The Lost Cause of a PR Man

My first meeting with Anastasio Somoza Debayle took place in July 1977. The meeting was in “The Bunker,” his windowless, heavily fortified office. It was a disturbing meeting. I was there to review his problems with the media at the request of Jack Calkins, former White House aide to Jerry Ford, and Bill Cramer, ex-Florida congressman. Cramer was with me.

Somoza cut me off before I was finished. He told me I had walked into his office “with shit on my feet,” that I had “a hell of a nerve” trying to tell him how to handle his relations with the press. “Who are you to tell me I have to kiss Sulzberger’s ass?” (1 didn’t tell him that; I explained that he had to explain his side of the story to the Sulzbergers of this world if he ever expected to be understood.) “You Americans sure give me a pain in the ass.” were the last words 1 heard as 1 left. The man acted like a spoiled brat who had evolved into middle ag;e, a know-it-all who asked for advice and couldn’t take it. a boor, a rude, overbearing bully. I left impressed with his height, all six-feet-plus of him. the more than 250 pounds of heft, and the booming voice that pounded me as I sat in his presence. Yet. as 1 crossed the street to return to the intercontinental Hotel, headquarters for most foreign visitors to dirty, paper-strewn Managua. I wished there had been a different outcome. He did fascinate me.

NW

About the Author

Norman L. Wolfson

My first meeting with Anastasio Somoza Debayle took place in July 1977. The meeting was in “The Bunker,” his windowless, heavily fortified office. It was a disturbing meeting. I was there to review his problems with the media at the request of Jack Calkins, former White House aide to Jerry Ford, and Bill Cramer, ex-Florida congressman. Cramer was with me.

Somoza cut me off before I was finished. He told me I had walked into his office “with shit on my feet,” that I had “a hell of a nerve” trying to tell him how to handle his relations with the press. “Who are you to tell me I have to kiss Sulzberger’s ass?” (1 didn’t tell him that; I explained that he had to explain his side of the story to the Sulzbergers of this world if he ever expected to be understood.) “You Americans sure give me a pain in the ass.” were the last words 1 heard as 1 left. The man acted like a spoiled brat who had evolved into middle ag;e, a know-it-all who asked for advice and couldn’t take it. a boor, a rude, overbearing bully. I left impressed with his height, all six-feet-plus of him. the more than 250 pounds of heft, and the booming voice that pounded me as I sat in his presence. Yet. as 1 crossed the street to return to the intercontinental Hotel, headquarters for most foreign visitors to dirty, paper-strewn Managua. I wished there had been a different outcome. He did fascinate me.