The White House had even bigger plans than one-off documentaries to try to influence the agenda of the national news media. It was developing a blueprint for its own television news service which would produce administration propaganda packaged as independent journalism. Ailes championed the project, titled “A Plan for Putting the GOP on TV News.” In the summer of 1970, a highly detailed fourteen-page memo circulated around the White House outlining the plan, which Haldeman later named “The Capitol News Service.” “For 200 years, the newspaper front page dominated public thinking,” the memo began. “In the last 20 years that picture has changed. Today television news is watched more often—than people read newspapers—than people listen to the radio—than people read or gather any form of communication.” The memo explained why: “People are lazy. With television you just sit—watch—listen. The thinking is done for you.”
The plan’s stated purpose was to “provide pro-Administration videotape, hard news actualities to the major cities of the United States.” To pull it off, the White House would produce favorable political stories in Washington and rush the videotapes by airplane to local markets, thereby avoiding “the censorship, the priorities and the prejudices of network news selectors and disseminators.” The top forty markets would have three same-day departures from Washington. A fleet of trucks traveling a total of 1,195 miles per week would pick up the footage from airports and deliver it to local broadcast stations. To illustrate the plan’s effectiveness, the memo sketched out how it could work for four specific GOP senators, including Bob Dole. “Senator records statement between 8-9AM,” which would result in a “Sample Arrival Time Home Market [of] 4PM … Makes the TV News Program At 6PM.”
Ailes sent Haldeman a marked-up copy of the memo with his enthusiastic feedback. “Basically a very good idea,” he wrote in the margin. What was striking was that, just a few months earlier, in his interview with The Boston Globe, he cast himself as an idealist, warning of the hidden dangers of propaganda. He had told the Globe that he wanted to work on a concept he called “Truth television … where people can distinguish between fact and fiction on television, where entertainment and life and opinion are separate.” He noted that “twenty-nine percent of the nation relies on television as the only source of news. This is extremely dangerous, when the major news story of the day is done in 2½ minutes. Right after the printing press was invented, people believed everything they read. Television does the same thing. It can be lies and bull.”
But in private, with the prospect of a lucrative assignment on the table, he was an eager propagandist, encouraging the White House to think even bigger. “It should be expanded to include other members of the administration such as Cabinet involved in activity with regional or local interest.—Also could involve GOP governors when in D.C.,” Ailes wrote. He seemed unconcerned about the ethics. “Will get some flap about news management,” he wrote. Though the plan struck some in the White House as too audacious and expensive to pull off, Ailes possessed none of these inhibitions. “If you decide to go ahead we would as a production company like to bid on packaging the entire project,” he wrote Haldeman.
The Nixon White House never moved forward on the Capitol News Service plan. Instead, they studied long-term strategies to harness technology that would help build a counter–media establishment. One of the most promising was the one Ailes would later master: cable television. White House memos asserted that cable, with its capacity to carry an array of diverse channels, would be “the most effective and most lasting approach” to strip the broadcast news divisions of their power. A prescient 1973 document prepared for Haldeman noted that cable news was a development that was “ten years or so” away “for significant impact.”
By November 1970, Bill Safire was advocating dumping Ailes for Bill Carruthers, an in-demand television producer who had recently opened his own production company. Even though Carruthers was “liberal compared to us,” Safire encouraged hiring him. “He has much less emotion than Ailes does; he has more control,” Dwight Chapin wrote, recounting Safire’s thoughts. “He is probably a better producer than Ailes but he does not have as much flair as Roger.… You’ve got to consider the question of Flair versus ability and Safire buys ability.”
Ailes would have one more chance to save his relationships. On November 19, he met with Haldeman at 10:45 in the morning to discuss his future. Ailes lobbied to be appointed television adviser. He said he would open an office in Washington and make the head of the office available to the White House full-time. He also stressed that he liked the Capitol News Service idea and thought the White House should move ahead on launching it. Haldeman asked Ailes to write another proposal outlining how Nixon should use television in the run-up to the ’72 election.
The day before Thanksgiving, Ailes sent Haldeman a twelve-page proposal titled “White House Television—1971.” It was written in his now characteristically blunt, dramatic tone and revealed the breadth of Ailes’s understanding of how television could transmit a political message. “In my opinion,” Ailes began, “Richard Nixon is in danger of becoming a one-term President. Further, he is in danger of leaving office, even if he is re-elected, with a stigma of leadership failure much as President Johnson did: not because of what he has done—his accomplishments are many—but because of what the people ‘think’ he has done, and because of the way he sounds and looks to them.” Since Selling of the President had been published, Ailes had attacked McGinniss’s thesis repeatedly in interviews, saying television couldn’t artificially mold an image. Now he was arguing to do just that. “To follow a leader,” he wrote, “people must feel that he is better than they are and not subject to anger or hatred quickly.” Ailes said he knew what he was talking about because of his background. “It is important for you to know that I am not just echoing the eastern liberals when I express my concern and that I spent twenty five years in Ohio and know something about the silent majority.”
Ailes also offered strategic advice: Wedge issues like busing and the war had banked much of the electorate. Now it was time to tack to the center. “The silent majority will automatically back the President because it has no place else to go,” he wrote. “I think a good issue to drive a wedge between the Democratic leadership and the news commentators is Nixon’s welfare plan. The only ones more frightened by the welfare plan than the conservatives are the liberals. If the President makes no major speeches but quietly visits Capitol Hill to press for this and at the same time calls in a group of ‘liberal’ reporters to discuss the plan, the commentators will be forced to applaud him and point out Democrat obstructionism.” Ailes also demonstrated he was on-board with dirty tricks. “To guard our flank I would like to see us get one of our people inside the Wallace organization immediately,” he wrote, an acknowledgment that George Wallace’s candidacy could siphon off Nixon votes, especially in the South. “I’ll discuss this in more detail in person.”
As in 1968, Ailes recommended using television to soften Nixon’s image and project cool confidence. “America’s position can be compared to a teenager who is experimenting with trouble, tempted to really go bad, but still crying out for a father to step in and lead him home. Mr. Nixon must take on the father’s role,” he wrote. While he did not recommend reviving the Man in the Arena concepts for ’72, a similar warming effect could be achieved through the right interview setting. Ailes suggested that David Frost interview the president “either at Camp David by the fireplace or walking around at the Western White House” because “he is recognized internationally as the best in-depth, humanizing interviewer.” Ailes pitched himself in the role of packager: Westinghouse would fund the production and Frost would follow Ailes’s directions. “I know him well and would approach him directly to set the ground rules and production controls.” Ailes explained that Nixon could outline his intention to do future television broadcasts to communicate his plans to the American people, for which he included suggested scripts for the interview:
FRO
ST: “You mean, similar to Roosevelt’s radio reports known as fireside chats.”
NIXON: “Well, yes, I think they were a good idea, but I may do some from California, so they might be more seaside chats than fireside chats.”
In addition to the Frost interview, Ailes pitched a network film special “to air late in 1971 just prior to the 1972 election campaign, which would show a human, working President with an incredible schedule.” If the networks balked at a White House–produced movie, Ailes suggested getting his friend, CBS correspondent Mike Wallace, on-board “and myself maintaining production control using the correspondent just to introduce the program and do a little narration where necessary, letting the film speak for itself.”
The memo rattled off a list of ideas big and small. Better celebrity guests at White House events (“I know the talent business very well and can be useful here”). More physical contact between the president and Pat Nixon (“If he put his arm around her in public or held hands with her when walking once in a while, it would do much to endear him to women all over the country”). More religion at the Christmas tree lighting ceremony (“I suggested they drop Santa Claus and big name stars all together”). More jokes (“If a reporter keeps pressing him on something the President should smile and say something like, ‘I believe I’ve answered that and if you ask me again I’m going to give your home phone number to Martha Mitchell’ ”).
Ailes concluded the memo by reiterating he wanted to remain an outside consultant. “By signing a large yearly PR contract with the RNC or a ‘fat cat’ firm, I can include the full time man from my DC office and produce the major things myself.… Per diem work doesn’t allow the flexibility we both need.”
Haldeman ultimately sided with those who felt Ailes brought too much baggage to the job. He hired Carruthers and a young assistant named Mark Goode instead. The White House worried that Ailes would react unpredictably to the news. “I have a gut feeling that we are bordering on disaster if we do not get Roger Ailes in and squared away soon,” Dwight Chapin wrote to Haldeman two days before Christmas. “If we handle Roger in the proper way and quickly, I think we can avoid any bad feelings.”
“Get Roger down,” Haldeman scrawled on Chapin’s memo. A meeting was scheduled for December 28, 1970.
A talking paper outlined scripts that Haldeman could use. “Roger,” one suggestion read, “I want to be completely honest with you. As you know, we have felt the need for a full-time man here at the White House for a long time—to supervise our TV on a daily basis—and our efforts here have met with little success. I don’t see anything developing on this need in the near future.” Another script called for Haldeman to talk about Ailes’s outside conflicts. “You and your operation have developed into a TV political consulting business. It is obviously successful, but it is a different animal than what we need here.” It was also suggested he comment on Ailes’s relationship with Nixon. “We have not been able to build the relationship between you and the President which we had hoped to see. It is no one’s fault. We face this sort of thing every day. There are different directions that we can go which I think you can explore and which will continue to reap you rewards.”
A few weeks later, Ailes sent Haldeman a confidential letter bragging about his performance advising campaigns in the 1970 midterms. He attached glowing notes from eight GOP politicians and operatives praising his performance. The White House clearly wasn’t interested. “No need for H. to see FYI,” an aide wrote to Haldeman’s assistant, Larry Higby.
Ailes needed to retool his image. “I have been getting a lot of calls in the business about my being out at the White House,” he wrote to Larry Higby in February 1971. “If I can say that I am working with the National Committee and am still with the White House, it will be very helpful to me professionally.” Ailes’s television career was sputtering, too. The Real Tom Kennedy Show had been canceled. In March, Ailes issued a press release announcing he was changing the name of his company from REA Productions to Roger Ailes & Associates, Incorporated. An article in Backstage headlined “Ailes Business Is Not Ailing” helped to quiet the rumors of his professional struggles. Ailes announced that his renamed company was launching “an expansion program” and would focus on “radio and TV production; TV counseling services to business and industry; and a division to handle personal management for talent.”
On June 8, 1971, Ailes delivered a speech before Los Angeles business and civic leaders at the Town Hall of California. Ailes used the opportunity to offer a full-throated rebuttal to the criticisms that had dogged him since the publication of McGinniss’s book. Principally, Ailes sought to put to rest the charge that shady media manipulators were distorting politics through television. “Like many technological advances, the impact of political television has preceded the understanding of its meaning or its uses,” he wrote. “The natural human reaction to this lack of understanding is fear, and this single emotion—fear—overrides much of American life today and has brought about a national negativism which has wrapped around us like a shroud!”
Much of the speech, however, sounded like a sales pitch: “The biggest problem today, I believe, is communication on all levels,” Ailes declared. It was corporate America’s fault, Ailes said, for not marshaling a response to consumer advocates like Ralph Nader who spread the notion that “all large companies are greedy monolithic monsters determined to squash the little man.” To the businessmen sitting in the crowd, who controlled their companies’ marketing budgets, it would have been an incredibly seductive message. Ailes was declaring that slick public relations, the very kind he was selling, could reset the relationship of business to the American people. “America has a cancer. Cancer is usually fatal, but it doesn’t have to be if it is discovered and treated in time,” he wrote. “Our national life depends on our ability to use our technical knowledge to cure the ills in our country and upon our refusal to be caught up in this negative attitude about our system.” His formulation was not unlike the words of his father about the struggle for survival. “We must exhibit and communicate an unbending will to live,” Ailes stated. Unless the country changed its attitude, it might not make it out of the next thirty years. “Without these things,” he asserted, “America will be nothing more than a history lesson in a student-run college of the twenty-first century.”
That month, Ailes planned to move into a new office on Seventh Avenue, a few blocks south of Central Park. He told White House photographer Oliver Atkins that his interior designers were working up plans for the space, which he wanted to decorate with eleven-by-fourteen photographs of his memorable work for Nixon and other clients. “I would love to have a shot of that split screen to the moon,” Ailes wrote to Atkins in mid-May 1971. Even as he projected the image of a rapidly expanding concern, the well-hidden truth was that Ailes was largely on his own. Cast out of the White House, Ailes would have to come up with a new act. “Roger got caught up in the politics he didn’t yet understand,” his brother later said. “In retrospect, he learned some lessons and he got out before the rest went to shit.”
SIX
A NEW STAGE
AILES WAS UNMOORED, both professionally and ideologically. Confidants observed in their friend a palpable sense of dislocation. “He was trying to figure out who he’d be when he grew up,” his brother, Robert, recalled of that time. “He tried his hand at everything.” Television and Republican politics had been the lodestars of Ailes’s twenties. In an accelerated adulthood, Ailes approached them with single-minded determination, relishing the power and financial freedom of the grown-up world, even as he rebelled against the strictures of its institutions, such as marriage and corporate hierarchies. Now as his thirty-first birthday approached, Ailes, for the first time, began to pursue other paths.
Though far from a flower child, Roger Ailes was a product of the 1960s, who came of age in that era of cultural tumult. And after the Nixon administration severed ties with him, he began a four-year period of experimentation, one that
in hindsight seems a quixotic professional detour. As he kept a toehold in politics, paying his bills by running media strategy for a few congressional and gubernatorial campaigns, Ailes ventured into the New York theater scene. In post-1960s New York, the counterculture itself had been institutionalized, made into a profit center. Reinventing himself as an all-purpose impresario and agent, Ailes befriended not merely Democrats, but activist members of the American left.
Paul Turnley, a liberal Democrat and civil rights activist from Detroit, Michigan, became an early assistant to Ailes. “Roger never let politics get in the way of good people,” Turnley recalled. On May 15, 1971, Ailes was giving a speech at Indiana University, where Turnley, who was training to become a Jesuit priest, was taking graduate courses in communications. He was so captivated by Ailes’s lecture that he changed his mind about the priesthood and wrote Ailes a series of letters asking for a job. After Ailes hired him, they rarely discussed politics or Nixon, except in typically Ailesian terms. “He basically said that ‘Man in the Arena’ was his idea. Then, he’d say, ‘I got Nixon to take his stupid ramrod out of his ass.’ ”
Politics in those days for Ailes was more about making money than ideology. He hinted that he would consider working for Democrats. “I don’t have this burning thing to elect all Republicans,” he told The Washington Post in the winter of 1972. And Ailes did discreetly advise Andrew Stein, a twenty-six-year-old Democratic candidate who was seeking reelection to the New York State Assembly. On one occasion, Ailes arranged for a barber to meet them in his office. “Andy called Roger aside and whispers to him, ‘I have a hairpiece. You can’t do this,’ ” Turnley recalled. “And Roger just says, ‘we’ll do a little bit around the sides.’ ”
The Loudest Voice in the Room: How the Brilliant, Bombastic Roger Ailes Built Fox News--and Divided a Country Page 11
