1994, Yeltsin's plane and lectern. Don't I look presidential?

It’s interesting that the news this week has focused on a particular story in the Clinton Tapes – the one about Russian President Boris Yeltsin being drunk during his White House visit.  But those who’ve read White House Story, a Democratic Memoir, were already in the know, ‘cause I tell this story in a lot more detail there.
The whole world knew Yetlsin had problems with alcohol, but we got to witness it up close and personal in 1995, when he was honored with the highest level of White House visit, a State Visit.

These are highly choreographed events, beginning in the morning with an Arrival Ceremony on the South Lawn.  My staff and I worked closely with the Military District of Washington and the White House Social Office (above us in the East Wing) to arrange for about 5,000 visitors to watch the Clintons welcome Mr. Yeltsin.  Bands play, there are speeches, and troops to review, followed by a meeting in the Oval.
The day before, I’d been part of an official welcoming party sent to greet Yeltsin when he arrived at Andrews AFB.  About eight of us lined up along a red carpet, watched the Russian equivalent of Air Force One land and taxi close to us.  The press jostled for position in front of the lectern where we’d been told our guest would make remarks.
Well, the doors of the plane opened, Yeltsin rushed down the stairs, we straightened our shoulders and put on our smiles – but for nothing.  The Russian President pushed past us without a glance, much less the traditional handshakes.  Someone from State tried to steer him to the lectern (that he had supposedly requested) and got a rough brush off.  The press shouted questions, but he was having none of it, focused on the limo waiting at the end of the carpet.  The driver, not expecting this sudden arrival, had to run around to get the door open in time.
Once in the limo, he sat and scowled, as the guys from State, ever diplomatic, tried again to encourage him to speak to the press.  I don’t speak Russian, but everyone understands “NYET!”  especially when it’s being shouted by a man whose face is beet red with anger.
Finally, our diplomats gave up, shrugged, smiled (they’re pros!), closed the door of the limo and waved it, and our unhappy guest, away.
The next day the arrival ceremony in the morning and state dinner in the evening went off flawlessly – ‘cause that’s what we did in the Clinton White House, flawless events!  I left thinking, No problems, no glitches, the President and First Lady are happy, I’m happy (and exhausted), so I’m glad it’s DONE.
But the next day, I barely got into the office before a senior US Secret Service Officer knocked on my door.  “Got a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?  Is there a problem?”
“I don’t know what exactly you’d call it, but I figured I should report it to you, just in case.”
I settled into my chair, thinking, Now what?  ‘Cause you never know what’s going to come up at the White House, from the simple and predictable to the bizarre and unpreventable.
“I just got a report from the Watch Commander on duty at Blair House last night.”
Uh oh!  That’s where Yeltsin and his official party spent the last two nights.  What happened there?  At least it couldn’t be all that serious.  Mrs. Valentiner runs Blair House like, well, another White House.  Nothing gets past her.  Must have been something minor – maybe they didn’t like the flowers?  But that wouldn’t involve the Secret Service …
“Well, there was an officer on the sidewalk in front of the door, as there always is, and he hears the door behind him open.  You know that door’s not supposed to open.  He looks up the stairs and sees a man in the doorway, in his undershirt and boxers, drunk, lurching on his feet, and shouting ‘Pizza!  Pizza!’ The officer figures it’s one of Yeltsin’s aides, exhausted from the visit, clearly having drunk too much.  He doesn’t want to embarrass the guy, so he tells him, ‘OK, buddy, I’ll get you pizza, but first we gotta get you out of the doorway, so come with me.’
“The officer takes the guy to the command center, sits him down and promises to order a pizza.  You know the command center – it’s always dark in there so they can monitor the security videos.  Somebody calls Domino’s and orders a pie for their Russian guest.  He speaks no English, they speak no Russian, but they’re laughing and trying to joke around, waiting for the pizza.  Then the Watch Commander comes in, takes a look, can’t believe his eyes, ‘cause the guy in the chair is no aide, it’s Yeltsin!”
I gasp, “Oh my God.  It was Yeltsin?  Then what?” And I’m thinking Holy cow, international incident! Who else knows about this?
“The Watch Commander goes over, gently takes Yeltsin by the arm, and says ‘Mr. President, we’re honored to have you here, but you’ll be much more comfortable upstairs in your rooms, and I promise we’ll bring you the pizza.’  He doesn’t know how much of this Yeltsin understands, but he keeps smiling and saying, ‘Pizza, yes!’ So Yeltsin follows him back upstairs and everyone laughs hysterically and goes back to work.  That’s it.”
And that WAS it.  The Secret Service people know how to keep a secret.  I know how to keep a secret.  We never tell a soul, ‘til I publish my book this year.  And now we know someone briefed the President on his guest’s behavior, ‘cause it’s in the new book.  But, you heard it here first!