Chapter Five
A Target from Day One
Although I had served the nationās top generals and admirals, I had no idea what it meant to be the presidentās valet. Working for flag officers was one thing; becoming the right hand assistant to one of the most powerful men in the world was entirely something else.
Admiral Reason had written a letter to the director of the military office at the White House.
As Enlisted Aide, MSCS Sutton has assisted me on numerous official visits to nations in Europe, Asia, Africa, and Latin America. His performance has been uniformly spectacular. Keenly aware of protocol needs, he enjoys a personal reputation for reliability and integrity. He is a man of principle!
I can commend MSCS Sutton to you as a top candidate for personal Presidential support.
A few days later, I received a letter saying that Iād been picked to work in the White House mess, which served the president, his senior staff, and foreign leaders. The two valets to the president were employees of the mess, so thatās where I would be reporting before being assigned. It was July 1999, six and a half years into President Clintonās term and about six months after he was acquitted at his impeachment trial resulting from the Monica Lewinsky scandal.
I was excited and called Mom (we had a phone by now): āIām going to work for the president.ā
āReally!?ā She got right back on the phone, and the news travelled fast.
But there was a lot to go through before it became a reality.
I had to pass security clearances at the highest level. The presidential valet would have privileged information about motorcade routes, how Air Force One operates, and Secret Service protocols. He or she would have direct access to the president on a daily basis. Other than the First Family, no one is physically closer to the president than his valet.
I had three or four interviews with the Secret Service and mounds of paperwork to fill out. They dug through my childhood since the day I was born. They went over my school, family, and military backgrounds with a fine-toothed comb. They made phone calls, visited Kinston, and talked with teachers, friends, and family.
They especially made sure I wasnāt coming to the White House to exploit my position politically or monetarily, by selling stories to the National Enquirer, auctioning off a baseball cap the president wore, or leaking information to the press.
I was a little nervous because there was a lot of paperwork to fill out. Everything looked good until I was asked, āWhatās this about an $80,000 Mercedes?ā
āWhat? I donāt haveā¦ā
āYouāve got a truck, an eighteen-wheeler that you bought.ā
Then I remembered: I had put my name on a truck loan for my brother Tyrone. I helped him make the payments, but I was falling behind. Then Tyrone stopped making his payments altogether. Two or three months later, he left the truck in Kinston and went to work for someone else without telling me a thing.
I was left with the vehicle and had to hire someone to drive it back to the dealer. I got a lawyer and settled the case out of court. Lucky for me, because it could have prevented me from getting to the White House mess.
After I finally passed my security clearances, I took some vacation time, knowing the job was going to be nonstop once I started. Finally, the letter arrived: Welcome to the White House, report for duty.
I was not initially assigned as a presidential valet; instead, I was working in the White House mess as head of the supply department. My office was in the old Executive Office Building. I was in charge of the White House food supply, from shopping to cooking, with five or six people working under me.
I was waiting for one of the valets who had worked for Clinton and several previous presidents to retire, which I figured would happen shortly, although no one knew exactly when.
When I walked in the White House, it wasnāt the first time I was there. I had visited in the tenth grade, but I still had butterflies when I walked in the West Wing and passed the Oval Office.
My first day on the job, I met the sailors who were the staff of the mess, the small dining facility run by the US Navy located in the basement of the West Wing. The mess sat around fifty people at a dozen tables. The room featured wood paneling, nautical trim, and ship paintings. Table reservations were available to senior White House officials, including commissioned officers, Cabinet secretaries, and their guests.
There were several dozen Navy personnel working there, handpicked for this prestigious position, and they all knew that I was coming there to be the presidentās valet.
One of my first big assignments was working at the White House Correspondentās Dinner in August 1999. I arrived an hour or two before the president and made sure there was ice-cold diet coke in the room. President Clinton liked his soda cold, almost frozen. Iād keep his diet cokes on ice for hours before he arrived, and heād let us know if it wasnāt cold enough.
The first time I interacted with the president was at an event in Boston. We had the buffet set up for him, his senior staff, and a few other guests, enough for about ten people. The president, who didnāt know me at all at that time, walked up and asked, āHey, whatās for lunch on the buffet?ā
I froze. Couldnāt say a thing, which had never happened before. I was used to being around admirals and generals, but not the president. His aide stepped in and answered for me.
The first time I served President Clinton was nearly a disaster. Two master chiefs were working in the Oval Office serving drinks and asked me to help them.
āSam, President Clintonās going to take a diet coke.ā
āOkay.ā
I entered the room with a heavy tray, loaded with about fifteen drinks. Six or eight people were with the presidentāa foreign leader and Clintonās senior staff, seated in front of the fireplace.
When I bent down, President Clinton took the diet coke as I expected but also took a glass of water and a cup of hot tea, unbalancing the tray. Whoa! I didnāt drop it but came pretty close.
There was an unreal quality about Clinton. His movements were slow and smooth, almost like he was a machine, not a person.
Before I became the valet and was still working in the White House mess, I accompanied the Clintons on a trip to Lake Placid, New York, where they stayed in a private home. Mrs. Clinton walked into the kitchen in the early afternoon and said, āSam, weād like to have dinner at five or six oāclock.ā
Immediately, I was a little nervous. I had two junior staff from the White House mess with me, but they didnāt know how to cook. It was all on me.
I figured one of them could at least boil pasta, so I directed ...