Love You, Dad, But I'm Glad You're Not Here To See This

Pop, Fresh out of West Point, 1943

August 14th would have been my dad's 97th birthday, and while it's true the Moores of our line don't make it out of our 80s (he died in 2003 at 81, and I'm already 69), I think lately it is best that he did not make it this far.

My father was very proud of his military service (West Point, class of January 1943, fighter pilot in Europe, Cold War warrior in USAFE and SAC, and black-budget stuff in the early 70s), and he loved this country with a passion. He had the most-human of disagreements with our national leadership from time to time, but he never disparaged his commanders-in-chief, no matter their political stripes. Nixon's fall from grace stung my dad, not because he supported him, but because Nixon let the country down, betrayed his oath of office. We all know what it's like to hear a parent say, "I'm very disappointed in you." To hear my dad say that about a disgraced president was proof enough of his feelings of betrayal.

My father believed with all his heart that America's role in the world was honorable, and that our word was our bond, and that we had to earn our position of trust every day. Those were the ties that bound us to our allies. As one who ran a number of intelligence operations overseas, and as one who probably did more things behind the scenes than I'll ever know (and I know only a few), he was aware of the value of trust among friends, at home and abroad.

Pop believed in honoring the work of those who worked for him; no Airman was too low on the totem pole to miss out on praise when it was earned; no officer under his command was ever left wondering if "the boss" appreciated the long hours and sacrifices--Pop made sure anyone in his chain of command received commendation for a job well done.

Allow me to digress with a short story: when we were living on Barksdale Air Force Base near Shreveport, and my dad was the base commander, I got pulled over by an Air Policeman (AP) for speeding on base. When the Airman First Class saw my driver's licence, he asked me if I was Colonel Moore's son. I said yes, I was. He hesitated to write a ticket, wondering aloud about how my father, his boss, would react if he gave me a ticket. I told him my father would be disappointed in him if he did not give me a ticket, because I would have to tell my dad about the incident. The AP wrote the ticket, and, of course, I told my dad. Several days later, the Airman was called into my father's office in base headquarters. My father asked the AP if he was the one who issued the ticket. The Airman said yes. My father, in a very typical reply, said, "That is the right answer. Thank you. No one on this base gets a pass for busting the rules." I didn't get a chance to meet the AP again, but when my dad was transferred to our next duty station in Nebraska, he received more notes of support from his men than he received from his superiors (and his bosses wrote some nice things, I have to say), and he wore that response with pride.

My Dad as one of the AF's youngest full colonels

Pop believed that federal service was an honorable and worthwhile commitment should a citizen choose that path (which I did in several capacities). He believed public service was a public trust, and when I began working on the Hill, in the House and then in the Senate, and when I received my security clearances, he was the first one to tell me how much faith the country put in me to honor my oath.

Pop also believed in a strong and wide-spread news media. His relationship with local and national newspapers was always courteous and supportive whenever he was interviewed or otherwise covered. When I started in the news business, he urged me to always try to see every possible side of a story, and to avoid the loudest voices, which often were loud because they were wrong. 

He did not live long enough to know much about computers or social media--his health declined over his last decade, and his primary source of news was television and my reading him the Post. Looking back, I don't think he missed out on much when it came to the ramping up of the Internet with its myriad choices of everything. He was a simple and straightforward Tennessee boy when it came to getting to the heart of things. I like to think seven generations of Tennessee Moores, and a few more generations of North Carolina Moores, have urged my genes in the same direction.

So, to close out here, I'm sadly glad that Pop does not have to ask me to explain the White House, the Congress, the social divisions, the hate, the lies, the shaming and shunning and the national calamity that is our foreign policy. He would not understand why Canada--our partner at Normandy and in so many other fights--is on any president's shit list.

He would not understand why, after he and 16 million Americans fought to free Europe and the Pacific Rim from tyrannical conquest, we have a president who drives wedges deep between us and our allies. He would be shaken to know that an American president seeks to strengthen ties to his Russian counterpart rather than cement bonds of security and trust with our friends in Germany, France, England and the rest of NATO.

I cannot explain here how my father knew the Russians so well, but he spent a great part of his career--losing the blood and treasure of 17 of his own men--to pushing back against ruthless thugs like Putin. How could I tell him those sacrifices mean nothing to the man in the Oval Office? How could I tell him that a sitting president, with no military service, holds such a deep grudge against an American Naval hero that even when he signs the Defense bill, he refuses to mention the bill's namesake, Senator John McCain?

Most of all, how could I ever explain to my dad that the practice of national trust by our nation's leaders appears to be an outdated concept, overrun by greed, deception, treachery, and possibly treason. I love you dad; I'm so glad we didn't have this talk. I wouldn't want to disappoint you.