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Summary
Summary
As his father nears death in his retirement home in Mexico, John H. Richardson begins to unravel a life filled with drama and secrecy. John Sr. was a CIA "chief of station" on some of the hottest assignments of the Cold War, from the back alleys of occupied Vienna to the jungles of the Philippines--and especially Saigon, where he became a pivotal player in the turning point of the Vietnam War: the overthrow of South Vietnamese president Ngo Dinh Diem. As John Jr. and his sister came of age in exotic postings across the world, they struggled to accommodate themselves to their driven, distant father, and their conflict opens a window on the tumult of the sixties and Vietnam.
Through the daily happenings at home and his father's actions, reconstructed from declassified documents as well as extensive interviews with former spies and government officials, Richardson reveals the innermost workings of a family enmeshed in the Cold War--and the deeper war that turns the world of the fathers into the world of the sons.
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
The author's father, the hero of this heartfelt if shapeless saga, started out a leftish romantic but eventually became the powerful CIA station chief in Vienna, Manila and then Saigon. Drawing on government documents and reminiscences of his father's colleagues, journalist Richardson (The Viper's Club), depicts his father, John Sr., as a humane, principled official coping effectively with great crises. But his home life, reconstructed from memory, personal letters and diary entries, is a less engaging domestic melodrama of intergenerational incomprehension, featuring an interminable series of chilly miscommunications, youthful provocations, drunken scenes and fumbling reconciliations. The story implicitly links the demise of American hegemony to the waning of paternal prestige, but it's not clear what one has to do with the other, and Richardson's conflation of his father's profession with his personal life lacks much substance or perspective. Remorseful, perhaps, at his own juvenile disdain, the author defends his father from critics of John Sr.'s actions in Vietnam-especially the "arrogant jerk" David Halberstam-and closes with a melancholy chronicle of his father's alcoholic decline and excruciatingly drawn-out death in 1998. Richardson stays too close to this painful material to fashion it into something more than family history. Photos. Agent, Heather Schroder at ICM. (Aug.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
When Esquire writer-at-large Richardson tried to learn more about his late father, who was a top CIA agent working some of the major political hot spots of the past 65 years--Nazi Germany, the Soviet Empire, junta-controlled Greece, Ferdinand Marcos' Philippines, Park Chung Hee's South Korea, and South Vietnam in its final days--he made an unsurprising discovery: My own father was classified top secret. In the face of that challenge, however, Richardson has pieced together a remarkably full and literate biography of his dad (John H.), drawing on his father's pre- and postagency correspondence, conversations with his father's former colleagues, and published writings and testimony about the CIA. Equally compelling is the story of the author himself, who lived a lavish and exotic life with his parents in most of their postings but rebelled against what his father and the CIA represented. In the stories of father and son, readers will not only find absorbing narratives but will also divine the early signs of America's now highly contentious culture wars. --Alan Moores Copyright 2005 Booklist
Kirkus Review
Journalist and novelist Richardson (In the Little World, 2001, etc.) tries to understand what his abstracted, distant father faced as a high-ranking CIA officer. John Richardson Sr. was an idealist: a man who loved great literature, Thomas Jefferson, and democracy, a Quaker who undertook dangerous missions during WWII. He also witnessed Tito's slaughter of Germans and Croats, as well as Stalin's pause outside Warsaw while the Germans went about their dirty work in the city; these experiences led him to join the fight to thwart communism. As he shifted from the OSS to the fledgling CIA, John Sr. essentially became a classified secret himself, and John Jr. lost his father, who was out of the loop. The author pores over all the evidence he can find concerning his father's role in various authoritarian outposts, endeavoring to make sense of an honorable man who helped facilitate a foreign policy that increasingly relied on despots and thugs. He tracks Dad from Greece to the Philippines, Vietnam during the cheery days of Diem and Nhu and strategic hamlets, and finally to Seoul under the thumb of the grim Park Chung Hee. Richardson never learns exactly what his father did, but he does artfully draw the family's home life in all its stress, distance, and disconnect. John Jr. and his sister were very much a part of the counterculture; their behavior could easily rub their father the wrong way. John Sr. was patient and decent--he railed against the ugly Americans--but he held the conviction that "we have to support vicious dictators because an authoritarian government can evolve but a totalitarian government can only be opposed from the outside." He took his authoritarian poison, Richardson notes, and "stored up the raw material for a lifetime of regrets." A beautiful, gracious act of connection with a man who kept his secrets. (8 b&w photos, not seen) Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
In this intriguing but sometimes self-indulgent memoir, Richardson (In the Little World: A True Story of Dwarfs, Love, and Trouble) pieces together the top-secret career of his CIA agent father, John H. Richardson Sr. The senior Richardson spent his post-World War II life in Austria, Greece, and other important Cold War battlefronts. His secrecy oath prevented him from discussing his work with his family, which put strains on his marriage and distanced him from his two children. The most fascinating accounts tell about his posting to Saigon in the early 1960s. A gung-ho anti-Communist, Richardson supported the Diem regime but slowly became aware of its corruption. He was eventually recalled to Washington at the request of Vietnam ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge, who found Richardson too cautious about launching the coup that led to Diem's murder. Richardson never recovered from this disgrace and eventually retired to Mexico, where he battled alcoholism and the heart failure that led to his death in 1998. Though the author devotes arguably too much space to his and his sister's family problems in the 1960s (drugs, liquor, sex), he presents a lucid tale of historical detection that will appeal to readers of espionage nonfiction. Recommended for public libraries.-Karl Helicher, Upper Merion Twp. Lib., King of Prussia, PA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
My Father the Spy An Investigative Memoir Chapter One Mexico 1998 Mom calls. Dad's in the hospital, on oxygen. It's his heart. I fly down. They live in Mexico in a big adobe house with cool tile floors and high ceilings. Servants move quietly through the rooms. Mom greets me at the door, telling me through tears that she found him last night flopped across the bed with his legs hanging off the edge. He lay there for an hour before he started calling her, then he apologized for bothering her. We both smile because it's just so Dad -- he's always so polite, so maddeningly self-denying. Sometimes Mom cries out: "Don't ask me what I want! Just tell me what you want!" I go into his room. With his dentures out and his head laid back on the pillow, he's like a cartoon of an old codger, lips sucked over his gums and grizzled chin jutting out. When he sees me, his face brightens. In his pajama pocket he wears a handkerchief, neatly folded. A few minutes later he gets up to go to the bathroom. I'm used to seeing him hobble around the house. He's been juggling congestive heart failure, osteoporosis, cirrhosis, and about half a dozen other major illnesses for almost a decade. But now the nurse takes one elbow and I take the other and he leans over so far he's actually hanging by his arms, bent in half with his chest nearly parallel to the floor. He goes three steps and pauses, rests against the bureau, then takes five more steps and rests again. Glancing sideways I see gray in his cheeks, a whitish gray, like dirty marble. He makes us wait outside the bathroom. He won't be helped in there. So we stand in the hall and when the toilet flushes I open the door and see him shuffle to the sink. He leans down with his elbows against the yellow tiles and washes his hands. On his way out, he stops to put the toilet seat down. My father was a spy, a high-ranking member of the CIA, one of those idealistic men who came out of World War II determined to save the world from tyranny. After hunting saboteurs and Nazis during World War II, after sending hundreds of men to death or prison camps during six years behind Soviet lines in occupied Vienna, after manipulating the governments of Greece and the Philippines, and the two terrible years when he helped depose the leader of Vietnam and stored up the raw material for a lifetime of regrets, he retired to Mexico and moved behind these ten-foot-high walls. His bitterness was the mystery of my childhood. Eventually I became a reporter and started trying to put his story together, but whenever I pulled out my tape recorder for a formal interview my father would begin by reminding me that he had taken an oath of silence. That was always the first thing he said: "You know, son, I took an oath of silence." Later I started interviewing his old friends and colleagues, traveling to Washington and writing to Europe and New Zealand. Some were helpful and pleasant, painting pictures of a tough-minded, piano-playing spy who drank martinis till dawn and carried a gun through the ruined cities of post-war Europe -- a man I could hardly imagine. But many of his friends resisted me. One refused even to have a cup of coffee. "I don't approve of what you're doing, "he said. "What am I doing?" "You're trying to find out about your father." Another time, I drove to Maryland for a meeting with a group of retired spies. But after the coffee and small talk, they started trying to discourage me. One said that my father would be angry if he knew I was asking questions. Another broke off in the middle of a harmless anecdote and refused to continue. The wife who refilled my cup told me that her kids never asked a single question. "I've had people ask me, 'What was it like being married to a spy?' I would say, 'Oh, was I married to a spy?'" Tonight I set up my futon on the floor of the study, close enough to hear him if he needs help. Later he starts wheezing so hard I think he's about to die right now . The nurse pounds on his back until he recovers and a minute later he starts worrying again, this time about my mother and whether she's adequately covered by insurance and his pension, things we've gone over a million times before. He gives me advice on dealing with the house after he dies and tips on getting his estate through the Mexican system. I tell him not to worry, kissing his scabby forehead. Back in the study, I crawl into my bed and take comfort in the familiar setting. This same furniture has gone with us from the hilltop mansion in Athens to the former secret police headquarters in Saigon: the red leather chairs my mother bought at a garage sale in Virginia, the capiz-shell lampshade from the Philippines, the drop-front desk and round cherry table Mom picked up in Vienna after the war, when gorgeous old furniture was selling for a lieder , the autographed pictures of the king and queen of Greece waving from red leather frames embossed with raised gold crowns, mementos of the glory years when Dad fished with the queen and squabbled with the foreign minister and ran spies into Bulgaria and Albania. And the books -- the books most of all. Bound in red leather with his initials pressed in gold leaf into the spine, complete sets of Aristotle and Plato and Cicero, the essays of Montaigne and the Anatomy of Melancholy and The Confessions of St. Augustine . There's plenty of George Orwell and Winston Churchill and volume after volume on communism, from Conversations with Stalin to the collected works of Lenin to more specialized titles like... My Father the Spy An Investigative Memoir . Copyright © by John Richardson. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from My Father the Spy: An Investigative Memoir by John H. Richardson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
Table of Contents
1 Mexico, 1998 | p. 1 |
2 A Spy in His Youth | p. 11 |
3 Jack | p. 16 |
4 Down and Out in Paris and London | p. 21 |
5 The New Jack | p. 26 |
6 Germany | p. 30 |
7 The Mute Years | p. 34 |
8 Boot Camp | p. 39 |
9 Entering the Secret World | p. 46 |
10 The War Begins | p. 51 |
11 Catching Spies | p. 57 |
12 The War Ends | p. 65 |
13 Trieste | p. 69 |
14 Vienna | p. 81 |
15 Martinis, Poker, Cigarettes | p. 90 |
16 The Squirrel Cage | p. 95 |
17 Joel Roberts | p. 105 |
18 Virginia, 1953 | p. 113 |
19 Athens | p. 118 |
20 Manila | p. 129 |
21 Saigon | p. 141 |
22 A Plane Crash, a Bomb | p. 149 |
23 Buddist Trouble | p. 159 |
24 Kill Tung First | p. 168 |
25 The Pagoda Attacks | p. 172 |
26 Point of No Return | p. 178 |
27 On the Assassination List | p. 186 |
28 Replace Richardson | p. 192 |
29 CIA Chief Recalled | p. 197 |
30 Virginia, 1963 | p. 203 |
31 Director of Training | p. 215 |
32 Seoul, 1969 | p. 225 |
33 Kick Out the Jams! | p. 237 |
34 Hawaii, Korea, Hawaii, Korea (1971-73) | p. 250 |
35 Mexico | p. 261 |
36 Pure Apple Juice, Son | p. 273 |
37 Conversations with Old Spies | p. 284 |
38 Mexico, 1998 | p. 294 |
Source Notes | p. 307 |
Acknowledgments | p. 313 |