FOREWORD
"John Doe," as I will call him in this book for reasons that will be made clear, is
a professor at a large university in the Middle West. His field is one of the
social sciences, but I will not identify him beyond this. He telephoned me one
evening last winter, quite unexpectedly; we had not been in touch for several
years. He was in New York for a few days, he said, and there was something
important he wanted to discuss with me. He wouldn't say what it was. We met
for lunch the next day at a midtown restaurant.
He was obviously disturbed. He made small talk for half an hour, which was
quite out of character, and I didn't press him. Then, apropos of nothing, he
mentioned a dispute between a writer and a prominent political family that had
been in the headlines. What, he wanted to know, were my views on "freedom of
information"? How would I qualify them? And so on. My answers were not
memorable, but they seemed to satisfy him. Then, quite abruptly, he began to
tell me the following story:
Early in August of 1963, he said, he found a message on his desk that a "Mrs.
Potts" had called him from Washington. When he returned the call, a MAN
answered immediately, and told Doe, among other things, that he had been
selected to serve on a commission "of the highest importance." Its objective was
to determine, accurately and realistically, the nature of the problems that would
confront the United States if and when a condition of "permanent peace" should
arrive, and to draft a program for dealing with this contingency. The man
described the unique procedures that were to govern the commission's work and
that were expected to extend its scope far beyond that of any previous
examination of these problems.
Considering that the caller did not precisely identify either himself or his
agency, his persuasiveness must have been a truly remarkable order. Doe
entertained no serious doubts of the bona fides of the project, however, chiefly
because of his previous experience with the excessive secrecy that often
surrounds quasi-governmental activities. In addition, the man at the other end of
the line demonstrated an impressively complete and surprisingly detailed
knowledge of Doe's work and personal life. He also mentioned the names of
others who were to serve with the group; most of them were known to Doe by
reputation. Doe agreed to take the assignment --- he felt he had no real choice in
the matter --- and to appear the second Saturday following at Iron Mountain,
New York. An airline ticket arrived in his mail the next morning.
"John Doe," as I will call him in this book for reasons that will be made clear, is
a professor at a large university in the Middle West. His field is one of the
social sciences, but I will not identify him beyond this. He telephoned me one
evening last winter, quite unexpectedly; we had not been in touch for several
years. He was in New York for a few days, he said, and there was something
important he wanted to discuss with me. He wouldn't say what it was. We met
for lunch the next day at a midtown restaurant.
He was obviously disturbed. He made small talk for half an hour, which was
quite out of character, and I didn't press him. Then, apropos of nothing, he
mentioned a dispute between a writer and a prominent political family that had
been in the headlines. What, he wanted to know, were my views on "freedom of
information"? How would I qualify them? And so on. My answers were not
memorable, but they seemed to satisfy him. Then, quite abruptly, he began to
tell me the following story:
Early in August of 1963, he said, he found a message on his desk that a "Mrs.
Potts" had called him from Washington. When he returned the call, a MAN
answered immediately, and told Doe, among other things, that he had been
selected to serve on a commission "of the highest importance." Its objective was
to determine, accurately and realistically, the nature of the problems that would
confront the United States if and when a condition of "permanent peace" should
arrive, and to draft a program for dealing with this contingency. The man
described the unique procedures that were to govern the commission's work and
that were expected to extend its scope far beyond that of any previous
examination of these problems.
Considering that the caller did not precisely identify either himself or his
agency, his persuasiveness must have been a truly remarkable order. Doe
entertained no serious doubts of the bona fides of the project, however, chiefly
because of his previous experience with the excessive secrecy that often
surrounds quasi-governmental activities. In addition, the man at the other end of
the line demonstrated an impressively complete and surprisingly detailed
knowledge of Doe's work and personal life. He also mentioned the names of
others who were to serve with the group; most of them were known to Doe by
reputation. Doe agreed to take the assignment --- he felt he had no real choice in
the matter --- and to appear the second Saturday following at Iron Mountain,
New York. An airline ticket arrived in his mail the next morning.
