The Good Spy: The Life and Death of Robert Ames Read Online Free Page B
Author: Kai Bird
world, and the exposure to life overseas had implanted the idea that maybe he could have a career in the State Department. He left the army on November 7, 1958, with an honorable discharge and a good-conduct medal.
Back home in Philadelphia, Ames got a job with Allstate Insurance Company, and in the evenings he began studying to take the State Department’s Foreign Service written exam. He told his parents that he “could not spend his life stuck behind a desk.” He wanted to travel“and see the world.” The insurance company had its offices in the Gimbel Building in downtown Philadelphia. Bob was a“repo man” for Allstate. It was unpleasant work, having to repossess cars or other property. But the company’s six-foot-three rookie was charming and he could get the job done. After lunch one day in the spring of 1959, Ames was walking back to work when he spotted a pretty blond, blue-eyed young woman whom he recognized as someone who worked as a secretary in the insurance company. He made a mental note to himself that she was far too beautiful for him—and that she must have a dozen men after her already.
Yvonne Blakely had been born on June 21, 1937, in San Diego, California, where her father was stationed with the navy at the time. But like any navy brat, she had moved around. She ended up spending her high school years in Groton, Connecticut, graduating in 1955. Instead of college, she enrolled in the Katharine Gibbs Secretarial School in Boston and learned stenography and typing. “Gibbs girls” were considered to be class A secretaries; every student was required to wear a formal hat and long white gloves. “You were virtually guaranteed to get a job,” Yvonne recalled. She graduated in 1956 and followed her parents to Honolulu, where her father was stationed at Pearl Harbor. She spent two years working for a shipping company until 1958, when her father was transferred once again, this time to the navy yard in Philadelphia.
For her part, Yvonne, twenty-two, had noticed Ames. She’d alreadyheard through the office rumor mill about a new employee, a handsome and very tall bachelor. “I was going back to work,” she recalled, “and I saw this giant of a man. I decided right away that he wasn’t for me because there were already too many girls after him.”
But one day they found themselves together, walking to catch a bus on Chestnut Street. Bob introduced himself. “One of the first things he talked about was his love of Arabic,” Yvonne said. “He wanted to go to the Middle East.” Yvonne thought he was not only attractive but worldly. By then, he’d taken to smoking a pipe—and even when he was not actually smoking he often had it clenched in his teeth.
Ames took her out on their first date on April 11, 1959. They went to a movie theater. “Bob was not a big winer and diner,” Yvonne recalled. But by July 30 they were engaged. “His parents were wonderful about it,” Yvonne said. “My parents hesitated because of Bob being Catholic.” Yvonne had been raised in the Lutheran Church—and when her father retired from the navy in 1961 after twenty-nine years of service, he enrolled in a Lutheran seminary and became an ordained pastor. The Blakelys were serious Lutherans.
There was also a big class difference. Yvonne’s father, Robert Graham Blakely, had been born in San Bernardino, California, and raised in Idaho. His parents were from Ireland and Scotland. During World War II he’d been a submariner—dangerous duty. But he’d survived and spent the rest of his career in the navy. By 1960, he had risen to the rank of a navy commander. He was somebody, and young Bob Ames from Roxborough had no pedigree other than his association with a winning college basketball team. But he was charming, and he was clearly in love.
Later that summer Bob wrote a love poem to Yvonne:
There are so many loving things I’d like to say to you
.
That even in a million years I never could get
Back home in Philadelphia, Ames got a job with Allstate Insurance Company, and in the evenings he began studying to take the State Department’s Foreign Service written exam. He told his parents that he “could not spend his life stuck behind a desk.” He wanted to travel“and see the world.” The insurance company had its offices in the Gimbel Building in downtown Philadelphia. Bob was a“repo man” for Allstate. It was unpleasant work, having to repossess cars or other property. But the company’s six-foot-three rookie was charming and he could get the job done. After lunch one day in the spring of 1959, Ames was walking back to work when he spotted a pretty blond, blue-eyed young woman whom he recognized as someone who worked as a secretary in the insurance company. He made a mental note to himself that she was far too beautiful for him—and that she must have a dozen men after her already.
Yvonne Blakely had been born on June 21, 1937, in San Diego, California, where her father was stationed with the navy at the time. But like any navy brat, she had moved around. She ended up spending her high school years in Groton, Connecticut, graduating in 1955. Instead of college, she enrolled in the Katharine Gibbs Secretarial School in Boston and learned stenography and typing. “Gibbs girls” were considered to be class A secretaries; every student was required to wear a formal hat and long white gloves. “You were virtually guaranteed to get a job,” Yvonne recalled. She graduated in 1956 and followed her parents to Honolulu, where her father was stationed at Pearl Harbor. She spent two years working for a shipping company until 1958, when her father was transferred once again, this time to the navy yard in Philadelphia.
For her part, Yvonne, twenty-two, had noticed Ames. She’d alreadyheard through the office rumor mill about a new employee, a handsome and very tall bachelor. “I was going back to work,” she recalled, “and I saw this giant of a man. I decided right away that he wasn’t for me because there were already too many girls after him.”
But one day they found themselves together, walking to catch a bus on Chestnut Street. Bob introduced himself. “One of the first things he talked about was his love of Arabic,” Yvonne said. “He wanted to go to the Middle East.” Yvonne thought he was not only attractive but worldly. By then, he’d taken to smoking a pipe—and even when he was not actually smoking he often had it clenched in his teeth.
Ames took her out on their first date on April 11, 1959. They went to a movie theater. “Bob was not a big winer and diner,” Yvonne recalled. But by July 30 they were engaged. “His parents were wonderful about it,” Yvonne said. “My parents hesitated because of Bob being Catholic.” Yvonne had been raised in the Lutheran Church—and when her father retired from the navy in 1961 after twenty-nine years of service, he enrolled in a Lutheran seminary and became an ordained pastor. The Blakelys were serious Lutherans.
There was also a big class difference. Yvonne’s father, Robert Graham Blakely, had been born in San Bernardino, California, and raised in Idaho. His parents were from Ireland and Scotland. During World War II he’d been a submariner—dangerous duty. But he’d survived and spent the rest of his career in the navy. By 1960, he had risen to the rank of a navy commander. He was somebody, and young Bob Ames from Roxborough had no pedigree other than his association with a winning college basketball team. But he was charming, and he was clearly in love.
Later that summer Bob wrote a love poem to Yvonne:
There are so many loving things I’d like to say to you
.
That even in a million years I never could get
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