Within Arm's Length: A Secret Service Agent's Definitive Inside Account of Protecting the President by Dan Emmett
Authors: Dan Emmett
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why these artifacts were lying on President Kennedy’s dresser in 1984, it did not seem an unreasonable assumption, given the undisturbed state of other items in the house, that these heirlooms had perhaps been resting on the dresser since 1963. That possibility alone was a bit unnerving, as was the presence of the cuff links themselves.
As I started to pick one up for closer examination, my hand abruptly halted, as if grasped by an unseen force. These cuff links were perhaps last touched by President Kennedy himself; I did not feel I should be the next to touch them. In addition to entrusting the Secret Service with his life, Senator Kennedy had also trusted each of us to merely tour the home, not touch items probably considered sacred to him. The handling of these treasures would have been totally unprofessional. I was not a tourist left to run amok in the president’s home but a Secret Service agent trained from the first day of my career to respect the personal lives and property of those I protected. As with all other objects I encountered in the home of President Kennedy, these two items were left undisturbed where they lay.
As I stared at the objects, a draft of cold air moving through the quiet stillness of the house reminded me yet again that it was time to go. Leaving the cuff links in their resting place while thinking of how much trust the senator must have had in us, I exited the house using the same door through which I had entered, locking it on the way out per the senator’s instructions. After a brief search for the senator to return the key, I discovered him walking along the beach in front of the compound.
When I handed him the key, he said, “Thank you, Dan, I appreciate your work and that of the Secret Service very much.”
“Thank you, Senator, for allowing us the honor of viewing the president’s home,” I replied.
We talked for a few minutes. He politely asked me where I was from and how long I had been a Secret Service agent. Feeling more comfortable with the senator and with the assignment now over, I almost asked about the cuff links. Not certain, however, if he would appreciate the range of liberty I had taken with the tour, I elected not to raise the subject. After a pause in the conversation, I sensed that he wanted to be alone. We shook hands, and I left him standing on the beach staring out at the ocean, seemingly looking for something or someone. It had been a long thirty days for him also. I then walked to the command post, formerly the home of Bobby Kennedy, gathered my gear, and called a cab, which would take me to the airport, where I would board an airplane for the trip home.
AN UNEXPECTED CHANGE OF DIRECTION
It was now 1986. After three years as an agent in Charlotte, with my desire to transfer to the Counter Assault Team well known, the SAIC brought me into his office one day and delivered some excellent news. “Dan,” he said, “it looks like you are going to be in the first CAT class in 1987.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said and left his office, my feet barely touching the ground. CAT was growing and needed agents—preferably military veterans, and at the time there were very few of us. It was time to now put investigations behind me and move on to the most important mission of the Secret Service, which is to protect the president of the United States. Unknown to me at the time, however, there were forces at work that would alter these plans.
One morning in the late spring of 1986, I had just arrived at work and was sitting at my desk planning the day’s activities, which included report writing, lunch, and running a few miles, followed by an hour in the weight room. CAT school was a very physical course and I wanted to ensure that I was ready for the challenge. Something seemed different today, however. Everyone seemed distant—as if they knew something I did not. Something was up, and I sensed it had to do with me.
As I sat at my desk looking over a check
As I started to pick one up for closer examination, my hand abruptly halted, as if grasped by an unseen force. These cuff links were perhaps last touched by President Kennedy himself; I did not feel I should be the next to touch them. In addition to entrusting the Secret Service with his life, Senator Kennedy had also trusted each of us to merely tour the home, not touch items probably considered sacred to him. The handling of these treasures would have been totally unprofessional. I was not a tourist left to run amok in the president’s home but a Secret Service agent trained from the first day of my career to respect the personal lives and property of those I protected. As with all other objects I encountered in the home of President Kennedy, these two items were left undisturbed where they lay.
As I stared at the objects, a draft of cold air moving through the quiet stillness of the house reminded me yet again that it was time to go. Leaving the cuff links in their resting place while thinking of how much trust the senator must have had in us, I exited the house using the same door through which I had entered, locking it on the way out per the senator’s instructions. After a brief search for the senator to return the key, I discovered him walking along the beach in front of the compound.
When I handed him the key, he said, “Thank you, Dan, I appreciate your work and that of the Secret Service very much.”
“Thank you, Senator, for allowing us the honor of viewing the president’s home,” I replied.
We talked for a few minutes. He politely asked me where I was from and how long I had been a Secret Service agent. Feeling more comfortable with the senator and with the assignment now over, I almost asked about the cuff links. Not certain, however, if he would appreciate the range of liberty I had taken with the tour, I elected not to raise the subject. After a pause in the conversation, I sensed that he wanted to be alone. We shook hands, and I left him standing on the beach staring out at the ocean, seemingly looking for something or someone. It had been a long thirty days for him also. I then walked to the command post, formerly the home of Bobby Kennedy, gathered my gear, and called a cab, which would take me to the airport, where I would board an airplane for the trip home.
AN UNEXPECTED CHANGE OF DIRECTION
It was now 1986. After three years as an agent in Charlotte, with my desire to transfer to the Counter Assault Team well known, the SAIC brought me into his office one day and delivered some excellent news. “Dan,” he said, “it looks like you are going to be in the first CAT class in 1987.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said and left his office, my feet barely touching the ground. CAT was growing and needed agents—preferably military veterans, and at the time there were very few of us. It was time to now put investigations behind me and move on to the most important mission of the Secret Service, which is to protect the president of the United States. Unknown to me at the time, however, there were forces at work that would alter these plans.
One morning in the late spring of 1986, I had just arrived at work and was sitting at my desk planning the day’s activities, which included report writing, lunch, and running a few miles, followed by an hour in the weight room. CAT school was a very physical course and I wanted to ensure that I was ready for the challenge. Something seemed different today, however. Everyone seemed distant—as if they knew something I did not. Something was up, and I sensed it had to do with me.
As I sat at my desk looking over a check
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