Check Your Basement For Top Secret Files. You’ll Never Believe What I Found In Mine
A stash of handwritten private notes by U.S. Presidents -- and Dan Quayle -- has me reeling.
Basement bonanza: Long before Trump and Biden, presidents were saving their notes. But how did they end up with me?
I went down to the storage unit in the basement of my apartment building the other day. I was going through some old papers, looking for an investigative report I wrote in third grade on whether or not Eli Whitney really invented the cotton gin.
It was then that, to my shock and chagrin, I came upon an unfamiliar, large, important-looking stack of papers that has made me a nervous wreck.
My heart sank when I read the bold heading on the front page:
TOP SECRET. CLASSIFIED MATERIAL. PROPERTY OF THE U.S. GOVERNMENT. PENALTY FOR ILLEGAL POSSESSION? DON’T EVEN ASK.
My fingers were shaking as I skimmed the pages and realized I was holding a pile of private diaries and documents written by U.S. Presidents in their own hand, going back to the days of Richard Nixon.
Oh Lord, what are these papers doing here, I wondered. How did they end up in my little storage unit? Who put them there? Who’s going to believe me that I had nothing to do with this? What’s going to happen to me? How will this impact my chances of being elected president?
I figured I better contact the Justice Department, face the consequences and turn myself in right away. So I found the phone number but got a voice message that said, “If you are calling to return Top Secret documents that may impact the security of our country, please call back at another time. We are backed up at the moment.”
That’s when I decided I might as well take a closer look at some of these documents, and was amazed at what I read.
The Nixon papers had some handwritten notes, including an apparent attempt at humor the president penned for the annual National Press Club dinner. One said, “My Secretary of State says he’s stepping down to take another job. So … I wonder who’s Kissinger now!”
Nearby, Nixon scribbled: “Scratch that pun. No one’ll remember the song.”
Another note said, “Pat may join us later. She’s upstairs looking for her plain, cloth coat and practicing her smile.”
A few pages later, I found: “Note for memoir: Insist that I was just telling the press that my culinary skills are limited. And what I really said was, ‘I am not a cook.’”
And then there was: “Deny reports that I’m an anti-Semite. Explain that some of my best lawyers who know how to bend the law are Jews.”
And finally: “Remind Rose Mary [Wood] to give me that tape before she leaves the office.”
From Jimmy Carter’s Camp David diary, I read: “Tell that annoying little Begin fellow we don't supply Jew-beanies here. He can bring his own.” And a few days later: “If that Yapping Yid keeps hocking Anwar and me with his endless oratory, I swear I’ll attack Tel Aviv myself!”
Ronald Reagan’s file was sparse. Most of the papers were notes saying things like “nap time early tomorrow” or “it’s windy today, put more glue in my hair.” One note to a speechwriter said, “where the hell is the shining city on a hill? Is it near LA?”
I found one Vice Presidential file. It was Dan Quayle’s. Remember, the Veep under the senior George Bush? It was his note to a publisher, asking if there was any interest in his manuscript, titled: “How One ‘Potatoe’ Ruined My Chance To Be President.” At the bottom of the page, Quayle added: “No respons. So sadd.”
The Bill Clinton papers had a lot of names and phone numbers scribbled on pads of paper, like Lulu Belle, Wendy Anne and Shirlee Mae. His note for a major press conference said: “I swear I never wore specs with that woman.”
George W. Bush’s file had more drawings than writing, and some of them were very good. His very first entry, on the day he took office, read: “Call Florida. Thank Chad. (Who’s Chad?)”
Barack Obama’s diaries had notations to “sprinkle a few more references to ‘folks’” when speaking to inner city crowds. And he vented his frustration after watching Israel’s prime minister criticize him in a speech delivered to Congress. Obama wrote: “Yes sir, that’s my Bibi. No sir, turn off that TV… I give him billions in arms and he gives me a pain in my kishkas. Maybe I should send over a few gallons of ice cream for Sarah…”
Donald Trump’s file consisted of one piece of paper with two notations. It read:
“Send all vital secret files to Mar-A-Lago BECAUSE I WANT TO, THAT’S WHY.”
“Approve plan to build Trump Tower Presidential Library out of gold in Miami Beach. FANTASTIC. SO GREAT. It will just have one book. Mine. “Trump: The Art of the Steal.”
The page was signed: “Donald J. Trump” and he added: “the J is for Jenius.”
All I could find with Joe Biden’s name on it was an index card that read: “Ask Hunter to clean out my garage. Make sure I don’t have any Top Secret files like Dumb Donald.”
So what do I do with this stash of papers now? I’ve been calling the Justice Department to turn myself in, but just get that same voice message. I guess I’ll keep trying.
And by the way, I found my third grade report on Eli Whitney. An investigative gem, I must say. Turns out he didn’t invent the cotton gin. He just discovered gin.
Soooooo good!
My parents didn't have a storage unit in their condo, but they did have a box, full of stuff. Among the finds were the letters I sent home from my year at Hebrew University; many interesting things that I'd forgotten. The most astounding was that my Iranian (olah) roommate asked me to explain to her what Chanukah was about. My reaction to my parents was: "talk about underprivileged!"