The Wars of Watergate

by Stanley I. Kutler

  Nixon was careful not to get too close; Haldeman would instruct Helms and Walters. But the President advised Haldeman to tell CIA officials that he feared the investigation would reopen questions involving the Bay of Pigs. Therefore it would be best if they told the FBI that for the good of the country the case should not be further investigated. “That’s the way to put it, do it straight,” the President said. The conversation drifted to a discussion of the McGovern campaign and homosexuals, to Herbert Klein’s incompetence (“He just doesn’t have his head screwed on,” Nixon said), to his daughter Tricia’s complaints about “labor thugs” booing at one of her talks, and to the President’s advice to keep the campaign away from anything having to do with the arts (“The Arts you know—they’re Jews, they’re left wing—in other words, stay away”).11

  Nixon and Haldeman met briefly again just after 1:00 P.M. on June 23 to go over the “game plan.” The President warned Haldeman, in asking the CIA to help quash the FBI’s investigation, to avoid letting Helms and Walters “get any ideas we’re doing it because our concern is political.” But he quickly added, “I wouldn’t tell them it is not political.” In his memoirs, the President recalled only that he wanted the matter handled “deftly.”12

  An hour later, Haldeman returned to the Oval Office to report that Helms and Walters had agreed to help despite some uncertainty that the scheme would work. Haldeman reported that Gray already had informed Helms the day before that the Bureau thought it might have “run right into the middle of a CIA covert operation.” Helms had assured him at the time that it had not. But as Haldeman relayed his conversation with Helms to the President, Nixon seemed less confident. He thought the FBI still could trace the money seized with the burglars, but Haldeman told him that the Bureau already had enough evidence to convict the burglars without worrying about the money.13

  Helms remembered that he immediately thought Haldeman’s concerns amounted to “baloney,” but he did not know “what the baloney was.” Gray himself testified that Helms told him on July 22, and again on July 27, that the CIA had no concern about the FBI investigation of the burglars’ money. Helms claimed to be mystified about a current White House notion that an FBI investigation would uncover the Agency’s “money-laundering” operation in Mexico; “we never used the term,” he insisted. The CIA, Helms revealed, had no need to operate in such a fashion: “We could get money any place in the world. We ran a whole arbitrage operation. We didn’t need to launder money—ever.”14

  The President also met with Colson and Ehrlichman at one point on that memorable June 23. According to Ehrlichman’s notes, either the President or Colson put a fitting epitaph on the day: “Responsible administrations in a tough political year are born losers.”15

  The President capped his long day with a western gunslinger movie, Hang ’Em High. The story centers on a wrongfully accused man who promises to play by the rules but then disposes of his enemies one by one, convinced that he is an avenging angel.

  Vernon Walters later claimed Haldeman and Ehrlichman had directly demanded that the CIA persuade Gray to halt the FBI investigation of the break-in, despite Helms’s assurances that the Agency was not involved. After the White House meeting, Walters told Gray that he had been “directed” by White House officials to say that the FBI investigation jeopardized the Agency’s covert operations. He checked again at the CIA and confirmed that the FBI’s investigation in no way threatened the Agency’s “assets,” including operations in Mexico. But Walters made no effort to convey that information to Gray, who had dutifully carried out the order to cut back the investigation. Gray, in his later testimony, insisted he did not know that Walters and Helms had met with Haldeman, and swore Walters never mentioned “senior people at the White House.” He thought Walters was speaking for the CIA.

  A couple of weeks later, on July 6, the President telephoned Gray from San Clemente. Gray told Nixon that he and Walters believed that “people on your staff are trying to mortally wound you by using the CIA and the FBI and by confusing the question of CIA interest in, or not in, people the FBI wishes to interview.” The President, Gray reported, paused slightly, and then urged Gray to continue his “aggressive and thorough investigation.” After the call, Nixon advised Ehrlichman not to “raise hell” with Gray or Walters, adding that the White House could take the heat. But at another meeting later in the day, he told Ehrlichman that Gray and Walters were not to discuss Watergate any further with him. The President seemed to recognize that covering up for subordinates could only be harmful to him. He had told newly appointed campaign chairman Clark MacGregor the day before never to talk to him about Watergate. Distance was now important.

  Nixon repeatedly recalled at the time that it had been because of a Democratic cover-up that “I got Truman”—an exaggerated reference to both Truman’s and his own part in the Alger Hiss affair. Later, he said that Truman’s role was “pure political containment,” which was not a corrupt motive; otherwise, he insisted, Truman would have been impeached. He warned Ehrlichman again on July 8, however, that there could be no appearance of a cover-up—“not a whiff of it.” But more than cover-up was on his mind. Nixon discussed Helms, Walters, the CIA, the Pentagon Papers controversy, the Bay of Pigs, and the Diem assassination—somehow connecting them all with an ongoing Watergate investigation. If the probe persisted, he said, “all will blow.”16

  The President later insisted that his efforts did not constitute a cover-up, because “my motives were not criminal. I didn’t believe that we were covering any criminal activities.” Five years after the event, he insisted that neither Mitchell nor any of his aides were involved, despite the public record of his June 23 discussions with Haldeman. Nixon finessed his directives to the FBI and the CIA with a convoluted linkage between the political interests of the Agency and his own: it would be best if the investigation did not uncover the role of a former CIA agent—Howard Hunt—who, incidentally, worked in the White House. Nixon thus rationalized that there had been no cover-up; the CIA was simply protecting one of its own agents “with a long history of distinguished service.”

  Not coincidentally, and straining for a note of altruism, Nixon said he “didn’t feel at the time that any eroding of the strength of the President in the country … [or] his defeat in an election … would be in the best interest of the country.” As he described his actions in his memoirs, he simply was “handling in a pragmatic way … an annoying and strictly political problem.… I saw Watergate as politics pure and simple. We were going to play it tough.” As always, the justification was that he acted tit-for-tat: “I never doubted that that was exactly how the other side would have played it.”17

  “I was being set up by the President of the United States to take a fall.” Thus Richard Helms made his assessment of the President’s political tactics as the summer of 1972 wore on. But Helms was determined not to be the “goat” of the affair. Helms knew that Walters had been a longtime Nixon loyalist and that the President could have his way with him. Helms believed that Nixon intended to “embroil the Agency … and use the Agency as the cover for the cover-up.” Although he later resisted further demands from the White House, however, Helms at first cooperated in allowing the Agency to be used accordingly. His resistance eventually cost him his standing with the President, and his cooperation exposed his treasured organization to unprecedented public scrutiny. The Watergate affair was a disaster for Richard Helms and the CIA.18

  Nixon’s “pragmatism” in approaching the cover-up often lost touch with practical reality. Meeting with Ehrlichman in San Clemente on July 10, he rambled about potential disruptions at both presidential nominating conventions. If he were in any danger, he wanted the Secret Service to make arrests, to book and charge people. Then the day after the election, he would issue a general pardon and cease prosecutions of those who provoked the demonstrations. But there was a quid pro quo: that pardon would be “a basis for pardon on both sides”—presumably meaning the Watergate burglars.19


  Between the break-in and September 15, John Dean met with Nixon only once, when on August 14 he prepared an estate plan for the President’s signature. But Nixon was aware of his Counsel’s work in more immediate problems. In a press conference on August 29, he turned aside a suggestion that he appoint a special prosecutor. He pointed to the FBI’s investigation, one by the House Banking and Currency Committee, and John Dean’s “complete investigation” as ample evidence that “we are doing everything we can to take this incident and to investigate it and not to cover it up.” Dean’s investigation had satisfied him, Nixon insisted. “I can say categorically that his investigation indicated that no one in the White House staff, no one in this administration, presently employed, was involved in this very bizarre incident.” Charitably, the President said that “overzealous” people often do wrong things in campaigns. But his charity had limits. “What really hurts” in dealing with wrongdoing, he remarked, “is if you try to cover it up.”20

  For Richard Nixon, Watergate at that time was a staff problem. The campaign and his opponent were subjects more to his liking, stirring his competitive juices. In a lengthy meeting with his aides on July 31, the President analyzed McGovern’s record at length and outlined how he thought the campaign should proceed against him. Four days later, he discussed the possibility of checking McGovern’s IRS files. But in September, the President allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation and believed the polls. He thought McGovern simply could not overcome the disaffection against him within traditional Democratic constituencies. Nixon instructed his staff to disregard McGovern, yet he solemnly criticized the Senator for having attacked J. Edgar Hoover after his death. A few days later, he was still expressing concern over McGovern’s tax proposals, conceding they were quite clever. The President wanted his surrogates to keep hitting McGovern on taxes, higher prices, and recession. The McGovern budget, he insisted, was a fraud. Nelson Rockefeller, the President’s old adversary, visited the White House on September 14, telling Nixon a sick joke about a Kennedy-Eagleton ticket: it would be “waterproofed and shockproofed.”21

  Richard Nixon claimed that his diary entry for September 15 only briefly alluded to the grand-jury indictment of the Watergate burglars. “We hope,” he wrote at the time, “to be able to ride the issue through in a successful way from now on.” For Nixon, this meant that the incident was of only minor concern to him and that the trial of the burglars would end the matter. Earlier that day, he had talked confidently with Haldeman about the election, noting that “bugging isn’t hurting.” He seemed certain that the Democrats had overplayed the break-in as an issue and simply could not match the “Eis[enhower] father image” he had fostered. There was no one else for the electorate, Nixon told Haldeman.

  The diary entry for September 15 also mentioned that the President had met John Dean that day, at Haldeman’s suggestion, to thank him for his work. Haldeman acknowledged that Dean was “keeping track of all the different Watergate problems for us.” Later, Haldeman told Senate investigators that he did not “congratulate” Dean “for the job he had done.”22 But the written and taped records of that meeting betray the President’s and Haldeman’s sure knowledge of the real nature of John Dean’s work on Watergate. Nixon hesitated not at all in speaking boldly and frankly in front of his young aide. Confidence on the part of all participants flowed through the conversation. Everything appeared well; indeed, the President seemed serene yet exhilarated.

  Dean began the September 15 meeting by reporting that the press was playing the story just as expected. They had not exactly “whitewashed” the story, as Haldeman had thought; instead, they had reported it straight and seemed pleased that two White House aides had been indicted. Dean, Haldeman, and Nixon apparently believed that the indictment would end the affair. Clark MacGregor had demanded an apology from the Democrats who had been charging that the crime had been directed from high places in the Administration. The President knew they would not get one, but he had bigger plans. “[J]ust remember all the trouble they gave us on this,” Nixon said. “We’ll have a chance to get back at them one day.”

  He raised the question of the second bug in the Watergate offices and seemed fascinated by Dean’s suggestion that the Democrats themselves had planted it. He wanted details of the FBI’s doings and questions at the Democratic National Committee’s offices. When told that Patrick Gray and his people were “pissed off” at O’Brien’s charges that the FBI had been negligent, Nixon thought that would make the Bureau work harder and perhaps find that the Democrats had bugged themselves. Maybe it was small talk, but Dean told the President that the FBI investigation had been “really incredible” and was more thorough than that done following the Kennedy assassination. (Nixon later publicly quoted this almost verbatim.)

  Haldeman was disgusted by the expenditure of resources in the investigation. “Who the hell cares?” he remarked. The President quoted Barry Goldwater to the effect that “everybody bugs everybody else.” “Yeah,” Haldeman said. “I bugged—” and his words trailed off as the President contended that he had been bugged in previous campaigns. Dean seemed fascinated by the intimacy of the meeting. Nixon claimed that he had proof that his 1968 campaign had been bugged, but he did not want to embarrass LBJ—who, Nixon added, had bugged Humphrey. Nixon also said he did not want to reflect unfavorably on the Bureau.

  The discussion turned to the Democrats’ pending civil suit and their lawyer, Edward Bennett Williams. Haldeman hoped that the FBI would start questioning “that son-of-a-bitch” Williams. Dean reported that the case had been assigned to Judge Charles Richey, a Nixon appointee. Dean observed that the judge was not known for his intellectual qualities, and the President began to say something about the judge’s “own stupid way.” But he heard that Richey had talked to Kleindienst about the case, and that the judge had suggested that Maurice Stans file a countersuit for libel. A phone call from Clark MacGregor interrupted the proceedings. Nixon told MacGregor about Richey and ended the conversation on a note of black humor as he instructed his campaign chief not to bug anyone without his consent.

  The rare opportunity for such intimacy with the President inspired Dean to inject real confidence into his report. “I think that I can say that fifty-four days from now that, uh, not a thing will come crashing down to our, our surprise.” Nothing, he promised, would disturb the anticipated election results. Knowing that much more than the Watergate break-in might be at stake, Nixon remarked that the matter was a difficult “can of worms” and “awfully embarrassing.” Still, he took the moment to praise Dean for a “skillful” job. Dean gave the President even more, describing his “hawk’s eye” monitoring of the McGovern campaign for campaign violations. Dean knew how to ingratiate himself. “[T]his is war. We’re getting a few shots and it’ll be over,” the President responded. “I wouldn’t want to be in Edward Bennett Williams’… position after this election,” he added. “A bad man,” was Williams. Haldeman, too, played to the President: “That’s the guy we’ve got to ruin.” Nixon promptly agreed. “I think we are going to fix the son-of-a-bitch. Believe me. We are going to. We’ve got to, because he’s a bad man,” Nixon reiterated.

  The mood was infectious. Dean was not there only to report on the cover-up. He, too, knew that the President loved to “rub sores.” He told the others that he had been keeping notes on people who were emerging “as less than our friends.” “Great,” Nixon interjected. Dean warmed to the task. The present crisis was going to be over someday, and enemies would not be forgotten. The President sounded almost ecstatic. He told Dean that he wanted “the most comprehensive notes on all of those that have tried to do us in.” Why was there so much opposition, he asked, when the election was not even close? The enemy, he concluded, was “doing this quite deliberately and they are asking for it and they are going to get it.… We, we have not used the power in this first four years, as you know.” Dean knew better; nevertheless, he dutifully agreed. The President was unstoppable. “We have
n’t used the Bureau and we haven’t used the Justice Department, but things are going to change now.” It was Dean’s turn to be ecstatic: “That’s an exciting prospect.” The President still had a full head of steam: “Oh, oh, well, we’ve just been, we’ve been just God damn fools.… It’s not going, going to be that way any more.” He regretted that his campaign people had not attacked Democratic senators more effectively—“they’re crooks, they’ve been stealing,” he complained.23

  Haldeman thought it was the right moment to note the irony of the fact that the White House had tolerated Dean’s “damn regulations” about conflicts of interest. Dean could not resist a bit of oblique self-congratulation as he praised the White House staff for its careful compliance with his rules. Irony abounded.

  Soon, Dean remembered his place and returned to the cover-up. He told the President and Haldeman that there might be a problem in coping with a pending investigation by the House Banking and Currency Committee, headed by Wright Patman (D–TX). Dean had arranged with the Cuban defendants’ lawyers to visit committee members to warn that public hearings would jeopardize their clients’ civil rights. Richard Nixon suddenly found himself on the other side from candidate Richard Nixon and the “peace forces.” He suggested that the government should dismiss the criminal charges against the Cubans because, in Haldeman’s words, of “the civil rights type stuff.” Dean was his usual accommodating self. His staff, he told the President, already had been in contact with the American Civil Liberties Union on behalf of the accused. Dean later recalled the move was “supremely cynical,” but he was primarily worried that Maurice Stans, Nixon’s campaign finance director, might have to face questions from Patman. What about using Connally to pressure Patman, he asked? Or making better use of House Minority Leader Gerald Ford? Dean had one more card: he was convinced that the Banking and Currency Committee members themselves had not always complied with campaign-financing laws; perhaps it was time for the White House to play rough.