I was raised in Falls Church, Virginia in a typical middle class family. I earned my undergraduate degree in Biology from Virginia Tech in Blacksburg, Virginia. My parents, Bob and Caroline Shipp, worked hard to support their six kids. My father was brought to Washington, DC from Utah to work for the CIA, a fact none of us knew until we were older. I never knew what Dad did until I was inside the Agency in 1985. He did not even know I had applied until I was in process. When I was finally in, we had many rich days together in CIA headquarters, having lunch and discussing our respective challenges working for the organization. Dad received the career intelligence medal at his retirement. He was presented with the medal at a ceremony in CIA headquarters. During his acceptance speech, Dad thanked the Director of the Office of Information Technology (D/OIT) for the award. He told the group he wished he could say his thirty-one years with the agency had all been fulfilling, but unfortunately, he could not do that. He had seen the internal inequities that went on for far too long. Dad has always been about loyal, unfailing service to his country. His integrity stood out against that of those who would do anything to get promoted. I was so proud of him that day.
The Shipp family the day Bob Shipp received the career intelligence medal at CIA headquarters.
(Photo courtesy of the Author)
Because we had such a large family, living on one modest government income, and with Dad’s help I took out a college loan to attend Virginia Tech. Since I invested all I had in the enrollment, I had no car to travel the two hundred and fifty-three miles to and from the college. I routinely hitch hiked from school to home and back on holidays; something I would not recommend anyone do these days. I spent an average of six hours, standing on the highway, day and sometimes night, at times in the rain getting muddy water splashed on my pants by passing eighteen wheelers. There were times it was late, I was exhausted and I slept in the woods by the side of the road, using my poncho as a tent. But, I knew what I wanted. I had a goal and I was determined to reach it. I had looked death in the face with a terminal illness, been given six weeks to live; then experienced a medical miracle and fully recovered. I was given a second chance. Every day was precious and I took nothing for granted.
In my early college days, I was somewhat (probably an understatement) of a wild young man. I had come so close to death, I lived life to the fullest; albeit in the wrong direction. I did not put the pieces of my life together until I was a junior in college, finally understanding what happened in the hospital when I was healed. I lived life hard. I was known for my relentless partying and fearless risk taking. Drugs, alcohol and loose intimate encounters were my weekend activities. It was not until the fall of 1976, that I finally decided to clean up my life and head in a positive direction.
I applied to the CIA in the winter of 1984, at the height of the Cold War. I deeply loved my country and wanted to serve it the best way I could. Because of my wild past, I never entertained the idea I would be hired; thinking surely I would never make it through the CIA’s stringent clearance process. A close friend of mine, whose identity I cannot reveal, talked me into applying to the agency. Upon doing so, I brushed it off, thinking I would never hear from them again. To my surprise, I received a call.
“Mr. Shipp, this is Mr. XXXX with the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Yes, this is Mr. Shipp”
“Mr. Shipp, you have placed an application for employment with the CIA. I am calling to find out if you are still interested in your application going forward.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Fine. We will continue your application processing. Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you. Goodbye”
I hung up the phone and had no idea what “continue with your application processing” meant.
I heard nothing from the CIA for three months. I was convinced once they took a look at my college life that would be the end of it. I discounted the possibility of them ever hiring me. After three months, the phone rang again.
“Mr. Shipp, this is Mr. XXXX with the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Yes, this is Mr. Shipp.”
“Are you still interested in continuing with your application with the Agency?”
“Yes I am.”
“Good. Would you be willing to attend an interview at CIA headquarters on XXXX?”
“Yes sir, I would.”
The interview was arranged and I was to report to CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
The day of the interview arrived. I drove to the main gate of CIA headquarters, was processed in and escorted to the old headquarters building. As I walked into the spacious lobby of headquarters, I took in the entire scene. To my right were the engraved stars on the wall, CIA officers killed in the line of duty; many with no names listed because they were under cover at the time of their death. To the left, in huge letters on the marble wall was the verse from John 8:32, “You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.” I found the verse inspiring. I was escorted down a back hallway, given a visitor badge and seated in the waiting area.
A woman dressed in business attire came out of the doorway.
“Mr. XXXX will see you now. Please follow me”
“Yes Ma'am.”
The woman walked me down a hallway with unmarked doors to a large office at the end.
“Mr. XXXX, this is Mr. Shipp.”
The silver-haired man stood up from behind the large walnut desk.
“John XXXX, nice to meet you. Please have a seat.”
I thanked him and took the seat in front of the desk.
“Kevin, you know you are in process for a job with the Agency,” he said.
“Yes sir.”
The man was smoking heavily, filling the room with cigarette smoke.
“Kevin, let me ask you a question. Have you ever broken the law?’
“Uh-oh. Here we go,” I thought to myself.
This is where my college days would rear their ugly head. Since I had cleaned up my act nine years ago, I decided I would just tell the truth; the colorful, ugly truth.
“Yes sir, I have.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
I went into a long litany of drinking, carousing, climbing to the top of the WMOD radio tower and touching the blinking light at the pinnacle, etc., etc. When I was finished, I thought to myself,
“We’ll that’s it. That’s the end of this interview. At least I told the truth.”
The man sat back and took a long drag off his cigarette, blowing the smoke out his nose. I waited and said nothing. It seemed like there were five minutes of silence.
Then, he sat up in his chair.
“I have no problem with that. We’ll continue with your processing. Thanks for coming in.”
“Thank you Sir.” I felt a mixed feeling of relief and joy.
I was escorted out of CIA headquarters to my car. I drove home, now thinking there was some hope I would be hired. But, they still had to look into my background. I kept my reservations about the idea.
Three more months went by. I received another call.
“Mr. Shipp?” A lady was on the other end of the phone.
“We have you scheduled to take your polygraph test for employment with the CIA. You will need to report to XXXXX on XXXX to take the test.”
“Thank you. I will be there,” I said.
We bid each other goodbye.
The day of the polygraph test arrived. I was nervous about the procedure. Giving the test a good deal of thought, I decided to stick to my new set of ideals. I would just tell the whole truth; the good, the bad and the ugly. I arrived at the waiting room, full of new applicants. Everyone exchanged pleasantries as we sat, waiting for our test. Despite the fact that we were all strangers, there was a certain unspoken sense of camaraderie. It was like we were all waiting to be called back for surgery. Surgery was not far from the truth, although it was not the physical kind.
During the pre-test interview, the polygraph examiner asked,
“Is there anything you would like to discuss with me before the test?”
“Well, here we go again. Might as well just lay it all out,” I thought to myself.
“Yes there is.”
I went through the long litany of partying, drinking, use of Marijuana ten years earlier, the radio tower and all the other pranks I had pulled in my earlier years. Then the test began. A CIA polygraph is always an interesting experience, to say the least. It is like a dental exam, with an occasional tooth pulling. I sailed through the test. We were finished in two hours. Later, I learned that was a good sign. After I spilled my guts to the examiner, it was easy to answer the questions after being connected to all the wires. Apparently, that was a good procedure to follow. The rest was simply answering a set of very specific questions.
I began to get calls from my neighbors and friends telling me some man in a dark suit “from the FBI” had visited them and was asking questions about my background. Of course, the FBI does not do investigations for Intelligence Community employment applications, but that is the conclusion every one reached. Once again, I thought to myself, “We’ll see what they say when they talk to my old drinking and smoking buddies.”
Another month passed. I received a call from the CIA stating my background investigation was in process. The caller advised the Agency had a new program, hiring prospective employees before their investigation was complete to retain them and keep them from applying elsewhere. I was processed into the agency and placed in a room behind a combination locked door, eight hours a day. I sat in that room, waiting, for seven weeks. Then, an Agency official visited the room, took me aside and told me I had been accepted for employment with the CIA. It was a tremendous relief. For the last seven weeks, I sat in the room and watched as applicants were given the news, one by one, they had not passed the clearance process and were walked out the door. I met one of my life-long friends in that room, Dan. Dan and I would follow each other in our careers over the next seventeen years, eventually winding up as protective agents for the Director of the CIA.
Next, I was to report to my Enter on Duty (EOD) briefing, located in an auditorium deep in the headquarters building. All of us sat there for three eye-opening days as the CIA briefed us on much of what really goes on inside the organization; a very sobering experience. It was ironic. Over the next seventeen years, I would occupy assignments as an investigator, polygraph examiner and the senior EOD briefer in this auditorium for new employees. I would see the process from both sides. Having this perspective gives one a broader view of the big picture. You have more of a sense of mercy for those you are investigating; having been one yourself.