR'S promised land?
Some of us return for schooling
Code of ethics we are taught
Is the honored golden rule in
Simply being what we ought.
Pauline's working on her taxes
Pat is killing snakes galore
DuLac peddles printing still as
Reinhardt visits Oman's shore.
Maureen lures elusive clients
Still more homes and lots are shown
Listings mount in grim defiance
Borel sorts them with a groan.
Will the Summer's house yet sell?
Shall we climb the Eagon Hills?
Can the Vet make Pat's dog well?
Where's the dough to pay the bills?
But since Christmas is upon us
Let us pass a word of cheer
Thankful that we are in business
Ready for another year.
Community Mental Health
In 1978, I became aware of the work of the Northwest Center for Community Mental Health (NWCCMH).
One of my neighbors told me something about the work of the Center. I attended a meeting of the Governing Board and shortly was asked to become a member. I told them I was interested in the Board's work, but did not want to attend lengthy meetings in a smoke-filled conference room. To my surprise, I was told that, if I would join, smoking in the conference room itself would thereafter be prohibited. Thus my introduction to public attempts to come to grips with one of our most serious national problems: mental health.
I was to serve four years, until 1982, as a member of the Board of Governors, as vice president, as member of the executive committee, and as chairman of the special committee formed for the selection of a new director for the Center.
The Center is one of three located in Virginia's Fairfax County, operating under the general umbrella of the Community Services Board, which covers Northern Virginia. Our "catchment area" encompassed 177 square miles (44% of the County's land area) and over 204,000 people (one-third of the population). The main office was at Isaac Newton Square in Reston which, together with satellite offices, provided space for the 100 clinical and administrative professionals. This staff was assisted by some 125 volunteers, without whose services the entire effort would have been appreciably curtailed. The clinical staff were psychiatrists, psychologists and social service workers.
Our clients were all ages. The nature of their troubles seemed endless. For one reason or another they were unable to cope. Some felt their lives were going out of control. Some were depressed and bordered on the suicidal. Some were alcoholics, others undernourished. There were kids who couldn't cope with school or parents. Parents who couldn't control their kids. The aged who couldn't cope with being shunted aside. Battered wives and abused children. The lost soul just released from the State institution.
To respond to these needs, the Center organized emergency hotlines and partial hospitalization for patients needing intensive therapy; contracted for inpatient treatment; conducted outreach programs; made available shelter for battered wives; held Relax N Rap sessions with teenagers; and staffed a comprehensive program of education through lectures and workshops. It was, of course, essential to keep very good records of cases handled, which numbered some 3,000 per year. The educational phase reached an additional 16,000.
The role of the Governing Board was to set policy and to assure the proper operation of the Center in its response to community needs, reviewing all budgets, program changes and priorities. Board members were drawn from the community and represented the Center to the community.
For these purposes we had about $2½ million a year. As we moved into the period when the Federal Government shifted the burden to the States, program expansion came to a halt and curtailments loomed.
It takes a special kind of person to work in this field full-time without getting discouraged – or rather, in the face of discouragement to persist – and to bring a measure of surcease to this growing segment of our population. For the stress of life as we know it adds daily to the population residing between those able to cope and the mentally retarded.
On the occasion of the departure of a colleague on the Board, I wrote some farewell lines, which ended with a wish shared by us all:
Thus we want to wish you well
As we share a warm embrace
And that fortune not compel
That you come back as a case!
Capital University
In the spring of 1977, the Reverend William L. Nies, my former pastor, then living in Florida, passed through Washington. He came by the house for a visit, which, it turned out, had a purpose other than social. He wanted me to stand for election as a Regent of Capital University, located in Columbus, Ohio. Our conversation led to my agreement to run, and his preliminary work led to my election. This surprised me inasmuch as I had never set foot on that campus. Thus began an association of four years, 1977-1981, which I much enjoyed and value still.
Capital University, founded in 1850, is the oldest of the educational institutions of the American Lutheran Church. It has a campus of 25 buildings set on 48 acres and it is committed to the liberal arts and science philosophy. Its program is both broad and strong and includes an outstanding conservatory of music, a school of nursing, a graduate school of administration, and a law school. In 1977, the student body numbered 2700 (with a hundred more women than men because of the nursing school); the full-time faculty numbered 150.
The Board of Regents consisted of twenty some clerical and lay members representing the three districts of the ALC which "owned" Capital University. Our job was to oversee university operations. We hired the president, approved senior appointments, set the budget, promoted faculty, approved curriculae, set tuition rates. Indeed no important aspect of university life did not come under our aegis.
At the time of my appearance on the scene, a major capital improvement drive was underway which was supposed to bring in $8 million for new construction. The endowment fund was low for a university of this size and age. Student applications were falling off. This was serious because 80% of our revenue was dependent on student tuition. But if we raised tuition too much, we risked driving away prospective students. We were not far from Ohio State, where tuition was half what we had to charge. Worse, construction was underway for the new Science and Nursing Building based on pledges that it became apparent would never be collected. There was also turmoil in the academic community generally concerning the "core" curriculum.
Why was our endowment so low? It appeared that the president, Tom Langevin, had used funds to keep the school going that normally would have gone to augment the endowment fund. About that time Langevin, having served as president nine years, decided to retire. So the regents were faced with a major task: to select a new president in the face of very difficult financial problems.
So they were exciting years, years during which the regents, the faculty, the owner church, alumni and students were all concerned. Would we end up by having to close shop? We were optimistic enough to reject such an alternative.
Next to us, on what used to be a common campus, was the Trinity Lutheran Seminary, a fine institution that at one time had been a part of Capital University and under the same Board of Regents. We could not see forsaking this sister institution. We also shunned the harm that Capital's demise would bring to Bexley, the Columbus suburb in which Cap stands. However, our main motivation was a shared feeling that this, and other small, private universities, had a unique and indispensable role to play in keeping America strong.
The lay members of the Board were an interesting cross-section of institutional representation: the foundation president; the insurance company president; the executive vice president of the leading department store; the head of an investment company; a farmer; a minister's wife; the mother of a Cap student who was a Cap alumna; an attorney; the president of a local manufacturing company, also an alumnus; a vice president of a leading rubber company (Goodrich).
These and the clerical members were assigned to various committees responsible for recommending action to the Board itself. My first assignment was to the academic committee whose main task was to restructure the curriculum. From there I moved to the finance committee, where hard decisions had to be made regarding investments, sale and acquisition of property, tuition rates, salaries, and reconciling the disparity between income and outgo. On one occasion I spent an entire week at the school trying to get on top of these problems. This was a task made more enjoyable because at that time my daughter Elaine Foster and her family made their home in the Columbus suburb of Worthington.
Later, I was elected to the Executive Committee, which met with some frequency to prepare for meetings of the full Board and to conduct business requiring action between Board meetings. All in all, this experience gave me an insight into the running of a university that my many years as student at five campuses had not provided.
The activities on campus provided pleasurable hours: soirees at the residence of the president, dinners of the Capital Foundation, campus tours, chats with faculty and students, and, of course, graduation exercises.
The most memorable commencement resulted less from what was said than from the renown of the commencement speaker, Bob Hope, who spoke to the graduates on May 21, 1978. As he, the regents and others gathered to form the cortege, we found him delightfully informal and unrepressed in his conversation. Even his address, after our solemn march down the aisle to the strains of Walton's "Crown Imperial," was rife with illustrative humor: ". . . This is your graduation day and you must feel like Phyllis Diller's skin – you’ve gone about as far as you can go. And today you get your sheepskin. I hope it brings more luck to you than it did to the sheep."
I have mentioned our eventual need to find a new president. This is a procedure beyond belief in its deliberateness, the need to check with every constituent group having a stake in the university, and the checking of the credentials of those who have in response to our invitation indicated an interest in the position.
It used to be that presidents once in place stayed put. No more. Four or so years
and they are ready to move on – some to better jobs at other schools, some to the private sector, some are just burned out by the demands of raising money, fighting government regulations, reconciling contentious faculties, coping with student unrest, avoiding suits by minorities believing themselves discriminated against.
We eventually found an excellent man, Rev. Harvey Stegemoeller, whose gracious wife, Marian, added much to the gifts he brought to our campus. One weekend, they were guests in our home, for he had been chosen to preach on Reformation Sunday in Washington's great National Cathedral. We had the man we needed, and things have improved financially and in every way since he took over. He did say that had he known how bad our financial picture was he would probably have turned down the job. Know anyone with an extra two million dollars?
Borel Company Reprise
My recent association with Jules Borel & Co. of Kansas City and its associated entities in Miami (Borel), Los Angeles (Borel-Frei), and Oakland (Frei-Borel), was formalized shortly after the death of the Company's president, my brother Pete.
I say recent because in earlier years I had had ties with the Company, first as part-time employee during high school days, and for a time beginning in 1947, as a silent partner holding a small share (5%).
In late 1952, my father and my brothers encouraged me to leave government service and return to Kansas City to assume an active part in the direction of the Company.
Dec. 25, 1952
Dear Paul,
I've been wanting to write you for sometime, but as usual seem never to find the time. Christmas day is nearly over and the children are in bed, so I thought I'd finish up this fine day by telling you what has been on your partners' minds since sometime ago. I am sure it is nothing new to you.
Dad, Mark, John and I have frequently talked together regarding the condition of our business. All in all we haven't done too badly with the way things have been handled, but we all feel that we are just scratching the surface of the possibilities that lie ahead. I find that the larger we become the more important real leadership is, and I know that my lack of training and inclination along this line will not allow us to take full advantage of these possibilities.
Because of this, we all think it would be wonderful if you could see your way clear to coming to Kansas City and taking over the management of the company. I don't have any idea whether you wish to stay with the government the rest of your life, but if coming to Kansas City and being with the rest of the clan appeals to you, I feel sure that we can work out something satisfactory as far as money is concerned. We figure that some sort of arrangement would be made so that you could buy into the partnership and that eventually the ownership could perhaps be split 24% for John, Mark, you and myself; with the remaining 4% to Toni. Of course this is something that would have to be worked out to everyone's satisfaction, but it shows you that we are all in a very cooperative frame of mind.
We would make a good team – all of us – and you could certainly count on my cooperation 100%. Financially, in the long run, I am sure you would come out considerably ahead and the families would have a grand time being together. I surely hope you will give this plan serious consideration. It would be wonderful working together and there is no doubt in my mind that we would make great strides ahead with you at the helm. Paul, drop us just a note as soon as you can giving us your thoughts on this matter. We are all very anxious to hear from you. Wanting you here is unanimous with all of us without any reservations whatsover.
Many thanks to Mid for the lovely sport shirt she sent me for Christmas and also for the little sweater and toy for the boys. The big get-together took place at John's house today and, as always, a wonderful time was had by all.
I hope Mid is feeling well. Please give her our love. Joyce joins me in sending each one of you our warmest thoughts.
Your brother,
Pete
Again, I was torn between continuing what I had set out to do in CIA and returning to join family members and thus further strengthening blood ties that over the years had remained close. I persisted with my post-war choice.
Nevertheless over the years I occasionally was involved in assignments of short duration, particularly when my presence in Washington was useful. At one point, for example, we were looking for a name for a line of watches we wished to market, and I learned something of the job of researching the holdings of the Department of Commerce's Patent and Trademark Office. We eventually chose "Mallard." Then we got into difficulties with the U.S. Customs. Civil and criminal charges were brought alleging collaboration with a Swiss supplier to misrepresent the value of imported watch crowns and therefore paying insufficient import duties. The financial impact of paying accumulated back charges, interest, and treble damages for intent to defraud would have been a blow to this small company. The time and expense involved in the defense efforts over a period of over two years was a heavy toll in itself.
How does something like this happen? Three independent factors were at work: (1) the complexity (and ambiguity) of customs regulations; (2) company importation through different sources – mainly Kansas City and Miami; (3) differing interpretation of regulations among customs officials as well as by us. For example: if a watch crown is made of one piece, the tariff is so much. If made of two pieces, it's twice as much. And, is the crown part of the movement when attached to the winding stem or part of the watch case? That would make a difference also.
Another complication. A suit was brought against us in Miami; another in Kansas City. I met with Treasury officials about consolidating suits.
The outcome for the Company was entirely satisfactory. A Grand Jury threw out the Government's criminal charges. Later, the civil suits were consolidated in Miami. Much later, August 16, 1979, we got a letter from Miami customs: "We are in receipt of a decision rendered by our Washington Headquarters. With regard to the violation of the misdescription of watch crowns, the claim is remitted. The claim for failure to declare certain discounts is cancelled. In view of the above, the matter is closed in the files of this office."
David had conquered Goliath.
A more formal affiliation with the Company began on November 16, 1978, when action was taken by the shareholders of Jules Borel & Co. A board of directors was elected, and from that date until May 1985, I served as chairman, and remained thereafter as board member. Our main effort in this period has been to guide the Company toward greater profitability while giving it a clearer sense of identity. This in a period when four of my nephews are actively engaged as middle managers under the direction of my brother Mark, the Company's president.
The psychological rewards of working closely with family members are, as anyone would guess, somewhat offset by the accommodations necessary to avoid rifts within the family, whose members in this case happen also to own the business. Basic to this situation is the fact that you can't fire the owners! An even keel must be held as between owner-employees bringing to the demands of the business their differing abilities, talents, commitments and expectations. Moreover, non-family employees who have no prospect of becoming owners must be provided with some incentive if they are to remain and give a credible performance.
With an opportunity to place family members in Oakland, Los Angeles and Miami as well as in Kansas City, it had been my hope that there would be interest on the part of my nephews to move and in this sense be more on their own. But no. The attractions of all staying together in Kansas City were too great, in some way reminding me of my father's once-held dream of having a Swiss village concept for his sons and daughter: There, within close proximity the family could expand and keep strong the ties of blood. It was this absence of interest on the part of any of my nephews to take over the Miami office that led to its sale to a competitor in 1983.
In 1972, we had organized a Borel Group. This included companies in Cleveland, Denver, Pittsburgh in which Jules Borel & Co. had no financial interest joining with us for limited purposes: joint purchasing, advertising, warehousing, communications (WATS lines). This Group was abolished in 1984. Both Steve Borel, our attorney and board secretary, and I had reservations about our being able to continue the Group without violating the geographic and organizational restrictions of the Anti-Trust laws, believing the risks outweighed the benefit of this corporate arrangement with our various company entities and competitors.
All in all we've had some interesting times and good meetings. Always we move easily from business discussions to the more relaxed family social affairs that follow our board meetings. Business has been good, and everyone is still eating. And I know that my father, the Company's founder, would be pleased to see things going as smoothly as they are over 65 years since he began his operation out of a portable case.
CIA Retiree
Since their inception I have been active in two groups of retired intelligence officers: AFIO – Association of Former Intelligence Officers, and CIRA – Central Intelligence Retirees' Association. The former, AFIO, includes people from all intelligence agencies of the U.S. government: CIA; State; Defense; Treasury; FBI. It is mission oriented, that is, its purpose is to educate Congress and the public to the need for a strong U.S. intelligence effort. The latter, CIRA, limits its membership to CIA retirees and exists solely for fraternal and social purposes – people keeping in touch with those with whom they have worked or shared a unique experience.
We started CIRA in 1974. I say we because I was a charter member and represented the Intelligence Directorate on the five-man organizing team which drew up our constitution and by-laws. I served CIRA as vice president (1977-78), as editor of its quarterly journal (1982-83) and as a member of its governing board (1984-present).
The duties of the vice president were minimal. At one point I did do considerable calling and leg-work to line up a luncheon speaker, former presidential Republican nominee Senator Barry Goldwater. That luncheon was held at the Kenwood Country Club in April 1978. After I completed my introduction of him – I have always liked him – he turned and said: "You know, Paul, I tell my wife all these nice things about myself every night. But she just turns over and goes to sleep." We do get interesting speakers. Henry Kissinger, Dick Helms, Hugh Sidey and Alexander Haig come to mind as among the best.
Taking over the editorship of the CIRA Newsletter was another matter. The only editor the magazine had had was Al Ginder. He, over a period of seven years (during which our membership had grown to 2,300 and our readership perhaps 10,000), had developed an easy and effective manner of communication. About half our membership is in the greater Washington area, the rest all over the world, with concentrations in Florida, California and Texas. This splendid man, Ginder, died in 1981, and somehow I was asked to write something appropriate for the CIRA Newsletter to accompany a review of his stewardship. It was this piece that, I believe, led to my then being asked to take on the editorship. So I gave it a shot. It was an interesting undertaking, while time-consuming and, yes, confining, as might be expected when one man puts out a printed, profusely illustrated magazine that ran up to 48 pages per issue. But it was quite good fun. The magazine was a quarterly, but deadlines for each of many steps leading to publication appeared surprisingly soon.
The satisfaction yielded by this project was two-fold. The sheer joy of starting with nothing and ending up some weeks later with something approaching the standard for which I had striven. And the generous response of the journal's recipients expressed in many ways, not least in their letters reporting publishable news items.
In the end, I gave up the editorship to obtain a greater degree of flexibility in my schedule and to free time that might result in other writing.
From time to time news items served to remind me of a subject ever in the minds of CIA management: Security, physical as well as personal. In the fight to maintain security, all were enlisted. There were two special activities, however, whose sole mission it was to deal with this aspect of our work: the office of security and the counterintelligence staff.
When the polygraph machine was first introduced to assist in the Agency's security program, I had been a voluntary participant. For years we felt reassured, perhaps even smug, that security breaches experienced by British intelligence (e.g. Burgess, McLean, Philby) had no counterparts in CIA.
Ultimately, we found we were wrong. It was painful, even if it was after I retired, to read about those who betrayed the trust placed in them, the more so because they appeared of a sudden in such numbers, many in the very organizations I had considered it a privilege to serve most of my life, the Navy and CIA.
The year 1985, when a dozen some micreants surfaced, was indeed the year of the spy. Of these only one was known to me personally, Larry Wu-Tai Chin. He had been an analyst in FBIS during the administration of several directorships, including my own. According to his own statement, he had been spying for China for over 30 years in order to effect a rapproachment between the US and China. This altruistic motive was suspect when it became known that over time he had been paid in excess of $800,000 for his services to China. I knew him as a gifted linguist, a tall, quiet-spoken and courtly man. During my tenure as head of FBIS, I had transferred him in 1970 from our West Coast Bureau in Santa Rosa, California, to headquarters. On February 21, 1986, two weeks after a federal jury found him guilty of crimes that could have led to life imprisonment, Chin committed suicide in his cell by placing a plastic bag over his head.
The year before, a retired CIA employee with whom I had worked, Dr. Waldo Dubberstein, one of CIA's top experts on the Middle East, was found to be involved with Edmund Wilson, illegally furnishing information and arms to Libya's Gaddaffi. Dubberstein placed a shotgun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.
Such matters brought pain beyond the depredations visited upon CIA by often politically motivated outcries by members of Congress, or by irresponsible members of the Press.
Such matters also brought a smile as I recollected my mother's response when publicity adverse to CIA was brought to her attention by acquaintances: "I know CIA is all right or my son would not be working there."
Class Reunions
For those who have had a happy experience on campus, one of the dividends of the later years is the occasional return there. New buildings may be encroaching on the green of the yard. The bustle of students much increased by a multiplication of the number of enrollees. But still is heard the echo of past voices in those distant classrooms.
The big events are, of course, those planned to commemorate special anniversaries, especially the 25th and the 50th. High schools are less prone than universities to do this – and the changes at high schools likely to be more drastic, and usually more disappointing, than those at colleges.
As an alumnus of four universities, there is much to choose from. In fact my participation has been very limited. I have never been back for an affair at Columbia, but have attended three or four held in Washington. Apart from an occasional special event held by the George Washington University Law School, my return there is when Miriam and I take in some of the First Wednesday lectures, where dinner at the Faculty Club in advance of the lecture can be very pleasant. The Class of '38 of the Harvard Business School is another matter. It holds reunions at the drop of a hat, and these may be anywhere. Last year's was in Bangkok. The one before at Boston-Cape Cod. Another at Boston- London-Scotland (for some), Iberia (for others). We have enjoyed the ones we have attended, often limiting our participation to the Boston phase. The School schedules first-class lectures especially for these. It is in every sense a return to school (without the burden of homework).
Three reunions in the Middle West come especially to mind. In 1974, the Class of'34 of the University of Kansas held its 40th anniversary reunion. I served as Emcee for that affair, so was much involved. Then in 1979, Kansas City's Northeast High School Class of '29 held its 50th, the first reunion the Class had ever held. Again I served as Emcee. Believe me when I say I really studied the yearbooks, and my telephone bill went sky-high. But much good work had been done in preparation for the event by a fine planning committee. Its members had worked for two years locating classmates. What a time we had, first at the school itself, then at the Alameda Plaza Hotel.
Then in 1984, KU's Class of '34 had its 50th, and I was tagged to chair the organizing committee. Lot of work, lot of satisfaction, lot of fun. With spouses we numbered 200. They came from all over, even from abroad.
Such events are well worth the investment of time and personal effort, for they bring joy to many in the remembering and in the present doing.
Excerpt from Kansas Alumni, September 1984:
Borel Defines Class's Mystique
Though he would be the last to admit it, Paul Arnold Borel, e'34, was a Big Man on Campus in the early '30s. He roomed with Charles Spahr, later head of Standard Oil of Ohio; he ran with Glenn Cunningham, then the world's best miler; and he knew his way around the dance floor so well that, 50 years later, one former coed's favorite KU memory is of tripping the light fantastic with Borel.
After graduation, Borel worked in private industry until entering the Navy in 1940. From the Navy, he moved on to the Central Intelligence Agency, where, among other posts, he served as general manager of the entire intelligence production directorate.
Now retired, Borel plays golf, writes poetry and helps coordinate the affairs of a family business. He is the personification of the Class of 1934 and, as such, was asked by Kansas Alumni to explain the whys and wherefores of the extraordinary degree of success achieved by his classmates and himself. His response:
You have referred to the cluster of stars in the Class of '34 and asked: Why is this so?
I have never thought of our class in those terms, assuming rather that each class considered itself something a little special by reason of the shared experiences of its members.
Certainly each had to react to the times, which made unusual demands upon us: First, staying in school when, for many, to do so was often not easy; second, variously making our way in an economic environment where there were fewer desirable jobs than those who sought them; third, involvement in a world war of unprecedented dimensions during which we were for extended periods called upon to do new things, in strange places, with people not often of our choosing; fourth, readjusting to the imperatives of the normal life we had yearned for but missed for a goodly piece of our young adult lives.
We thus learned self-reliance. We felt the pulse of the moments of our learning. Muscle was toned by experience. We may have been captives of events, but the result was a self-confidence to tackle the new, certain that in all probability we could bring it off about as well as the next.
Someone has said that we live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths. On occasion, the times call for greater deeds and for clearer thinking. On such occasions past generations have responded, and future generations will respond again, each person seeking to fill the abyss in the center of himself.
Which to me means that our class may not after all be more special than its predecessor or any other.
I think of KU in very personal terms: Where I spent four flourishing years; where I met a roommate who has been my lifelong friend; where I ran with a world-class miler whose vocabulary did not include the word quit; where four of my six children chose to matriculate, as has now a granddaughter; where two of my daughters met their husbands, who in turn now enrich our lives; and where the strains of "Crimson and the Blue" carry still their special message.
The Warming Hours of Leisure
I have mentioned travel abroad elsewhere, but perhaps it would not be amiss to add reference here to two outings closer to home. Both had unusual features.
My friend Burdick "Bert" Britten is a man of ideas. Most of them call for action. In early 1981, he resurrected the Indefatigable Marching Society (IMS), the name borne by a group that had in earlier days taken weekend trips in Switzerland while negotiations were being held with the Russians in Geneva on the Law of the Sea.
In its new mode, IMS was to be friends banded together to hike the towpath of the C&O Canal which extends for 184.5 miles from Cumberland, Maryland, to Georgetown, D.C. Some twenty people expressed interest in participating.
The scheme was to do so intermittently, primarily over a series of weekends. Advance scouts were to select starting and stopping points guided by the availability of parking and overnight accommodations, keeping in mind the point of participant exhaustion.
So it was. After 18 days, scattered intermittently between March 21 and November 7, four of us could say "we did it." Our average was just over ten miles per day, ranging from a high of 15.9 to a low of five, this by design the last day in order to preserve our strength for the party at The Foundry in Georgetown. We were even joined there by Dick Kearney, who had not walked one step of the way but was sufficiently impressed as to show up with ample champagne.
The scenery, always interesting, often splendid, the joy of the great outdoors, the stops for lunch (including champagne in plastic glasses of classic shape), all combined to make it a memorable experience.
The other trip was to our largest state.
In August 1985, Miriam and I did what many of you have done: we visited Alaska. It was our first trip there, and we undertook it with keen anticipation, based upon what we had heard and read. We were not disappointed.
Our pleasure in the trip was much enhanced by our travelling companions, my college roommate Charles Spahr and his wife, Jane. Spahr, retired chairman of SOHIO, had been there many times before – 66 to be exact – for SOHIO played a key role in the acquisition and development of petroleum reserves in the North Slope, as well as in the construction of the Alyeska Pipeline, the largest privately financed undertaking in history, involving costs of some $10 billion. The 48 " pipeline extends 800 miles from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez (where oil is loaded into tankers).
We flew to Vancouver, visited Victoria, then went by ship (the Cunard Princess) to Whittier via intercoastal waters (with stops at Ketchikan, Juneau and Skagway), made our way by train, bus, rental car and air successively to Anchorage, Denali National Park (Mt. McKinley), and Fairbanks. There, as guests of the head of the pipeline, we flew along the pipeline, stopping at pumping stations for briefings. Our return trip to Washington was by air out of Fairbanks.
Thus, we in effect had three distinctly different tours: the cruise along the coastline, never out of sight of incomparable beauty; the observation of wildlife, unique to the natural habitat that is the Denali park preserve; and low-level observation from the air following the course of the pipeline, that silver river, above ground when crossing the tundra, and otherwise below, through which the black gold of oil flows, bringing energy to U.S industry and accounting for 20% of all U.S. oil production.
Any one of these three things would have made our trip worthwhile. August seems the best of times to be in Alaska. Extremes of weather were not encountered. And life aboard a cruise ship permits of a full range of experiences: culinary, amusement, friendship, or just plain relaxation. Money you'll need. But as was said when someone asked how much the deceased left – he left it all!
I must get on with this, but cannot leave without mention of golf.
For years I have enjoyed the game. It is one sport calling for play against oneself, which permits of an enjoyable game with a stranger, and, most enjoyably, where one may share the camaraderie of playing with regulars in an ideal environment as I have done for 20 years with Bob Yorty and for perhaps half as long with Bert Brittin and Dick Kearney. This is something rather special. Included is participation in the Northern Virginia Golf League for Retired Men. I play badly, but the handicap system is a great equalizer.
Increasingly, I devote time to sorting out the accumulation of a lifetime. Letters, photographs, special books on Intelligence, reports and other memorabilia. Coming across bits long forgotten I reread – and the mind goes back to other times and climes when work or play with others, some long gone, was good and lent lustre to the quality of life.
With my books around me, in the quiet of my study, I examine the weavings of the past. To others I shall leave the uncertain future.
But excuse me. I hear Miriam, just returned from her jail ministry. Or is it bridge? Or a day with daughter Jane?
So I am happily brought back in time. After all, we two still have the present.
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