John McCain’s three years as the Navy’s lobbyist in the Senate opened up a new world—and new connections—for a war hero.
In 1977, Navy Cmdr. John McCain was at a crossroads. He was 40, yet the trajectory of his life was unclear. He had spent five and a half years, the prime of his life, struggling to survive the brutality of a North Vietnamese prison camp. Once home, he underwent long months of painful rehabilitation, hoping to overcome crippling injuries and to return to the skies as a Navy pilot.
When it became clear that his flying days were over, he took command of a squadron in Jacksonville, Fla., and won praise for bringing several broken-down jets back into service. McCain was a war hero, the son and grandson of four-star admirals. But when the Florida command ended, his career in the Navy stalled.
What came next was an assignment that a warrior such as McCain could have found tedious and, at times, demeaning: The brass sent him to Washington to be the Navy’s liaison to the Senate. McCain describes the post as “the Navy’s lobbyist,” even though, technically, the military is not permitted to lobby. William Bader, then staff director for the Democrats on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, described the job as that of “a glorified concierge and bag carrier, and soother of senatorial egos and demands.” The liaison’s primary responsibility was to manage travel logistics and deal with senators’ military constituents who had problems with pay or pensions.
But McCain turned the position into something much more. His three years in the Senate became a turning point that put him on a path toward the White House. “I count [his time as the liaison] among the seminal experiences of his life,” says Mark Salter, McCain’s longtime chief of staff. Adds Robert Timberg, who has written two biographies of McCain, “The Senate liaison job opened up a whole fresh new world for him.” In an interview with National Journal, McCain sums it up simply: “A great opportunity—to travel, meet people, and to learn.”
McCain was hungry to learn when he returned from the “Hanoi Hilton.” During his first year home, he was given a coveted spot at the National War College and immersed himself in the study of Vietnam and the policies that led the U.S. to fight and then pull out. Barely three years later, from his vantage point as the Navy/Marine Corps Senate liaison, he watched policy being made. By all accounts, he was riveted. “John was different—remarkable—compared to most of the military liaison guys,” remembers Pete Lakeland, then the Republican staff director for the Foreign Relations Committee. “He was very interested in learning as much as he could about substance and about foreign policy.”
Almost as soon as McCain moved into his cramped office in a corner of the Russell Senate Office Building, he attracted attention. He was famous as the returning POW whose father had commanded the Pacific Fleet while he was in prison. Gen. James Jones, who recently retired as the supreme allied commander in Europe, was then the Marine Corps liaison in McCain’s office. “John was someone that all of the senators wanted to talk to and be seen with,” he said. “He was a celebrity even in those days.” But there was something else.
“McCain was just a fascinating character,” says former Sen. Gary Hart, D-Colo., with a chuckle. “He had a great sense of humor. He was smart and funny to be around.” Senior staff and some senators began to routinely wander into McCain’s tiny office at the end of the day, looking for laughs, drinks, and lively conversation. “It was the place,” says Hart, who was then a freshman on the Armed Services Committee, “that you could go and put your feet up.” Adds Lakeland, “McCain had been in solitary confinement for two years, and he really wanted to catch up on life. He didn’t like to be alone. He wanted to sit around and talk.”
Senior senators began asking the Navy to detail McCain to their committees for trips to China, the Soviet Union, South Korea, Oman, Israel, and other destinations. His job was to handle logistics: organize transportation, make sure the luggage was handled properly, and manage the needs and demands of senators’ spouses. McCain carried out his duties with good cheer, according to those who worked with him. He did not complain about menial tasks, Lakeland says. “He was very conscious of protocol and rank. He said, ‘If there is one thing you learn at the Naval Academy, it’s YARC, YARC—You’re absolutely right, Captain!’ ”
“There was always him, and then there were the rest of us. … There
was no doubt when he left that he would play on the national stage again.”
—Gen. James Jones, former Supreme Allied Commander in Europe and Marine
liaison in McCain’s office
McCain formed a bond with some of the senators. Bader believes that many were drawn to the former POW because they hoped he could help them work through their own feelings about the Vietnam War. He recalls the scene aboard one charter flight to China, when he watched several senators approach McCain, who was sitting quietly in the last row. “One after one, for hours, they came back to the back of the plane, one at a time, to make their peace with John McCain. Many of the senators had opposed the Vietnam War. But here was someone who was the epitome of the symbol [of what is] valiant and patriotic. It was clear these politicians, as politicians and Americans, wanted to make their peace with this man.” Soon, Bader says, McCain seemed to achieve the extraordinary status of a peer among the senators. “He was enormously clubby with them. They did not treat him as a concierge. They treated him with respect.”
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