(15 of 16)
As soon as they returned home, I wanted to meet the members of the rescue team. Without any notice to the news media, I flew to see the team on Sunday, April 27. Their identities and location were confidential. When I stepped off the helicopter, Colonel Beckwith was waiting. He was really a tough guy, a former University of Georgia football player who had grown up a few miles from Plains and had dedicated his life to self-sacrifice for our country in the most dangerous and personal kind of combat service. His chin was quivering and tears were running down his cheeks. I opened my arms, and we embraced and wept together. He said, "Mr. President, I'm sorry we let you down!" I expressed with all my heart my appreciation for what his men had done.
Then he said, "Will you let us go back?" I told him I meant to bring them out, and I would certainly rely on his team, as before, if I decided it was necessary.
Beckwith told me that after the last helicopter had failed in the desert, he had made an instant decision to recommend withdrawal, and that he had no doubt it was right. I asked why they had not destroyed the remaining helicopters and he explained that the helicopters were loaded with ammunition; any fires or explosions would have endangered the C-130s on which their lives depended.
I also met with five Iranians who had helped us with the mission. They too were eager to return and assist us. I went around and talked to every one of the men, expressing our nation's gratitude for their heroism. They were superb. I would not hesitate to put my own life into their hands.
We then had to respond to a rash of false news reports about the operation. Among them were charges that I had slashed the plans and made them inoperable and that Colonel Beckwith and his men had wanted to go forward with the mission, but I had terminated it over their objections. Brown wanted to let Beckwith answer some questions from the press, but Charlie had been trained to conceal his identity and was reluctant to do it. He insisted on coming by to explain to me why he was going public. While he was in the Oval Office, he paid me a compliment that may never be exceeded. With some embarrassment, he said, "My men and I have decided that our boss, the President of the United States, is as tough as woodpecker lips."
One of the most difficult duties I had to face as President was the memorial service held on May 9 at Arlington National Cemetery for the eight servicemen killed in Iran. All of the families were to be there, and I was painfully aware of their sorrow. I wanted to express my condolences and thanks to them, but feared that some of them might rebuff me because I was the one who had ordered the rescue mission to be launched. As Rosalynn and I entered the small waiting room, I saw the wives, children and parents of the men whose bravery we had come to recognize. They were watching me as we approached. One of the young wives came forward and held her hands out to me, and she was soon in my arms. They all seemed more concerned about my feelings than their own sorrow. I was overwhelmed with gratitude toward the brave men who had been lost, and to their