Many of you have read about my past experiences as a private detective. In the early 80s I worked in industrial security at a construction project in New Hampshire where they were building as nuclear power plant.

One Sunday, in February of 1983 , I was reading the classifieds in the Sunday Boston Globe and I spied an ad with the logo of the Central Intelligence Agency and the headline Security Officers. The ad said the agency was hiring and reply to box such and such, etc.

So I decided I would apply. On a whim. I had no expectations. So after work, I typed my resume on an IBM selectric III typewriter.

For those of you are too young to remember these times, this typewriter was the state of the art for desktop publishing(tongue in cheek) and word processing. It took several hours of hunt and peck, along with one or two rolls of correction tape, to craft a cover letter and resume. I wish I had kept a copy of the letter, but who knew then that almost a quarter of a century later blogging would be invented.

I told a few of my colleagues at work that I applied with and was rewarded with a great deal laughter at my expense.  A snowball's survival in hell had a better chance than I did at getting an interview.

A few month pass without a word and one early evening in May I get a call from Jim Someone or other who identifies himself as a member of the CIA. If I was drinking a beverage I would have done a Danny Thomas spit take (aka Marlo Thomas's father for those under 45) when he uttered those words. If you don't know who Marlo Thomas is I give up.

He invited me for an interview. I said, "Sure where is your office?" He said, "I don't have an office." I'd like you to meet me outside the Nasuha Public Library. Nashua was about an hour and fifteen minute drive from where I lived. It's on the Massachusetts border about 40 minutes north of Boston.

We set a date and time. I take a day off from work. I tell no one about this at work, no one. Who would believe me? On the drive over, I have moment or two where I think I may have been set up by coworkers' for the ultimate practical joke. We did lots of practical jokes back then.  This was conceivable by some of the more supple minds I worked with.

As I got closer to Nashua, I had the terrible thought, I was going to be had. I got to the library and waited.

It was a park bench like this one with the library in the background where Jim came up to me and identifed himself and showed me his credentials.

It was in one of those leather pass cases like you saw Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. flash on the old episodes of the FBI. I took a long look for about 30 seconds. It had his name and it said Department of Defense instead of CIA.

We sat down and talked for almost two hours. He had a note pad and took copious notes of our conversation. I don't remember most of the questions or answers, except two. He was a very skilled interviewer and put me at ease throughout the time we spoke.

The two questions I remember were:

1. Have you ever smoked marijuana? He followed up with, "if you have, it would not preclude you from being hired." I answered truthfully. I'm not revealing my answer at OS in case I get a future appointment to a high position in the Obama administration.

2. Why do you want to work for the CIA? I told him that while I never served in the military, this would be an opportunity to serve my country. I meant those words sincerely then, as I would now if asked again about government service.

He then asked to go write an essay about why I wanted the job and what I had to offer based on my experience and education. There was no rush, that I could take as long as I wanted to. He ripped his notes from the pad, and gave me the pad and a pencil and said go in the library and write it.

I emerged about an hour lated. He took it, and explained I would be hearing from them soon. He shook hands, thanked me for my time. I thanked him. I never saw him again.

It's now August. I get another telephone call from a different person from the CIA.

 End of part one.