Free Outpost: Life on the Frontlines of American Diplomacy: A Memoir by Christopher R. Hill Page A

expectation that NATO membership might be extended to some of them. The lack of urgency, however, meant that these countries had become very much secondary in the minds of senior policy makers. In fact, a week before my summons to Holbrooke’s office, I had learned that my position was slated to be abolished as part of his reforms.
    The European Bureau is the proudest, one of the busiest, and, viewed from the rest of the State Department, the least-liked of the bureaus. Every Foreign Service officer wants to have a foothold there because that is where the good jobs are. The Latin American bureau can offer a position in Rio de Janeiro or Buenos Aires, but that is about it in terms of family-friendly assignments. The list of cushy assignments in Europe goes on and on. Of course, such a state of affairs does not necessarily attract the most agreeable staff, and the stories of Foreign Service officers trying to get into EUR are replete with examples of arrogance from their EUR counterparts. When I was preparing to leave Seoul, I had applied in 1988 to be the desk officer for Bulgaria, a modest perch if ever there was one. The deputy director of the office of Eastern Europe told me cheerfully about my chances: “You haven’t done badly: you are fifth on our list.”
    I stood at Holbrooke’s doorway and looked into the oddly darkened wood-paneled office, the ceiling fluorescents all turned off, with the only lighting coming from a couple of table lamps nearby that illuminated the couch and upholstered chairs for visitors. He motioned me in and I walked across the room. He rose from behind the desk to introduce himself and shake my hand, still keeping his eye on the NBC Nightly News on the small television sitting on the windowsill, the view of the Lincoln Memorial beyond. He offered me a seat on one of the two hard-backed chairs positioned in front of his large desk while correspondent Andrea Mitchell talked onscreen. The walls were covered with pictures of Holbrooke with famous people, often from his days of managing our country’s relationships in Asia. I thought about the extraordinary career he was having, truly one of the giants of U.S. foreign policy, even though as a political appointee of the Democrats he had sat out the Reagan and Bush administrations in the private sector. What a country, I thought, that can afford to take a talent like this and sit him on the bench for twelve years. I continued to survey the scene of this larger-than-life figure who was in effect keeping me on hold as Mitchell concluded her story. There was a small door in the back wall that was left open, the toilet visible and the seat up.
    Holbrooke finally asked me, one of his eyes still fixed on the television, now showing an antacid commercial, “What do you think of the changes I have made to EUR?” These reforms had, of course, included abolishing the deputy director job I had just started two months before, but before I could answer he held up his right hand as if directing traffic and went back to full-time listening to the news. He turned to me again, this time asking, “What should we do with Yugoslavia?” As I was about to answer, he raised his hand again, though this time he absentmindedly pointed the remote control at me. I didn’t mute immediately, but I understood that he wanted to focus on the Nightly News .
    At that moment Holbrooke, still watching television with his body turned to me as if we were in the midst of a conversation, managed to triple-task by motioning into his office Principal Deputy Assistant Secretary John Kornblum, who had appeared in the doorway. John walked into the room and sat down in the other hard-backed chair to join in the competition for Holbrooke’s attention.
    “Okay, I’ll hire him,” Holbrooke told John. He muted the TV, and then turning to me, he added, “In case you didn’t notice, I just offered youa job.” I found myself thoroughly enjoying the scene. I had never had a remote pointed