Protecting a presidential nominee.

• Author: Baker, Sue Ann
• Position: USA Yesterday - Essay

"Excited to greet well-wishers, [Sen. George McGovern and his wife] moved to the edge of the stage and leaned forward to shake hands. Meanwhile, I was stuck behind them. If someone opened fire, there was no way I could have gotten between the McGoverns and the assailant in time. Sweat rolled down my face. I opened the flap of my purse and put my hand on my gun."

AS ONE OF THE FIRST five female Secret Service agents, sworn in on Dec. 15, 1971, I found myself immersed in the 1972 presidential campaign, protecting Shirley Chisholm, the first black woman to run for the Oval Office. By July, when South Dakota Sen. George McGovern was nominated by the Democratic Party at the Miami, Fla., convention, my duties with Chisholm came to an end.

The following day, I was assigned to protect Barbara Eagleton, the wife of the vice presidential nominee, Thomas Eagleton, a senator from Missouri. He was McGovern's running mate for all of 18 days, until it was revealed that he suffered from bouts of depression and had received electroshock therapy. Eagleton pulled out of the race, and Sargent Shriver of Maryland, a Kennedy in-law, was named in Eagleton's place.

Ironically, I did not even last 18 days with Barbara Eagleton. Two days after I was introduced to her, the detail leader told me to go home. That was fine with me. I was more than tired, and she and I butted heads. Perhaps she did not like to be told what to do. I hopped on the next plane back to Washington, D.C., and luxuriated in my apartment, cooking my own meals and opening a mound of mail. I was amazed my car even started after sitting idle for weeks.

My break was short-lived, however. Three weeks after the Democratic Convention, I was assigned to protect Mrs. McGovern. By that time, I was pretty sure I knew what to expect. I had protected enough people and had enough training that I felt ready. Nothing could have prepared me, however, for going on the national campaign trail with the McGoverns. I was awed, both by the politics and the chaos.

What became apparent to me almost immediately was that McGovern's staff did not know what to do with Eleanor. Growing up in Woonsocket, S.D., she and her twin sister, Ila, helped take care of the family after their mother died when they were 12. A petite size four, she was little over five feet tall, with curly light brown hair, always perfectly styled. With her intelligence and speaking skills, she had won a debate against her husband-to-be when they were in high school. She loved politics even as a teenager.

Eleanor stumped for her husband in his run for Senate in 1962 and helped him win his seat. The 1972 presidential contest obviously was a much bigger election with global issues to discuss. She made it perfectly clear she was not going to let anyone define her role for her. In her memoir, Uphill: A Personal Story, she wrote, "There is no question that I was a Presidential candidate's wife who was caught between eras, and the subtle discrimination I felt was a severe introduction to male chauvinism in politics."

More often than not, she flew solo. She answered political questions that Richard Nixon's wife, Pat, sidestepped. In a Jan. 26, 2007, Los Angeles Times article noting her recent death at age 85, journalist Jocelyn Y. Stewart wrote: "Eleanor's appearance on 'Meet the Press' was apparently the first by a candidate's wife in the show's then-25-year history ... and she was so nervous she was nearly sick." In Uphill, Mrs. McGovern also describes touring a foundation-garment factory in New York, where she was presented with "an embarrassingly mountainous red-white-and-blue bra," after which she was reported to have said it had been "a very uplifting experience."

I remember the trip to the foundation-garment factory as significantly less humorous. An ancient elevator we had entered during the tour slowly ground to a halt--in between floors. I realized there were too many people on it, but it was too late. That was my first advance assignment; I kicked myself for not checking its capacity ahead of time. It was a steaming-hot August day outside and even hotter in the factory. The elevator filled with pheromones as panic crept in. I radioed the agent waiting on the first floor, and two men managed to...