Born to Serve

The Trailblazing Life of Sam Sutton, Valet to Three Presidents

Samuel Sutton CSCM USN (Ret.)

• Editore: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Anno: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781098075293
• Argomento: Histoire
• Categoria: Biographies militaires

Samuel Sutton Jr. grew up poor in Kinston, North Carolina. His childhood home had no central heat or hot water. He and his family walked seven miles roundtrip to church every Sunday because they didn't have a car. To help out, Sam picked tobacco during his summer vacations, starting at age ten.

But Sam was to rise far in life from these humble beginnings. Joining the Navy in 1979, he embarked on a thirty-year military career, serving first as a sailor, then as an enlisted aide to the nation's top admirals and generals, and finally as a personal valet to presidents Bill Clinton, G. W. Bush, and Barack Obama. He worked a backbreaking schedule, juggling multiple tasks in a position that made him a virtual member of the First Family, an eyewitness to their public and private lives.

Born to Serve is also a cautionary tale about the complex dynamics of race and politics at the highest levels of the military and government. From his first day as valet, Sam's close proximity to the president made him a target for those who craved access to the most powerful man in the world. That competitive pressure would prematurely end Sam's career as valet, but he went on to write a new chapter in his life by adopting a child out of the foster care system, guiding him in overcoming a difficult past, and raising him into a fine young man.

Told with candor and warmth, this is the story of a man who overcame significant adversity to serve his country with tireless faith and dedication.

"Who knew that a native son of Kinston, North Carolina would come to know kings, queens and presidents? Who knew that service in the Navy would become high-level service to the Nation? We knew, because in Samuel Sutton Jr. we saw the unmistakable mark of a Man of Principle."

- Admiral & Mrs. J. Paul Reason, Washington, DC

Chapter Five

A Target from Day One

Although I had served the nation’s top generals and admirals, I had no idea what it meant to be the president’s 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 I’d 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 that’s where I would be reporting before being assigned. It was July 1999, six and a half years into President Clinton’s 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): “I’m going to work for the president.”

“Really!?” 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 wasn’t 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, “What’s this about an $80,000 Mercedes?”

“What? I don’t have…”

“You’ve got a truck, an eighteen-wheeler that you bought.”

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 wasn’t 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 president’s valet.

One of my first big assignments was working at the White House Correspondent’s 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. I’d keep his diet cokes on ice for hours before he arrived, and he’d let us know if it wasn’t 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 didn’t know me at all at that time, walked up and asked, “Hey, what’s for lunch on the buffet?”

I froze. Couldn’t 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.

“Sam, President Clinton’s going to take a diet coke.”

“Okay.”

I entered the room with a heavy tray, loaded with about fifteen drinks. Six or eight people were with the president—a foreign leader and Clinton’s 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 didn’t 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, “Sam, we’d like to have dinner at five or six o’clock.”

Immediately, I was a little nervous. I had two junior staff from the White House mess with me, but they didn’t know how to cook. It was all on me.

I figured one of them could at least boil pasta, so I directed ...