Vulnerable on the Avenue

William Raspberry

"Why don't they just bury him in some abandoned salt mine in Utah? the exasperated cabbie said.

"Who are you talking about?" I asked, trying to recall the people who had lately rattled his cage. "Timothy McVeigh! Alfonse D'Amato! Marion Barry?

"I'm talking about President Clinton," the cabbie said. "Well, really I'm talking about the idiots who want to close off Pennsylvania Avenue in order to protect President Clinton. It's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of.

So that was it. Pennsylvania Avenue is one of the cabbie's favorite routes to Georgetown, Foggy Bottom and several popular tourist attractions. Closing it down would be somewhat inconvenient for him. But surely, I told him, his inconvenience has to be secondary to the president's security.

"Look, this isn't about me," the cabbie said. "I'm a Clinton man--at least some of the time--and I'm all for the president's safety. My point is, they're overdoing it. They've got that iron fence, video cameras, all those Secret Service people. Now they want to close down the Avenue, It's just too much. When Truman was in the White House . . .

You know the syndrome. People start reminiscing about the good old days when things were so much simpler, then they imagine that if we'd just behave as we did in the old days, those simple times would return.

"It's a charming sentiment," I told the cabbie, "but the people responsible for the president's safety can't afford to share it. That's why that advisory committee has recommended closing Pennsylvania Avenue to automobiles. And these are no scaredy cats, either. I'm talking about people Wte former FBI director William Webster and William Coleman, one of the smartest lawyers this town ever had."

"And they don't ever want it said that a president got shot because their recommendations didn't go far enough," the cabbie said. "Especially not after Oklahoma City."

I explained that even before Oklahoma City, members of the advisory committee had considered the fact that a truck bomb detonated on Pennsylvania Avenue--the side closest to the White House--was capable of doing fatal damage to people inside the White House.

"You just have to get used to the fact that the world isn't as safe a place as it used to be, I told him. Yt was just last October when that guy Francisco Duran was arrested for firing an automatic weapon at the White House."

"From a car? the cabbie said.

"Well," I admitted, "it happened that this guy was walking, but the security problem is the same. Remember the man who crashed the plane into the White House?"

"And closing Pennsylvania Avenue would have prevented that?"

"Presidents do get shot," I said, close to losing my patience. "Do the names Jack Kennedy and Ronald Reagan ring a bell!"

"Sure," he said. "Let's see, they were gunned down from a bomb-loaded truck on Pennsylvania Avenue. Boy, if only the Secret Service had been smart enough to close off the Avenue, old Abe Lincoln might still be around."

I thanked him to keep his sarcasm to himself.

"Look, buddy," he said, serious again, "all I'm saying is you can't make anybody totally safe. You know how many Washington-area cabdrivers have been shot? Five hackers were killed in their cabs just last year. Did I get out of the business? Have I gone into hiding? Am I driving a tank? No, I take ordinary precautions--even some extra precautions, like watching who I pick up--and then I do my job. That's what I recommend for the president."

"And just let some deranged idiot take a potshot at him?" I said.

"You can't stop it." the cabbie said. "You think a determined assassin will give up just because they close a street? Next, they'll be saying the president can't leave the White House without an escort of armored personnel carriers.

"It's like Howard Hughes. Guarding against germs and infections is sensible. But Hughes got to the point where he wouldn't let his employees touch him--even when they were wearing the cotton gloves he ordered them to wear. He had his people put masking tape around the doors and windows of his limo and his house, trying to keep out germs. You know what? He died anyway. Sooner or ]ater, something gets us all."

I didn't particularly like the thought. "Where'd you say that salt mine is?" I asked.

Pennsylvania Ave. Closure || Peace Park