by Glenn Beck
Nixon marveled that even as Hiss’s lie about Chambers began to unravel, he remained a picture of absolute grace and calm. He seemed wholly unflappable—and that gave Richard Nixon an idea.
24 Hours Later
Commodore Hotel
New York City
For once, Alger Hiss could not conceal his fury. The bastards had lied to him! They were trying to trap him. Someone—probably that beady-eyed character Nixon—had already leaked his testimony to the morning’s newspapers, all carefully slanted to make his answers look suspicious.
Hiss had been called back to the Commodore less than a day after he’d spoken with the subcommittee to meet privately with Nixon, McDowell, and one other person. Perhaps, Hiss surmised, this was an effort to apologize for the leak and to make some sort of amends.
Hiss entered Room 1400 and stopped dead in his tracks. In the suite were investigative staff members, plus a stenographer to transcribe every word he uttered. The congressmen hadn’t told Hiss he’d actually be returning for a formal appearance. Nor had they mentioned that the “other person” in attendance was in fact Whittaker Chambers himself.
Almost before he knew what was happening, Hiss was formally sworn in again.
Nixon explained that it was important to the subcommittee to determine whether Chambers and Crosley were one and the same person before proceeding any further in a public forum.
“I’m not prepared to testify,” Hiss protested. He lashed out at the congressmen, accusing them of leaking his previous day’s testimony to the press. He was so animated that at one point, a committee staffer, concerned Hiss might strike Chambers, grabbed him by the arm.
After much back and forth, Hiss finally acknowledged that he did know Chambers, but only as George Crosley. In response, Chambers replied that he had never assumed such an identity.
When Chambers identified Hiss for the record as the man who he had known as a member of the Communist Party, Hiss took the opportunity to go on the offensive. He knew that Chambers had been given immunity for his testimony to the committee and he used it against them.
“May I say for the record at this point, that I would like to invite Mr. Whittaker Chambers to make those same statements out of the presence of this committee and without those statements being privileged from a lawsuit for libel.” Then his eyes locked directly on to his accuser. “I challenge you to do it, and hope you will do it damned quickly.”
U.S. Capitol
Washington, D.C.
August 25, 1948
The morning portended another Washington summer scorcher. The mercury already registered 93 degrees and, although Congress had long since recessed for the summer, the Caucus Room was packed. The Chambers-Hiss duel had won national headlines, with supporters on both sides of the case absolutely convinced of the others’ mendacity. Twelve hundred people watched the hearing live, while many others lingered in the hallway, hoping to overhear scraps of testimony.
In the middle of everything, like a conductor and his orchestra, was the freshman congressman Richard M. Nixon.
At 10:30 A.M., the committee was gaveled to order. Unlike his earlier appearance, this time Hiss arrived with his lawyer. He and Chambers were asked to rise and face one another. Hiss, clad in an impeccably tailored light gray suit and a striped tie, could not hide his disdain.
Stripling asked Hiss whether he had ever seen Chambers. Hiss replied that he had known Chambers, but only as “Crosley,” and had not seen him since 1935.
Stripling then turned to Chambers. “Have you ever seen this man?” the investigator intoned. Chambers identified Hiss and said they had last seen each other in 1938.
With that, both witnesses were asked to sit.
The hearing quickly turned into a detailed examination of leases and automobile loans as the committee tried to ascertain how well Hiss had really known Chambers. Hiss, who had not been able to identify anyone else who had known Chambers as “Crosley,” objected. “The important charges are not questions of leases, but questions of whether I was a Communist,” he said.
But Nixon refused to let Hiss set the terms of inquisition. Not this time.
“The issue in this hearing today is whether Mr. Hiss or Mr. Chambers has committed perjury before this committee, as well as whether Mr. Hiss is a Communist,” Nixon retorted. If Hiss had lied about such details, it would of course raise serious questions about what he was attempting to cover up.
Some committee members could barely contain their incredulity over Hiss’s story. Eddie Hébert, the Louisiana congressman who had previously wanted the committee to cut its losses, now wondered aloud how Hiss could claim to barely know “Crosley” when the testimony clearly showed that Hiss had had a close relationship with him.
Congressman Mundt was even more direct. “You knew this man,” he told Hiss. “You knew him very well. You knew him so well that you even trusted him with your apartment; you let him use your furniture; you let him use or gave him your automobile. You think you probably took him to New York. You bought him lunches in the Senate restaurant. You had him staying in your home . . . and you made a series of small loans to him. There seems no question about that.”
Hiss’s defense rested chiefly on the opinions of others. He produced the names of thirty-four patriotic Americans in good standing who had volunteered to testify as to his impeccable character and loyalty. On the list were two members of the Senate and three former secretaries of state. Hiss reminded the HUAC that Chambers, by contrast, was “a self-confessed liar, spy and traitor.” Hiss then read a number of questions regarding Chambers’s background that he hoped the committee would ask. Finally, he repeated his previous challenge to Chambers: Level your allegations outside of a setting in which you are immune from prosecution, so that I can sue you for libel.
Despite Hiss’s attempts at regaining control, the hearing went terribly for him. This time it was Chambers who supplied the steady, calm presence. Hiss was a devoted and “romantic communist,” Chambers told the HUAC. No, he did not hate Hiss; in fact, Hiss had been the closest friend he’d had in the Communist Party.
“We are caught in a tragedy of history,” Chambers told the committee. “Mr. Hiss represents the concealed enemy against which we are all fighting. I have testified against him with remorse and pity, but in a moment of historic jeopardy in which this nation now stands, so help me God, I could not do otherwise.”
As candid as Chambers had been with the HUAC, he had not told them everything he knew.
Not even close.
Washington, D.C.
September 3, 1948
Alger Hiss had no choice. Once Whittaker Chambers publicly accused him of being a communist on a television program, he had to make good on his threat.
Hiss informed his attorney to file suit against Chambers for libel. He then immediately made his lawsuit public. Would a guilty man really file suit against his accuser?
As part of the lawsuit, Hiss’s lawyers requested any documents sent by any member of the Hiss family to Chambers. It was an audacious move designed to further demonstrate his legendary self-confidence—after all, if he was requesting these documents then could they really contain anything nefarious?
But somewhere in his back of his mind, even Alger Hiss wondered if this was a step too far.
Alexandria, Virginia
December 1, 1948
As his wife packed for their upcoming vacation in Panama, Richard Nixon caught sight of a column in the Washington Post. “Startling” information had apparently been unearthed and handed to investigators that would reveal which party in the Hiss-Chambers affair was lying.
Nixon picked up a telephone and reached Stripling. “What the hell is this about?” He told Stripling he was heading into the office right away. Chambers had been a cooperative witness, and Nixon had defended attacks on his credibility, but Nixon sensed he was holding something back.
Nixon met Stripling right at the front door to their office. “What the hell does Chambers have
?” Nixon snapped, tossing the Post on the desk.
Stripling’s face was white. “I’ve been asking around. Looks like Chambers left out some very material facts in his testimony before us.”
“Like what?”
“Like that Hiss was a lot more than just a communist; he was a spy—and he took documents.” He paused. “Maybe you better put your vacation plans on hold, Dick.”
Nixon scowled, immediately recognizing their dilemma. Chambers told the committee he had never committed espionage against the government. But if he had taken possession of classified documents stolen from the U.S. government and worked with Hiss as a courier, that would turn out to be a lie and damage his own credibility. On the other hand, if Chambers’s paperwork proved that Hiss was giving secret documents to the communists, Hiss would be on the hook for treason.
As the two men deliberated their next steps, they were visited by Nicholas Vazzana, a lawyer for Whittaker Chambers. He had seen the paper, too, and wanted to have an opportunity to speak for his client.
“Congressman Nixon,” Vazzana said, “I’m here to help clarify a few things on Whittaker’s behalf.”
Nixon turned to the lawyer in a fury. “Is this story true?” he demanded. “What’s your client been holding back from us? What the hell is going on?”
“There are documents pertaining to the case,” Vazzana said in a calm and deliberate voice. “I’m afraid I’m under an admonition from the Justice Department not to discuss their contents.”
Nixon and Stripling would have none of that, and for over an hour they kept pressing the lawyer to divulge more.
“Well, Congressman, the fact of the matter is that Mr. Hiss’s lawyers demanded that my client provide proof of his accusations.”
“Well, we’ve all demanded that!” Nixon countered.
“The lawyers also asked Mr. Chambers specifically if he had any documents in his possession.” Vazzana paused. “No one on the committee asked my client that question.”
Stripling looked incredulous. “Oh, that’s bull!”
“But the answer to that question,” Vazzana continued, “is yes.” The documents had, in fact, been turned over to the Truman Justice Department weeks earlier. The department had done nothing with them. In fact, someone had leaked to the press that Justice was preparing to drop their inquiry into the allegations against Hiss altogether. Those deceitful bastards! Nixon raged. It’s a classic cover-up!
Nixon was furious. Chambers had lied to him. And he was a damned fool for giving the documents to the Democrats. “Does he have anything else? What the hell do we do now?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to talk to my client.”
• • •
Stripling and Nixon drove in almost complete silence to meet with Chambers. Nixon wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Chambers when he saw him. He was so sick and tired of the case—the heat he’d taken from the press and the Democrats, the bullshit answers he was getting from Hiss, and now Chambers. Part of him wanted to throw in the towel, but something convinced him to pay Chambers one more visit.
They arrived at his house in Westminster, Maryland, sixty-five miles from Washington, D.C. Chambers greeted them politely, but Nixon was in no mood for small talk.
“I can’t believe you gave all your documents to the Democrats,” Nixon thundered. “How could you be so foolish? They’ll probably destroy them!”
Chambers tried to calm him. “I’m not so stupid,” he replied. “I only gave them copies. And I also didn’t give them everything I have.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have other documents. Important ones,” Chambers said. “I held on to them just in case the department decided to suppress the ones I gave them.”
On the drive back to Washington from Chambers’s farm, Nixon turned to Stripling. “Well,” said the congressman, “what do you think he’s got?”
“I don’t know,” said Stripling, “but whatever he has will blow the dome off the Capitol.”
New York City
December 3, 1948
Richard Nixon arrived in New York for another hearing with Whittaker Chambers.
Stripling had sent two HUAC investigators to Chambers’s farm, where Chambers showed them what he had not disclosed to Hiss’s lawyers, or to the Justice Department. In the darkness of the late evening, guided only by the dim glow of his porch lights, Chambers led the investigators to a strawberry patch that had a pumpkin vine growing across it. Chambers crouched down and examined a pumpkin, and then another, until he found the one he had hollowed out the day before. Pulling its top off, he said, “Here is what you’re looking for.”
Inside the pumpkin, protected by wax paper and metal cans, were rolls of microfilm containing additional State Department and Navy Department documents—documents that Chambers said Hiss had provided to him. Fearing that Hiss’s legal team or communist allies might raid the farm, Chambers had been moving the microfilm from one hiding place to another until he had finally settled on the inside of a pumpkin.
The revelation propelled Nixon to the forefront of media attention. Before hordes of photographers, he and Stripling were photographed looking at the film with a magnifying glass. The photo had been staged—it was impossible to read the film with a magnifying glass—but that didn’t matter, the public was hooked.
Grand Jury Room
U.S. Courthouse
Foley Square, New York City
December 15, 1949
The Justice Department could no longer ignore Alger Hiss. He had been summoned multiple times over the previous week to testify before a grand jury looking into claims of espionage. The FBI had found Hiss’s old Underwood typewriter, and now their expert was telling the grand jury members that it was the exact machine on which the stolen documents had been typed.
When asked how it came to be that secret U.S. government documents that had been typed on the machine in question had fallen into Chambers’s possession, Hiss’s charm and eloquence finally seemed to fail him. “Until the day I die,” he said, “I shall wonder how Whittaker Chambers got into my house to use my typewriter.”
Two Years Later
Federal Detention Center
New York City
March 22, 1951
Alger Hiss arrived at the same federal courthouse where he had been tried and convicted on two counts of perjury. It had been more than a year since he’d been sentenced, but he was allowed to remain free while his appeal worked its way to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Ten days earlier, the same Court for which Hiss once clerked had denied his final appeal, exhausting his legal remedies.
Hiss managed a smile or two, but otherwise showed little emotion as federal marshals placed handcuffs on him and led him away to his new life behind bars. He planned to maintain his complete and total innocence and continue to insist he was just a scapegoat. That was essential to his post-prison plans for rehabilitation and also part of his strategy for surviving his sentence. Hiss knew that his audience was no longer the public, or a jury, but an altogether different constituency—one where communist spies were not looked upon favorably.
Arriving at the federal detention center in New York City, where he was to be held and processed before arriving at his final destination at the United States Penitentiary in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, Hiss felt like an animal in a zoo. Iron cages with bars on the sides and top. Double-decker bunks with naked lightbulbs protruding from the ceiling. It was just like in the movies.
It was here that Hiss soon met a man he knew only as “Danny F.”
Neither Hiss nor Danny enjoyed the casual chatter of the lonely men who would talk to anyone about anything, so they wound up mostly talking to each other. A member of an organized crime syndicate, this was not Danny’s first time in prison, and he imparted lots of advice to Hiss about relating to the other inmates. But of all the tips he gave Hiss, one would stand out as the most important of all: “When you get to Lewisburg, ask for Mike M.
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��Tell him I sent you.”
Lewisburg Penitentiary
Lewisburg, Pennsylvania
Spring 1951
Nestled near Bucknell University on 950 rolling acres of central Pennsylvania farmland, Lewisburg Penitentiary was a massive brick structure with thirty-foot concrete walls and watchtowers at each corner. Alger Hiss was allowed, as all inmates with good behavior generally were, to reside in an “honors” section where cell doors were unlocked, allowing free movement within the block.
Danny’s instructions to Hiss to introduce himself to “Mike M.” became a “survive in jail” card. Mike, it turned out, was one of Lewisburg’s leading inmates, and the head of the Italian-American population there. Hiss carefully observed him and the other Italian-American inmates, most of whom were incarcerated for activities related to organized crime. Their general attitude reminded Hiss of what he knew about prisoners of war: Once released, they’d go right back to the same thing they were doing before their imprisonment. Jail was merely an occupational hazard.
Just as if he were walking into the Carnegie Foundation’s boardroom, Hiss went to work immediately. First, he ingratiated himself with the organized crime community. He was also unfailingly respectful and polite to prison authorities, as well as to fellow prisoners. He avoided discussing his own case and avoided other “political” prisoners, such as those sentenced under the Smith Act, which made it illegal to advocate for the overthrow of the United States government. By design, he would become a regular guy, never complaining and taking his sentence like a man. Hiss knew that shifting audiences meant shifting tactics.
Hiss was also extremely generous with his time. He tutored one inmate to read and, as a lawyer, he was in constant demand from others to render advice and review legal documents. This put him in some jeopardy with prison authorities, but Hiss generally managed to stay on their good side by charming them as successfully as he had charmed most of the powerful people he’d encountered in his life.
