CAMPUS RECRUITING AND THE C.I.A.

• Document Type: CREST
• Collection: General CIA Records
• Document Number (FOIA) /ESDN (CREST): CIA-RDP90-00965R000807500013-1
• Release Decision: RIPPUB
• Original Classification: K
• Document Page Count: 8
• Document Creation Date: December 22, 2016
• Document Release Date: January 24, 2012
• Sequence Number: 13
• Publication Date: June 8, 1986
• Content Type: OPEN SOURCE

STAT - - -
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CAMPUS
RECRUITING
AND THE
7 By David Wise
KEVIN WARD WAS SITTING IN A
snack bar at the Johns Hopkins School of
Advanced International Studies in Bolo-
gna, Italy, when he was approached by a
stranger.
Ward, then 20 years old, was nearing
the end of his junior year abroad. "I was
having a pastry and a cappuccino," he
recalled, "when this guy came in. He
was in his early 30's, dark hair, neatly
dressed, you know, the man in a suit. He
said, 'You're Kevin Ward; do you mind if
I speak to you?' He handed me some lit-
erature and said, 'Have you ever thought of a career in the
C.I.A.?' '
ONCE AGAIN, THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY
is at the center of controversy. The past year has brought an
extraordinary number of spy scandals. The Director of Cen-
tral Intelligence, William J. Casey, is locked in battle with the
press over leaks, and has threatened prosecution for news sto-
ries about how the United States intercepts foreign communi-
cations. And he is at odds with the Congressional intelligence
committees over the conduct of the Reagan Administration's
covert operations in several countries.
In the midst of this, the C.I.A., which says it has made re-
cruiting of new personnel a key priority, is competing with
corporate America, and other prospective employers, to lure
David Wise is the author of several nonfiction books about in-
telligence, and of "The Samarkand Dimension, " a novel of es-
pionage to be published by Doubleday & Company next
spring.
Continued
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Sometimes, this has involved aggressive tactics - a major
advertising campaign, for example, and approaches to stu-
dents in far-off snack bars.
While the attitude of young Americans toward the agency
appears more favorable now than it has been in years - after
more than a decade of protests on campus, the number of in-
quiries from students has been steadily rising - the C.I.A. is
at a considerable disadvantage compared to other lines of
work that pay higher salaries with less risk and more recogni-
tion. The life of a C.I.A. employee is one of anonymity.
There have been other hurdles in the agency's headhunting
campaign. In the last year, four former or current C.I.A. em-
ployees have been implicated in security scandals. Edward
Lee Howard, dismissed by the agency in 1983, was charged
with selling agency secrets to the Russians, but eluded F.B.I.
agents and is presumed to be in the Soviet Union. Larry Wu-
Tai Chin, convicted of spying for China, committed suicide in
his jail cell. Sharon M. Scranage, a clerk in the covert branch,
pleaded guilty to giving agency data to her Ghanaian boy-
friend. Karl F. Koecher, a Czechoslovak-born translator, was
convicted of spy charges and jailed before he was traded to
the East as part of the swap that freed the Soviet dissident
Anatoly B. Shcharansky.
These cases raise questions about the agency's personnel
and security, and their effect on the C.I.A.'s image inevitably
spills over into its recruitment program. And the Navy spy
ring headed by John A. Walker Jr., while not a C.I.A. case,
has tended to shake public confidence in the nation's ability to
protect itself against foreign espionage.
If that were not enough, this summer, the intelligence
agency faces hearings on its personnel and recruitment poli-
cies by the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. Senator
David F. Durenberger, the Minnesota Republican who heads
the committee and who has traded charges with Casey about
the overall direction of the agency, is not impressed with the
C.I.A.'s recruiting performance. "They've got numbers," he
said over breakfast in the Senate dining room recently, "but
they don't always have the right person in the right place."
Casey, on the other hand, strongly defends the quality of the
agency's recruits. "Our standards are high," he insisted.
There is "high morale," he added, "and great pride among
our people. They are committed to excellence."
But a Senate committee source complained of inadequate
intelligence. "Time and again we've run into examples of
where we were short of what we needed. In the Philippines we
didn't have enough people who spoke Tagalog," he said,
referring to the chief native language of the Philippines. "We
managed, but still, there was a deficiency."
Although members of the Senate committee say they are'
mainly interested in exploring the quality of C.I.A. personnel,
security questions will undoubtedly be raised. The study had
been slated before the recent rash of spy cases, but that is
cold comfort at C.I.A. headquarters in Langley, Va. And the
quality and security of United States intelligence clearly de-
pends on the C.I.A.'s ability to recruit the brightest gradu-
ates.
the C.I.A. man's suggestion. A political
science major at Johns Hopkins in Balti-
more, he had begun to contemplate what
the future might hold after college. After
being approached in Bologna, he wrote to
the agency for an application, but got no
reply. (When he asked about this later,
Ward says, he was told the agency is re-
luctant to send material to applicants
overseas.) Last September, after return.
ing from Italy, he went to Rosslyn, Va.,
just across the Potomac River from
Washington, and asked for an application at the agency's
walk-in employment office in the Ames Building, which, un.
like the C.I.A.'s actual recruitment headquarters, is listed in
the telephone book.
"They set me up for an interview at the Holiday Inn in Ros-
slyn," Ward recalls. The interview took place in a conference
room on the third floor. The interviewer was older than the
man who had contacted Ward in Bologna. He was prema-
turely gray, in his early 40's. And he seemed hardly able to
contain his enthusiasm for Kevin Ward.
Ward had several attributes that were appealing to the
agency. Born in Idaho and raised in Brandon, Fla., near
Tampa, he came from a military background - his father
had served four years in the Navy and 26 years in the Air
Force. Moreover, Kevin Ward had been senior class president
in high school and graduated third in a class of 1,233. He had
compiled a solid academic record at Johns Hopkins - he had
a 3.64 grade point average - atd was a racing-car and target-
shooting enthusiast.
"According to your background," the C.I.A. man told
Ward, "you look like you're tailor-made for a variety of posi-
tions."
Three weeks later, Ward took an all-day C.I.A. aptitude test
at George Washington University. The agency is basically
divided into two parts, analysis and operations (box, page
30). Some questions were designed to test Ward's analytical
skills. But other parts of the test were clearly aimed at meas-
uring his potential as a secret agent.
"There were questions like, 'Suppose you have to remove
something from a desk in a locked building, after hours. You
have 30 seconds to put down everything you can think of,' "
Ward remembers. "So I listed, 'Were there dogs? What kind
of security system?"'
Ward was graduated from Johns Hopkins in December and
went home to Florida. He telephoned the agency several
times, hoping to find out his test results. "You'll be notified,"
he was told. Finally, in February, the call came. The agency
flew him to Washington and put him up for one night at a
motel.
Ward was given a special map that directed him to a build-
ing in northern Virginia, a few miles from C.I.A. headquar-
ters in Langley. "There were armed guards, metal detectors,
and they inspect Your bag," Ward recalls. He was issued a
visitors' badge and escorted to a small office. "You walk
down the hall, and all the people stop talking and all the doors
shut."
This interviewer said he had once been a station chief, Ward
says. "He looked like a military type, in his early 50's." He
made it clear that Ward was being interviewed for the Direc-
torate of Operations - the clandestine arm of the Central In-
telligence Agency.
THE DIRECTORATE OF OPERATIONS WAS ONCE VIR-
tually an Ivy League club. It is no longer. Even in the 1960's,
the agency had begun to reach out for a broader cross-section
of recruits. Vietnam and the antiwar movement made the
agency unfashionable on many campuses. In the mid-1980's,
the C.I.A. is once again attractive to many college students.
But it's not the same.
The old spy knew that. He is in his early 60's now, his face
craggy but still handsome, the black hair turned to gray. He
served in the Directorate of Operations, or the D.D.O., from
the beginning, and he has seen it all and known everybody, nwlued
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cultural organization, most of whose members are unaware
of his background. He was interviewed in his office, in a gra-
cious town house on Manhattan's East Side, on condition that
he not be identified by name.
"In the old days," he said, "nearly all of us were brought in
by someone who knew us." He smiled. "You were inter-
viewed, and only later discovered that the Interviewer was
the person you'd be working for."
And, more than likely, the recruiter was another Old Boy,
from the same Eastern Establishment background, who,
more often than not, had served in the wartime Office of
Strategic Services, the forerunner of the C.I.A. After Con-
gress established the Central Intelligence Agency in 1947, re-
cruits from the Ivy League flocked to its banner. The cold war
had begun and it was these men, with names like Tracy
Barnes, Richard Bissell, Frank Wisner, Bronson Tweedy and
John Bross, who, in the early days, ran the agency as if it
were a secret society at Yale.
"I felt an obligation to go into Government service," the
veteran spy said. "There was a feeling that the threat of Com-
munism was very real in France and Italy. People felt a need
to do something about it."
By background and temperament, he fit right in at the new
agency. He came from an old Virginia family where there
were lively discussions of foreign affairs at the dinner table.
He had attended an Episcopal prep school and an Ivy League
college. "I thought I would stay a couple of years," he said,
with a faraway look, "but I stayed a lifetime." Under State
Department cover, he rose to become a station chief in the
Middle East and other places.
He had earned a reputation as one of the finest officers in
the Clandestine Service, as the D.D.O. Is also known, but time
caught up with him. He was among those fired in 1977 by
Adm. Stansfield Turner, Jimmy Carter's Director of Central
Intelligence, who eliminated 820 clandestine jobs in what be-
came known as "the Halloween Massacre." Age and attrition
had already thinned the ranks of the Old Boys; with a stroke
of the pen, Turner, who later said he had wanted to create
more room for younger officers, hastened the process.
"Things have changed," the old spy said. "Recently, a
younger friend from C.I.A. came to dinner, with some others
from the agency, and they were all talking about their promo-
tions. We never did. I wondered if it's becoming like the post
office."
THE INTERVIEWER WOULD ONLY TELL
Kevin Ward his first name. He said he had
served in the agency's clandestine side for
25 years, 17 of them overseas. If Ward
joined the Directorate of Operations, the re-
cruiter emphasized, he would have to ac-
cept a certain life style.
"He made it clear you have to give up a
lot," Ward remembers. "He said, 'You
would have a diplomatic passport and work
under State Department cover. You would
tell your friends you turned down the C.I.A.,
and you were really interested in the State
Department.' "
If he were sent overseas, Ward was told, he would be han-
dling agents. "You would service accounts and develop new
accounts," the interviewer said, using an agency euphemism
for spies, "and work four or five hours a day on your cover
job. You would be under scrutiny all the time. We watch other
countries and they watch us.' "
Ward recalls: "He said, 'Even if I offer you the position,
there's little chance you'll get it. There are lots of psychologi-
do join- the a enc Al YUU
g y, your friends won't respect you. You've
been working for the Department of Commerce or State for 12
years and you're still low level. Say you wanted to go into poli-
tics or do something else, to the world you would be a low-
level State Department person. You'd have a horrible
resume.' "
The recruiter glanced down at Ward's test scores. He liked
the replies about breaking into a locked building. "That's
good," Ward remembers the recruiter saying. "you can
think on your feet. That would help you talk your way out of a
tight situation."
But he was less happy with Ward's answers to another ques-
tion. "You're asked if you would like living in a tent with no
running water, and soon," Ward explains. "My test scores in-
dicated I liked the more glamorous life, and didn't like covert
life. He said, 'You don't really fit in with the D.D.O.' I
agreed."
It was clear the interview was over. The recruiter said he
would circulate Ward's resume to the Directorate of Intelli-
gence, the agency's analytical arm known as the D.D.I., but
indicated he did not think anything would come of it. The
D.D.I., unlike the covert side, wants people with graduate de-
grees.
THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY
runs its recruiting operation from an un-
marked, six-story, sand-colored office
building in Tysons Comer, Va., about four
miles from C:I.A. headquarters.
There is nothing on the front of the build-
ing or in the lobby to indicate it is C.I.A. But
a guard bars the way to anyone except em-
ployees, or invited visitors, who must sign
in. The guard sits in front of a board full of
multicolored lights that tell him whether
perimeter doors and entrances to stairways
and offices are open or closed at any given
moment.
John P. Littlejohn, the agency's deputy director of person-
nel for employment - the man in charge of recruiting - oc-
cupies Room 4N20, a modest-sized corner office on the fourth
floor. His office looks not unlike any other at the midmanage-
ment level of the agency: beige walls, a walnut veneer confer-
ence table, a desk, and a large white plastic blackboard, the
kind that takes a grease pencil rather than chalk.
But there are reminders that this is an intelligence agency.
Affixed to Littlejohn's pop-up address file is a day-glo orange
sticker printed "SECRET" in large black letters. Next to it is
the white C.I.A. telephone directory, with the agency seal in
black on the cover (a fierce eagle atop a shield), and the word
"SECRET" in red letters repeated in a strip across the top
and bottom.
A lanky, friendly man of 46, Littlejohn smiles a lot and has
an easygoing manner. "There will be some people who think
it's a James Bond kind of thing," he said of a C.I.A. career.
"Glamorous capitals, see the world. We discourage that.
We're not interested in that kind of perception."
The agency can't compete with the salaries paid by private
industry. A typical recruit might come in at the $20,000 range,
and could expect to earn more than $30,000 only as a case offi-
cer or analyst with several years service (the director earns
$75,100). So aren't the glamour and excitement of being a se-
cret agent one of the rewards?
"Sure," Littlejohn replied. "A lot of people find excitement
in the work. And some are turned on by knowing something
that nobody else knows. But from a security standpoint, we
don't want people boasting about secrets. Excitement may be
a motivator, but people in the agency don't have to be James
Bond or cowboys. We're interested in people who are seri-
ous."
Although the agency may not want people boasting about
secrets, lately it has had a lot of trouble with employees sell-
ing secrets to the K.G.B. Littlejohn is not unaware of the rash COnfinum
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or recent spy cases, but he
said that guarding against
the planting of foreign agents
among C.I.A. applicants is
not the recruiter's responsi-
bility. "A sleeper, a mole,
that's the job of the Office of
Security," he said.
Littlejohn continued, "Our
effort is primarily directed
toward college-age appli-
cants." The agency. he said,
has 10 recruiting offices
around the country. The one
in Pittsburgh is mostly for
clerical people. The other
i nine are general.
College students cannot be
expected to have the highly
specialized knowledge on ex-
otic subjects that the agency
frequently needs, however.
The C.I.A. usually trains its
staff members to develop
such expertise, one agency of-
ficial said. "You don't go out
and look for someone who's
an expert on sandstorms in
the Sahara," he said. "We
hire generalists who can
move in different directions."
If the agency does need a spe-
cialist on an arcane subject
and can't find one in-house, It
usually hires a consultant
from academe or private in-
dustry.
In the past, the C.I.A. didn't
advertise by name. In today's
competitive job market, the
C.I.A. advertises often, in
large displays featuring the
C.I.A. eagle and clearly iden-
tifying the agency. A newspa-
per advertisement in March,
for example, listed entrance
salaries "from $22,000 to
$34,000 depending on creden-
tials." There is still a clan-
destine touch, however, the
C.I.A. being what it is. The
return address is a Washing-
ton P.O. box, care of "Jay A.
Collingswood, Dept. S, Rm.
4N20," which happens to be
Littlejohn's office. "Jay A.
Collingswood" does not exist.
Two years ago, a similar
C.I.A. ad gave the same re-
turn address, except that ap.
plicants were to write to
"J.A. Compton," who has the
same initials and, it can be
assumed, is equally nonexist-
ent.
"The recruiters get in touch
with placement offices at the
colleges," Littlejohn ex-
plained. "They might visit
twice a year. The recruiter
has resumes in advance, sub.
mitted by the students
through the placement office,
and he asks to see certain
people." What the agency
calls a "screening interview"
takes place, usually on cam.
pus, although some colleges,
like Harvard, prefer to have
the C.I.A. do its interviewing
off-campus. (Harvard stu-
dents must go to the C.I.A.'s
office in downtown Boston,
across from Boston Common,
for their interviews. Since the
agency lists only its phone
number in the Boston tele.
Phone directory, these stu-
dents are provided the ad-
dress by the C.I.A. when they
are notified of their inter-
view.)
In some cases, the C.I.A.
initiates the approach when it
hears of a likely prospect. But
hoac it does so is mysterious.
Kevin ward, for instance,
says he has no idea how the
agency got his name. If the
first interview goes well, the
student is given a 12-page
Personal History Statement
to fill out. Among other
things, it asks about relatives
who live abroad (and who
might be subject to pressure
by foreign governments). It
also asks whether the appli.
cant has ever used alcohol or
drugs - six, including mari-
juana, cocaine and heroin,
are listed - and if so, how
often.
"Many applicants today
have experimented with
marijuana," Littlejohn said.
"That in itself isn't going to
disqualify you. Hard drugs
would raise questions, but we
look at the circumstances and
whole person. Someone who
uses drugs at a frat party and
now as an adult isn't using -
that says something to us."
But once applicants are ac-
cepted by the C.I.A., they are
not permitted to use drugs.
"You can have a martini,
but you can't have a joint,':
Littlejohn said.
The agency asks applicants
whether they have ever had a
homosexual encounter. It
denies that homosexuals are
automatically barred, but
when asked whether the
agency has knowingly hired
any, Littlejohn replied: "I
don't know of any." Official-
ly, the C.I.A.'s position is that
homosexuals won't be hired if
"it seems likely that access to
classified information could
pose a risk to the national se-
curity."
Applicants must be united
States citizens, either natu.
ralized or native-born. The
agency does not hire felons,
although it gets offers. Sup-
pose an ace safecracker ap.
plied, would he really be
turned away? "I can't imag-
ine we would hire such a per-
son," Littlejohn said. In the
early 1960's, the C.I.A. hired
two leading Mafia figures to
try to assassinate Fidel Cas-
tro, but they were what the
agency calls "contract em-
ployees," presumably with
unintended irony.
Those who pass the initial
hurdles take the battery of
tests that Kevin Ward took.
This is followed by a second,
more detailed interview. If
all goes well, the clearance
process is then begun and the
applicant subjected to a full
field investigation by the Of.
lice of Security. The investi-
gation covers in detail the ap.
plicant's life history.
Prospective employees are
also warned that they will
have to submit to a polygraph
test, the first of many peri-
odic lie-detector examina-
tions they will have to un-
dergo if hired. (Although the
value of lie-detector tests is
disputed, the C.I.A. and the
National Security Agency
continue to require them.)
For C.I.A. applicants, there is
a medical examination that
includes psychological, and
for certain jobs, psychiatric
tests.
It takes at least four
months, perhaps longer, to
complete the processing - a
time lag that puts the C.I.A.
at a disadvantage compared
to corporate recruiters.
"Often the applicant has
taken a job in the meantime,"
Littlejohn said ruefully. If the
applicant passes muster, he
or she is listed as "E.O.D.,"
or "Entered on Duty,"
agency jargon for hired.
"We estimate 150,000 a year
inquire," Littlejohn said,
"but only a small fraction are
E.O.D." He added that "tens
of thousands who apply are
not taken. Our standards are
very high." Littlejohn won't
say how many are hired be-
cause the C.I.A.'s size and
budget are among its most
closely guarded secrets. But
the intelligence agency has
often been described as hav.
ing almost 20,000 employees
and a budget of about $2 bil.
lion a year. It is likely that it
hires 200 to 300 clandestine
officers each year, and some
1,000 employees annually out
of perhaps 10,000 who apply.
By all indications, applica-
tions are up, and this spring
at least, the agency experi- I
enced little difficulty recruit-
ing on college campuses. This
was not always the case.
MURDERERS AND
rapists! Mutilators
and exterminators! "
It was April 1985, and the
students at the University of
Colorado at Boulder were
protesting the presence of
C.I.A. recruiters on campus.
The protest, against the agen-
cy's support for the so-called
contras in Nicaragua, had
been organized by a coalition
of groups that called itself
Community in Action, or
C.I.A.
While the students demon-
strated outside, a team of
agency recruiters was inter-
viewing some 170 students in-
side. The team was led by
Tom White, who is based in
Denver and heads the agen-
cy's recruitment office for
the Rocky Mountain states.
The first student White inter-
viewed seemed genuinely in-
terested in a C.I.A. career,
but when the interview was
over, the student attempted
to place White under a citi-
zen's arrest. Instead, he was
himself arrested, as were 477
others.
This spring, the C.I.A. did
not return to the Boulder
campus. An agency spokes.
man blamed the restrictions
of the Gramm-Rudman-Holl-
ings budget-cutting law.
Kevin D. Harris, one of the
organizers of the protest,
thought the students had done
it. "When we found out they
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weren't coming back, it was
an empowering feeling," he
said.
Demonstrations have been
sporadic and apparently
fewer in number this year, al-
though the C.I.A. does not
give out the statistics. College
placement officers report
that student interest in work-
ing for the C.I.A. has in-
creased. For example, Susan
Hauser, the director of Yale's
Career Services, said: "Stu-
dent interest in C.I.A. has
gone up in the last 12 years. It
hasn't changed dramatically,
but there is a significant in-
crease in interest from the
mid-70's."
The Ivy League's dwindling
impact on the agency was un-
derscored recently by Wil-
liam E. Colby. In the mid-
1970's, while he was Director
of Central Intelligence, Colby
recounted: "I remember sit-
ting around a table with the 10
highest officers in the agen-
cy. Just for the heck of it I
said, 'Who's Ivy League?'
Two or three were, but the
others came from different
schools. One had gone to
Whitman College, in Wash-
ington state, the others were
from various schools, and two
had no college degree at all."
As the agency's deputy di-
rector for administration dur-
ing the 1970's, John F. Blake
supervised personnel and re-
cruitment. "At some point,"
he said, "it was realized by
the top leadership of the
agency that they needed to re-
flect American mores, *that
the Far West wasn't Indian
territory, and mid-America
had a voice, as well as the
Northeast corridor." Blake is
from San Francisco.
The C.I.A. insists it is ac-
tively seeking to hire more
women and members of mi-
nority groups. For example,
the agency says that it re-
cently ran 400 radio spots on
stations in the southwest, in
areas with heavy Hispanic
populations. The agency also
advertises in Ukrainian, Pol-
ish, Cuban and other ethnic
newspapers.
The agency declines to re-
lease figures on what percent
of its employees are women,
however. Blake conceaed
that in his time, the C.I.A.
had failed to recruit and pro-
mote women, but said its
record was no worse than that
of other private and public in-
stitutions. "By the time I left
in 1979, remarkable progress
had been made," Blake said.
"In the past 10 years, women
have served as chiefs of sta-
tion and as office heads."
The trend away from the
Ivy League is supported by a
recent C.I.A. internal study
of what schools have provided
the most recruits. Although
Yale is still on the list, the top
schools, in order, are George-
town, George Washington
University, the University of
Maryland and American Uni-
versity. All are in the Wash-
ington area.
Perhaps typical of the
Georgetown students who ex-
plore the C.I.A. as a career
option is Ann Lowell, 21, of St.
Louis, a graduating senior in
the School of Foreign Service
who describes herself as
"basically very conserva-
tive." She was interviewed on
campus last fall by a C.I.A.
representative who gave his
name as Chris Vorder-
bruegge. "He was heavyset,
early 30's, and had brown,
thinning hair," Ann Lowell
said. "He was more the teddy
bear image than James
Bond.
"He was not incredibly well
dressed like the guy from
Morgan Stanley," she said,
referring to the recruiter
from the New York invest-
ment banking firm, "who had
an expensive suit and the cor-
porate look."
In her job hunt, Ann Lowell
was also interviewed by sev-
eral banks, insurance compa-
nies, Bloomingdale's in New
York, Xerox and other firms.
She accepted a job in Wash-
ington with Amex Interna-
tional Inc., a company that
purchases food for countries
that receive United States
aid.
Ann Lowell did not have an
overwhelming desire to join
the C.I.A. "It just seemed
like any opportunity," she
said. She decided not to pur-
sue it because "I didn't like
cy, and was afraid I might be
pigeonholed. It just didn't
seem appealing. And a pro-
fessor warned me that if I
went to another job from the
C.I.A., I wouldn't be able to
say what I had done."
The bureaucratic nature of
Government service - not
just the salary gap with cor-
porate America - hampers
the agency in its effort to at-
tract the best and the bright-
est graduates. Allan E. Good-
man, associate dean of
Georgetown's School of For-
eign Service, worked for the
agency during the Carter Ad-
ministration. "At the begin-
ning when I went there, there
was still some belief in the
importance of the job," Good-
man said. "By the end, it was
part of the bureaucracy. If it
snowed there was an order
that only essential Govern-
ment personnel were to go in
to work. Well, in 1960, there
was no question we were es-
sential. There was a big
snowstorm around the time
China invaded Vietnam in the
winter of 1979, and people at
C.I.A. asked each other,
'Hey, are we really essen-
tial?' "
T HOSE WHO ARE AC-
cepted by the C.I.A.
have to make it
through a three-year trial
period. The luckier ones are
chosen as Career Trainees
(C.T.'s), an elite group many
of whose members are des-
tined for the Clandestine
Service. The C.T.'s train at
"the Farm," a 10,000-acre
site at Camp Peary, near Wil-
liamsburg, Va., where they
learn clandestine tradecraft
such as opening letters with-
out detection (Flaps and
Seals) and lockpicking (Picks
and Locks). Although John
Stockwell and other former
C.I.A. officers have written
about the Farm in some de-
tail, the agency refuses to ac-
knowledge its existence.
("What Farm?" Littlejohn
asked.) The Farm is carried
on the Navy's books as the
"Armed Forces Experimen-
tal Training Activity." A Pen-
tagon spokesman would say
only that Camp Peary is "a
military facility with a classi-
fied mission."
Overt employees are al-
lowed to say they work for the
C.I.A., but covert officers
give their cover employment.
In theory, agency employees
are not permitted to tell their
family any classified infor-
mation. But, said Littlejohn,
"We recognize that certain
information goes to the
spouse." Agency people tend
to stick close together and to
socialize among themselves
- it gets complicated when
C.I.A. officers, some clandes-
tine and some not, mix with
outsiders. "There's a risk,"
Littlejohn noted, "that some-
one will say to an officer
under cover, 'O.K., Joe, see
you at work on Monday.' "
There are many second-
generation C.I.A. employees,
and a number of husband-
and-wife employees. A few
years ago, during a crisis, a
woman who was the agency's
Portugal analyst was awak-
ened by a call at 2 A.M. from
a C.I.A. operations officer.
When he had finished talking
to her he asked if she possibly
knew how to reach the Angola
analyst. "Just a minute, he's
right here," she said, reach-
ing across the bed and hand-
ing the phone to her husband.
In the high-stress environ-
ment of a secret intelligence
agency, divorce and alcohol-
ism rates are said to be
slightly higher than the na-
tional average, the suicide
rate slightly lower.
Covert officers learn to live
a life that is a lie, sometimes
going to great lengths to pre-
serve their cover. Former
C.I.A. agent Melvin Beck was
stationed in Mexico in the
1960's under deep cover as a
writer. "I actually wrote sev-
eral novels," he says. "Pot-
boilers. But I thought they
had great plots. They were
spy thrillers." Beck had to
send his novels to the agency,
but got back the rights to
them after he retired. They
remain unpublished.
The C.I.A.'s pervasive con-
cern with security occasion-
ally victimizes officers who
have spent years in the serv-
ice of the agency. During the
1960's, James J. Angleton, the
agency's counterintelligence
chief, came to rely heavily on
information provided by a
Soviet defector, Anatoli Golit-
sin. Golitsin said a C.I.A.
CAntiriuen
6
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..uu .7F/usW. &%U73Ld l Qua
had been stationed in Berlin
was a K.G.B. mole. As a re-
sult, a shadow of suspicion
fell on Paul Garbler, a former
Navy bomber pilot in World
War II, whose rise in the
agency's Clandestine Service
came to an abrupt halt. Gar-
bler, whose background fit
Golitsin's profile, was rele-
gated to dead-end posts for
nine years, four of them as
station chief on a Caribbean
island. "There was lots of
exiled, retired from the agen-
cy, hired a lawyer, and with
the intervention of the staff of
the Senate Intelligence Com-
mittee won a cash settlement
from the C.I.A. He declined to
comment on his case, but the
agency colleague and other
sources confirmed the de-
tails.
A few years later, in 1980,
Congress, at the request of
Admiral Turner, passed a lit-
tle-known law, since expired,
that allowed the Director of
Central Intelligence to com-
pensate any employee who
"unfairly had his career with
the agency adversely af-
fected as a result of allega-
tions concerning the loyalty
. of such employee." The
Garbler case, in other words,
was not an isolated incident.
According to Turner, several
former C.I.A. men were com-
pensated under the law. He
said he could not say how
many, but it was "less than a
dozen."
There are other risks to the
job. In the white marble wall
of the lobby at C.I.A. head-
quarters, 49 stars are carved,
each representing a C.I.A.
employee killed in the line of
duty. Others have been cap-
tured and tortured. The agen-
cy's recruiting brochure for
the Clandestine Service un-
derstandably downplays the
risk, calling it "slightly
higher than for police or fire-
men in a large city."
ranks."
Aware that the C.I.A.'s
image has been tarnished by
the spy cases that broke in
1985, and perhaps anticipat-
ing the Senate probe, the
C.I.A. chief William Casey, in
his classified annual report to
Congress in April, listed per-
sonnel - the need to recruit,
keep and reward high-quality
people- as his No. 1 priority.
Casey insists that C.I.A. ap.
plicants undergo "one of the
most rigorous screening pro-
cesses known to man," in-
cluding "security clearances
with background investiga-
tions going back 15 years."
They must live, Casey added,
"in complete anonymity in
many cases ... they know
they will receive little public
recognition for their achieve-
ments, and that criticisms -
justified or not - must be tol-
erated in silence."
The anonymity may bring
internal rewards to some who
thrive on secrecy. "A lot of
people find excitement in the
secret knowledge," John Lit-
tlejohn said.
Yet the anonymity may
prove a burden to others.
John Blake, the former C.I.A.
deputy director, said: "Look,
you might work the same
number of years that in the
Navy you would become a
vice admiral, or a lieutenant
general in the Army, or a ca-
reer minister at State. And
perhaps you would get to be a
station chief. But the career
minister flies the American
flag on his car and the admi.
ral has gold braid on his cap.
might come home and say,
'Gee, Dad, Billy's father is a
lieutenant general. What hap-
pened to you?' Some people
can cope with it. Others
can't. "
FOR KEVIN WARD,
the C.I.A. was only "one
option" among many.
He applied as well to law
schools, the Brookings Institu-
tion, the Rand Corporation,
some large banks and a major
stock brokerage firm. In the
end, a political job proved the
most attractive; this month he
began working for the Senate
campaign of Bob Graham,
Florida's Democratic Gover-
nor, who is running against
Paula Hawkins, the Republi-
can incumbent.
But the C.I.A. had one re-
quest that Ward's other poten-
tial employers did not. The
agency advised him, he said, to
check his files and "destroy
anything that has our name gn
it." ^
Continued
fesses to be pleased with its
recruiting program, it cannot
be pleased at the prospect of
the planned Senate Intelli-
gence Committee hearings
into its recruitment and per-
sonnel policies.
Senator Durenberger said
of the C.I.A.: "Oh, they'll tell
you, 'We have higher grade
point average, not all Ivy
Leaguers, they're from all
over the country now.' But
when you pin them down,
rum and sunshine, but no they don't have the people
Russians," said a colleague. that meet the requirement.
"They really destroyed his
career." . Old hands are retiring, but
nobody came in the 1970's,
Garbler, who was never of- when the agency was unpopu-
ficially told why he had been i lar, so there is a gap in the
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CAREERS
WITH TIC
COMPANY
i!
two parts - we that collects intelligence and: runs .:'
operations, and we that analyses intelligencAdministra
tively, these tasks are carried oat by four directorates-
ligence (analysts and researchers); operations (caseo ,
aim i.e. spies, and covert operators); science and tech
nology (a wide variety of technical Jobs), and administsa-a
tion (the bureaucrats who run the C.I.A. and protect its sett'
although the total number of employees, like the agency's;::
budget, is classified.
The Directorate of Intelligence seeks computer scientists,
econometricians, mathematicians, statisticians and politi-
cal scientists for its Analytic Support Group.
The Directorate of Science and Technology recruits engi-
neers, scientists and computer specialists. The Directorate
of Administration's Office of Communications seeks com-
munications systems engineers and programmers.
The C.I.A. also advertises career opportunities in such
areas as the Office of Central Reference; the Office of Im-
agery Analysis; the Foreign Broadcast Information Serv-
ice; the Office of East Asian Analysis; the Office of Train-
ing and Education; the Office of Medical Services; the Of-
fice of Security, and the Office of Personnel.
Forthose chosen for the elite Career Training Program,
from which the Clandestine Service selects its officers,
starting salaries range from x22,000 to $34,000. Midlevel
salaries at the C.IA are in the $50,000 range, and a top
agency executive can earn more than x70,000. Case offi-
cers, the agency's clandestine operatives, are eligible for
9.6 percent bonus. -D.W.
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SELLING OF
THE AGENCY
The C.I.A., lice many corporations, puts its best foot
forward in brochures designed to attract recruits,
THE LITTLE BRO-
chure is discreet -
matte gray in color,
with a small seal of
the Central Intelli-
gence Agency tucked
into one corner. Inside, there
are no photographs, only
text: "The Clandestine Serv-
ice ... the cutting edge of
American intelligence. Its
operational terrain is the
human mind, where people
- alone or together - make
decisions, develop intentions,
decide to go to war, make
peace, change history."
Like many other prospec-
tive employers, the Central
Intelligence Agency uses
brochures to attract recruits.
Most of these brochures,
which describe the agency,
its history and its functions,
are handed out to prospec-
tive applicants on college
campuses and at job fairs.
The Clandestine Service
brochure - which is given
out more selectively, to can-
didates who have been
screened - explains that.
"Besides its primary job of
collecting intelligence, the
Clandestine Service - also
called the Directorate of
Operations - seeks to
change adversaries into
friends or neutrals through
covert operations by politi-
cal, psychological, or para-
military means. it works
with friendly intelligence
services toward mutual
goals. It also defends itself
and the Government against
hostile penetration and at-
tack.'
Those in the Clandestine
Service "must be adaptable
and well-disciplined. They
accept an anonymity in the
ordinary world for the recog-
nition of their peers within
the Service. They are an elite
but are known only to an elite
of a very special world."
This is, the brochure says,
no 9-to-5 job being adver-
tised. "The call may come in
the middle of the night or on
a rainy Sunday morning, or it
may interrupt a dinner party
or a daughter's graduation.
If it is urgent, the case officer
exits his social and cover life
to meet with an agent in a
corner of a deserted park, at
a table in a bistro, in a safe-
house. If the agent or opera-
tion is very sensitive, mes-
sages are exchanged through
a 'dead drop,' a place of con-
cealment."
A post office box number in
Washington is given, along
with the instructions: "When
you write to the above ad-
dress, do not mention your
interest in the Clandestine
Service. Tell this only to the
recruiter in your first inter-
view."
Unlike the Clandestine
Service publication, which is
new this year, most of the
C.I.A. brochures are large
and glossy, with color photo-
graphs-what one might ex-
pect from I.B.M., perhaps,
or a large bank. One, which
pitches the agency's analyti-
cal branch, is entitled, "Di-
rectorate of Intelligence: Ca-
reers That Can Make a Dif-
ference." On the cover is a
photograph of the statue of
Nathan Hale that guards the
entrance to C.I.A. headquar-
ters in Langley, Va., just out-
side Washington. Inside, the
brochure advertises "career
opportunities" in economic
research and analysis, the
physical sciences and engi-
neering, political science,
history, international rela-
tions and computer science.
"A Professional Career in
Intelligence . Analysis," an-
other brochure, provides an-
swers to "commohly asked
questions," such as, "What
do analysts do?" ("They in-
terpret and forecast for sen-
ior U.S. officials ... issues
and world events of impor-
'ance to the United States");
and "Does agency employ-
ment reduce my later career
options?" ("Our experience
is that ... an analytical ca-
reer in the D.I. enhances
your later options and gen-
erally provides you with
training and experience that
others simply cannot
match").
There is also a brochure for
the Office of SIGINT - sig-
nals intelligence, part of the
Directorate of Science and
Technology - and another
one that extols the C.I.A. and
its employees: its title is,
"Intelligence: The Acme of
Skill." -D. W.
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