By Marci Seither

Colfax Record Correspondent

James Waste, 81, has decided to share his adventures as a CIA operative during the Cold War.

The Dutch Flat resident’s book, “Don’t Shoot the Ice Cream Man,” can be described as an adventure-packed memoir of covert CIA missions that resemble a James Bond novel.

For Waste, however, the book isn’t merely a first person account of intelligence gathering. It’s about finding one’s place in the world and knowing he made a difference.

“I heard that the Bohemian Club was having a special dinner featuring Congressional Medal of Honor winners and decided to attend,” he said. “They showed clips of how these guys had won the honors. The stories were unbelievable.”

“Then the Master of Ceremonies said, ‘We know that we got these medals because someone else saw and reported it, but there are plenty of you out there that did stuff nobody ever saw’ as he motioned to the more than 600 people in the audience.”

That was a pivotal moment for Waste.

“I was too young to go to World War II and was an expectant father by the time Korea started. I never felt like one of the boys,” he recalled. “When they played the National Anthem, it hit me for the first time. I had been able to serve. I was finally one of the boys — only my war was the Cold War.”

Waste explained that he started out working in private industry and raising five children with his wife, Marilyn.

“I went to work for Bechtel right after I graduated from Berkeley,” he said. “We moved every year and a half following projects such as pipelines, building power plants and refineries.

“After 21 years, I was anxious to get my kids in high school and settled down so we moved back to Marin,” he continued. “I was kind of burned out and needed a sabbatical.”

Switching gears, he opened an antique store in San Francisco and started coaching a Rugby team.

“One day two men walked into my antique store and started a conversation with me,” recalled Waste. “I thought maybe they were hoping to tryout for the Rugby team so I asked what positions they played.”

It was his turn to be surprised. The two men pulled out a profile on his life, including the fact he had played trumpet in his high school band and his stint in a Kansas rehab center.

“They asked if I would be interested in doing some work for the CIA,” he went on. “Because of my position with Bechtel, I had been involved with intelligence work especially when the overseas pipe lines were subject to sabotage.”

Apparently the government needed someone who could get information on the state of Russia’s economy and infrastructure.

They needed someone familiar with heavy industrial activities who could get a better feel for the state of the country, Waste said.

“They asked me if I would be interested,” recalled Waste. “It took me about 30 seconds to say ‘yes.’”

For the next 24 years (and more than 40 missions), Waste worked as an independent contractor and case officer. He was one of the witnesses to the destruction of the Berlin Wall and was among the first to assess the Chernobyl disaster.

“I had several covers,” said Waste, a lifelong athlete who played Rugby and football for UC Berkeley. “I traveled as an investment consultant, took a Rugby team behind the Iron Curtain and arranged humanitarian aid.”

Despite being interrogated, shot at and witnessing the murder of thousands of people, the biggest threat to Waste’s psyche was the incredible loneliness.

“After several weeks you can get disconnected,” he said.

Although his wife, Marilyn, worked as an observer, Waste said she didn’t know the extent of his missions until she read a rough draft of the book two years ago.

His children were also kept in the dark.

“I am so proud of him. The only thing I regret is that I didn’t know how brave he was at the time,” said his daughter, Tenby Wright of Alta. “Now I totally have a different view of him. It all makes sense. He really is a hero.”

When asked if he would go undercover again, Waste responds, “Yes, but next time I could do it better.”