[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 187 (Monday, November 27, 1995)]
[Senate]
[Pages S17520-S17521]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




            HE PUT OUR RIGHT TO LIVE OVER OUR RIGHT TO KNOW

  Mr. HELMS. Mr. President, in early October John Scali died, the 
obituaries stated, of heart failure--which is interesting because John 
Scali was a gentleman known by his friends as being ``good-hearted.'' I 
had known John for many years in many ways and I never heard him boast, 
even once.
  John Scali had a quiet greatness that carried him to a distinguished 
career as an honorable and objective journalist for ABC television, 
later as an adviser to President Nixon, and then as successor to George 
Bush as U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations.
  I first met John Scali during his and my television days; he with 
ABC-TV in Washington and I with WRAL-TV in Raleigh. When I was elected 
to the Senate in 1972 John was one of the first to call. When I arrived 
in the Senate in January 1973 as a new boy on the block, I saw John 
Scali more often. He stopped by many times, seldom for an interview but 
mostly as a friend.
  There were a few lines in a few obituaries about John that deserved 
more attention than they got concerning John Scali's remarkable 
involvement 

[[Page S 17521]]
in pulling back the Soviet Union and the United States from what may 
have been the brink of war in 1962.
  Mr. President, John Scali kept this episode a secret, and at this 
point, I shall bring to the Senate's attention a column by my longtime 
friend, Max Freedman, himself an erudite gentleman whose very credible 
thoughts appear regularly in the Jewish Journal published in New York 
City. At this point, Mr. President, let Max take over.
  I therefore ask unanimous consent that the Max Freedman column of 
November 24 be printed in the Record at the conclusion of my remarks.
  There being no objection, the column was ordered to be printed in the 
Record, as follows:

                [From the Jewish Herald, Nov. 24, 1995]

            He Put Our Right To Live Over Our Right To Know

                           (By C.H. Freedman)

       The greatest tribute to John A Scali in his recent obituary 
     was that most readers had not been that familiar with him.
       Such relative non-celebrity status was what made the former 
     ABC correspondent one of the noblest Americans ever.
       Scali could have been a ``superstar'' journalist had he so 
     chosen. Next to him, such names as Cronkite, Donaldson, 
     Woodward and Bernstein would now be comparative bush leaguers 
     had he embraced the same ``journalistic ethic'' many of them 
     do.
       Scali had what was arguably the greatest scoop of all time 
     during the Cuban missile crisis in October 1962--and forwent 
     it for the sake of America and civilization.
       I recall the time all too vividly. With city-obliterating 
     Soviet missiles pointed at us and ours at them, and our next 
     day's very existence predicated on national egos and on two 
     posturing leaders' flashpoints, most of us were shaking in 
     our pre-L.L. Bean boots.
       In the midst of this national trauma, the Washington-based 
     Scali unexpectedly received a call from one Aleksandr Fomin, 
     counselor of the Soviet Embassy. Fomin, whom Scali knew to be 
     the head of Soviet intelligence in this country, invited him 
     to lunch.
       ``I'd already had lunch,'' recalled Scali, ``but his voice 
     was so urgent and insistent that I decided to go 
     immediately.''
       At the Occidental Restaurant, almost in the shadow of the 
     White House, Fomin made an astonishing proposal.
       ``After the waiter had taken our order,'' Scali recounted, 
     Fomin ``came right to the point and said, `War seems about to 
     break out; something must be done.' ''
       Scali recalled answering, ``Well, you should have thought 
     of that before you introduced the missiles'' in Cuba.
       ``There might be a way out'' of the impending conflict, 
     said Fomin. Suppose that ``we would promise to remove our 
     missiles under United Nations inspection and promise never to 
     introduce such offensive missiles into Cuba again? Would 
     President Kennedy be willing to promise publicly not to 
     invade Cuba?''
       Scali judiciously replied that he didn't know, but was 
     ``willing to try and find out.''
       To Scali's eternal credit, he forsook his journalism 
     ``ethic''--which, to many, demands such story be propagated 
     forthwith--and instead assumed the role of patriot. In the 
     days that followed, he became an unnoticed, unheralded 
     courier shuttling between the White House and the Soviets 
     until the crisis was peacefully resolved.
       Not until 1964, when the lines in the sand were long since 
     washed away, did Scali go public with the story.
       He received no great tributes then--or at any time since--
     for the noble career sacrifice he had made two years earlier.
       Imagine, especially if you're a devotee of what-if fiction, 
     what the scenario might have been if, say, Fomin had gotten a 
     steady busy signal on Scali's line and in his urgency called 
     one of the dozens of other such correspondents in Washington.
       Not necessarily someone like Lyle Denniston of the 
     Baltimore Sun--who once told an interviewer that if he'd been 
     old enough for World War II he would have reported the atom-
     bomb secret or the time and place of the upcoming D-Day 
     invasion; indeed, he boasted, he would have even stolen such 
     war-forfeiting information. ``They would have made good 
     stories,'' he explained.
       No, Fomin needn't have reached a Lyle Denniston to risk 
     turning us into radioactive cinders; a much more moderate 
     practitioner of the craft would have done just fine--say, one 
     of the thousands of Denniston's colleagues who would never 
     publicly proclaim what he did, but who condone, if not 
     heartily approve of, his stance.
       Such reporter would have solemnly agreed to Fomin's 
     request, finished lunch, smiled reassuringly as he or she 
     waved poh-kah (friendly, informal Russian ``goodbye'') to 
     Fomin, then established a world's record dash--not to the 
     White House, but to his or her newsroom.
       There, a pious morality play would be staged by reporter 
     and editors: national security versus that pompously invoked 
     ``public's right to know!''
       And don't you dare even think that we idealistic 
     journalists, in making such solemn decision, would consider 
     such crass things as instant personal fame, skyrocketing 
     circulation and the like.
       But, blessedly, Fomin did not get that busy signal. And 
     thus did not turn to someone who would have broken the story 
     that, given the lost ``face-saving'' element, could well have 
     led to this city and others becoming Hiroshima II.
       It's sad enough to note here that John Scali was never 
     given a fraction of the tribute he would have received had he 
     sold out his soul and America by breaking that story. But 
     besides being denied his moral due, he was treated shabbily 
     in a more direct way.
       Based on Scali's expertise in international matters, in 
     1971 President Nixon appointed him special consultant for 
     foreign affairs and communications; two years later, Nixon 
     named him to replace George Bush as our representative to the 
     United Nations.
       But when Gerald Ford assumed the presidency, he 
     unceremoniously dumped this man who had performed so 
     admirably at the post.
       To be charitable toward Ford, such action demonstrated that 
     playing football without a helmet does indeed diminish one's 
     reasoning ability.
       To be less charitable, it provided further insight into the 
     character of a president who owed his career and prominence 
     to conservatives--and showed his gratitude by choosing as his 
     vice president, the original ``Rockefeller-liberal 
     Republican,'' Nelson.
       Had Scali, 33 years ago, embraced the ``ethic'' of many 
     journalists, there's an excellent chance Ford wouldn't even 
     have been around to take over the Oval Office in 1974; 
     indeed, there might not have even been an Oval Office. Or 
     much of a citizenry left to care about one.
       That concept is probably beyond the capacity of Gerald 
     Ford. But maybe some less-dense influential Americans might 
     show belated appreciation to a newsman, John A. Scali, to 
     whom this scared-silly-in-'62 American, for one, feels 
     eternally grateful.

                          ____________________