Pull up a chair and sit a spell. I have a remarkable story to tell.
In August of 2006, I interviewed then-Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld (who died Tuesday at age 88) in one of his conference rooms at the Pentagon, along with two of my editors at the Pittsburgh newspaper where I worked.
The interview was over an hour long. It was thought-provoking, frank, and often intense. Rumsfeld never shied away from a question or an answer.
I should add that a couple of hours before the interview, a trans-Atlantic terror plot meant to detonate liquid explosives carried on board airlines traveling from the United Kingdom to the United States had been thwarted in London. After our interview, the defense secretary was going to give a press conference about what happened.
When the interview was over, he was going to sign a photograph of him for my then-teenage son. If you look very closely at the photo, you can see the beginnings of that autograph.
He was using a white pen — a white ink pen.
As he attempted to do his signature, the pen started to run out of ink. Look at the squiggly lines. He’s trying to make it work. He shakes it and tries again — it still doesn’t work.
He takes a call, as he does, so he hands me the pen and tells me to shake it.
I obeyed.
Unbeknownst to me, he did not secure the cap on the pen.
Oh, I shook it all right. See the white blob on the photo? That’s what happens when the cap is not on. That wasn’t the only place there was a blob; it splattered all over his suit and tie.
Minutes before, he was supposed to walk out and give a news conference.
He looks me in the eye directly and deadpans (and I’ll never forget this), “Zito, I have people who can take care of people like you.“
I must have looked like I was going to cry (that’s because I was), to which he laughed and said, “I got three suits in my closet; don’t worry about it.“
I would interview him several more times after that day, and every time I saw him, he had a white pen sitting beside him. He just smiled.
