The President warmed to the conversation. He expressed contempt for the ranking Republican member of the committee and thought Ford should exert pressure on him. “Jerry’s really got to lead on this,” he insisted. He wanted Ford to make a public case for the rights of the defendants; for the President it simply was, as he said, a public-relations problem.
The conversation drifted in other directions, but Dean quickly revived the Patman situation. He thought it might be tragic if they let Patman “have a field day up there.” He mentioned that one of the committee’s junior Republicans, Garry Brown (R–MI), had asked Kleindienst whether an investigation might jeopardize the criminal case against the burglars. The President was pleased: he considered Brown smart and aggressive. He wanted Ford and Brown called in to work with Ehrlichman—“they ought to get off their asses and push it. No use to let Patman have a free ride here.”
The President worried about Congressman Patman and his committee in one corner of his mind. In another corner, he was concerned about the impact of the entire affair—“one of those unfortunate things”—on his campaign or, even more, on his security in the White House. He needed reassurance, and Dean artfully provided it. The events “had no effect on you,” he said. “That’s the … good thing.” Haldeman agreed, almost congratulating Dean for having prevented any linkage to the White House or to the President. Apparently satisfied, the President again shifted his concern to the civil rights of “these poor bastards”—the accused burglars. He decried the fact that the press already had convicted them. If the Watergate burglars had been communists or convicted multiple murderer Charles Manson, he said, the Times and the Post would have raised hell. Well, the Post was in for some rough times, Nixon exclaimed—“damnable problems,” he said, such as not getting their television-station licenses renewed. The President seemed to be in his element at the meeting with Haldeman and Dean.24 Dean left the Oval Office shortly after the remarks about the newspapers. He had his orders; he did not talk to the President again until February 28, 1973. The mood then would not be so confident.
Dean was certainly right when he told the President that Watergate had not affected the campaign. The information from the polls had been particularly striking on the day of his meeting with the President. Both the Gallup and Harris polls gave Nixon a 34 percent lead, with McGovern holding only 25 percent of the electorate. While some predicted that the Democratic Party would go the way of the dinosaur, McGovern campaign manager Gary Hart insisted that the prospects were improving and that the polls reflected a “cultural lag.” He believed that McGovern was only 20 points behind. Less than two weeks later, pollster Louis Harris reported a “significant” change: Nixon’s lead had “dropped” to only 28 percent. For Hart, that offered vivid proof of the electorate’s “tremendous volatility”; for the President, such volatility could only confirm his confidence.
Meanwhile, media interest in the Watergate affair was almost nonexistent. Of the three television networks, only NBC assigned one of its Washington reporters full time to the story. Fewer than 15 of the more than 430 reporters in Washington news bureaus for different newspapers and media outlets worked exclusively on Watergate. The Chicago Tribune did not feature a Watergate story on its front page until August 27 and displayed the affair on its lead page only thirteen times—compared to seventy-nine and thirty-three for the Washington Post and New York Times, respectively. More than 70 percent of the nation’s newspapers endorsed the President, while only 5 percent backed McGovern, further underlining the irony of Nixon’s complaints about media treatment.25
* * *
Speaker of the House Carl Albert believed that Nixon lived “in constant torture” about the Watergate cover-up from the moment Wright Patman’s Banking and Currency Committee began its investigation. Patman started something, Albert said, “that made Nixon’s life a living hell from then on. He knew that this thing had been done, he knew that … there had been a cover-up and he had not stopped it. He was afraid all the time that they might find that out. So he must have had a life of real misery.” House leaders knew that Patman was a formidable adversary; Albert and others had crossed swords with him many times. He was, Albert remembered, “about as tough as anybody in the House. He was fearless, absolutely fearless.”26
Patman had a reputation as a loner, yet his base as Chairman of the Banking and Currency Committee gave him a place in the House’s power structure. Crusty and cynical, Patman was one of the shrewdest of congressional barons. When Lyndon Johnson went to Washington, his father, Sam, had told him to watch and follow the Texas populist. Patman knew how to make waves. He arrived in Washington in 1931 and promptly challenged President Hoover with his support for the early payment of a bonus to World War I soldiers. Patman later led a revolt against some of FDR’s early measures when he thought they undermined the essential need to pump money into the economy. He ruthlessly fought corruption, whether in the banking system or the political process. Wall Street bankers and presidents—from Roosevelt through Eisenhower, Johnson, and Richard Nixon—all gained his implacable enmity. One of Patman’s aides remembered that “his attitudes were his own, and they weren’t delivered every Monday morning by whatever interest group was before the committee.” Although his unwillingness to compromise and “stroke” his colleagues underlined his reputation as a loner, others recognized that Patman had a “longer range view of things than some of us did.”27
Four days after the break-in, Senator William Proxmire (D–WI) requested the cooperation of Federal Reserve Board Chairman Arthur Burns in seeking the name of the banks involved in issuing the cash found on the burglars. Burns refused. The next day, Patman seconded Proxmire’s request, telling Burns that the “Executive Branch can’t investigate itself.” Burns again declined.
Meanwhile, federal attorneys revealed that Bernard Barker, one of the alleged burglars, had withdrawn $89,000 in cash from a business account to which it had been deposited in April from four checks drawn on a Mexican bank. Several other reports appeared in July and August about foreign contributions and a $25,000 deposit to Barker’s account made by Kenneth Dahlberg, a GOP fundraiser. Banking and Currency Committee members raised questions about the foreign money involvement and the possible misuse of the banking system to transfer illegal funds. Henry Reuss (D–WI) urged Patman to have the committee staff look into the matter. Reuss argued that the importation and exportation of capital, the possible misuse of financial institutions, and illegal bank transfers of capital were proper inquiries for the committee. He did not want the burglars called as witnesses, for he was concerned with their constitutional guarantees against self-incrimination, but he reinforced what the FBI already had practiced: follow the money trail.
On August 17, Patman told Reuss that he would have the staff conduct interviews and gather available documents. Although the General Accounting Office had promised to cooperate with committee investigators, it notified the committee on August 22 that it would no longer do so. Patman quickly learned that GAO investigators had flown to Miami and discussed illegal campaign contributions with Maurice Stans. On the twenty-fifth, Patman promised to continue his investigation, and in a preemptive move he noted that although the White House undoubtedly would apply “extreme pressure” to his Republican colleagues, he hoped that their responsibilities would outweigh their partisan loyalties.
The next day, the GAO referred possible criminal violations to the Justice Department. Patman repeated Lawrence O’Brien’s earlier call for a special prosecutor. He also wrote to the Comptroller General, questioning a bank charter hastily granted to two men found to have deposited money in Barker’s account.
Patman was turning up the heat. Nixon responded with a rare move, a televised press conference from San Clemente on August 29. The first question, possibly planted, raised the idea of a special prosecutor—without mentioning Patman. Nixon used the occasion for a lengthy answer that did many things but failed to respond to the specific question. The President discussed
the mishandling of campaign funds and then dismissed it as an issue, insisting that both sides were equally guilty of “technical” violations. Mostly, he focused on the various investigations of the break-in and insisted that “we are doing everything we can to take this incident and to investigate it and not to cover it up.”
Congressman Patman meanwhile focused his attention on Maurice Stans, the CREEP finance chairman. On August 28, he asked Stans to allow the House committee’s staff to interview him regarding a public report that he had criticized the GAO. The President had said in San Clemente that he would discharge anyone who would not cooperate in any Watergate investigation. Stans called Patman on August 30. He agreed to an interview but asked that a minority staff member be present and that no information be made public until he saw it. Patman agreed, and committee staff members questioned Stans that day. During the session, Stans received a call from the President. Stans complained to Patman that the staff had bullied him. The next day, Patman asked Stans to clarify his comments regarding contributors and the Mexican money found in one of the burglars’ bank accounts.
The Republican counterassault to Patman’s investigation began on September 4. Representative Garry Brown protested the investigation and charged that the Banking and Currency Committee staff had acted improperly. Brown also contended that Stans should not have to say anything regarding testimony he had given to the grand jury investigating the burglary, as Brown demonstrated equal concern about the rights of the alleged burglars. His remarks were based on telephone calls and letters from the Department of Justice, many of which had been coordinated by the lawyers at CREEP.
Patman vigorously defended his actions. But the meaning of Brown’s remarks was clear: Republicans would not cooperate in any investigation. The next day, at a committee hearing, Stans denied any knowledge when pressed by Patman’s further questions. The Chairman called another meeting of the whole committee for September 14 and announced that he had asked Stans to appear. On September 11, Stans’s lawyer declined the invitation, contending that his client’s appearance would jeopardize the civil rights of the alleged Watergate burglars.28
The policy toward Patman’s investigation was part of a larger pattern. Nixon’s campaign manager dubbed Watergate a “synthetic” issue of “very minimal importance.” John Mitchell repeatedly denied that he had any part in the affair. And an FBI official leaked word that “unless one of the people on the inside track comes through, we may never get this whole story.” The Administration’s “stonewalling” policy had paid dividends. Meanwhile, the nation and the world watched the more identifiable horrors of the Munich Olympic Games.29
Patman was furious. He told Stans’s attorney that his client’s refusal to appear amounted to “a high level decision … to continue a massive cover-up and to do everything possible to hinder a full-scale public airing of the Watergate case.” He called this the “first political espionage case” in American history and warned that “it must not be swept under the rug.”30
Coincidentally, the Banking and Currency Committee’s staff report was ready the next day, and Patman submitted it to the full committee. The report focused on the extraordinary flow of contributions to the Nixon campaign on April 5, just two days before a new law requiring disclosure of campaign contributors took effect. Patman told his colleagues that the committee needed subpoena power in order to trace the sources of the burglars’ money. He asked that the report be kept confidential—which it was not; Patman of course recognized the necessity for capturing public opinion as well as any experienced politician. Stans meanwhile labeled the report a “mess of garbage,” filled with “deliberate falsehoods, misrepresentations and slanted conclusions.”31
Patman and his staff believed that as the chief financier of the Committee to Re-elect the President, Stans was a key link between CREEP and the break-in. But Stans was an elusive witness. Lacking subpoena powers, Patman’s committee could do nothing. Stans refused to testify, contending that the proceedings were “political” and designed to aid the McGovern candidacy. It would not be the last time that a Nixon supporter justified action on the grounds that the national interest required saving the nation from George McGovern. Stans also was confident that Patman did not have the support of his full committee.32
The Banking and Currency Committee assembled on October 3, with only one Democrat and one Republican absent out of thirty-seven committee members. Patman told the committee that the international transfer and concealment of campaign contributions might have financed “the greatest political espionage case” in American history and could not be ignored. Charges and allegations, he noted, reached “right into the White House” and other high places in the Administration. He complained that the White House had obstructed the staff’s efforts. He scoffed at the concerns of “newly found converts to the cause of civil liberties,” labeling their actions a “smokescreen to hide the real reasons” for thwarting the investigation. Patman wanted the facts out; then he was content to let the electorate decide on their import. The Administration, he charged, wanted the jury verdict first, the facts later. If they had their way, he warned, “they will shut the door, possibly for all time, on this sorry affair.”
Stans’s refusal to appear before his committee required Patman to ask the full Banking and Currency Committee for subpoena powers. Henry Reuss offered a motion to that effect, authorizing subpoenas to banks that had dealings with CREEP, to the telephone company, and to campaign contributors who allegedly had received governmental favors, as well as to specific individuals, some well known, and others who later would receive their moment in the sun—including John Mitchell, John Dean, John Caulfield, Fred LaRue, Jeb Magruder, Robert Mardian, Hugh Sloan, and Maurice Stans.33
Patman sensed that his committee had discerned a deep pattern of corruption. Those close to him recognized his outrage and anger. His finely tuned intelligence network alerted him to the White House’s intense lobbying of the House Banking and Currency Committee, although he probably was not aware of the precise links that lobbying used. He knew that the Justice Department had publicly opposed further hearings on the break-in for fear of jeopardizing the defendants’ rights and had reassured Patman’s committee that the Justice investigation was proceeding well. But Patman did not realize that John Dean had been hard at work securing the information he had promised the President at their September 15 meeting. Eleven days later, Kenneth Parkinson, attorney for the CREEP Finance Committee and for Stans, sent Dean a memorandum detailing the House committee members’ campaign-finance reports and the political action committees which contributed to members’ campaigns. Dean, it will be remembered, was convinced that the Banking and Currency Committee’s members themselves had not wholly complied with the law. He promised the President that if anyone wanted “to play rough,” the White House would not hesitate to respond in kind. Dean proposed nothing less than blackmail.34
Again, Representative Garry Brown spearheaded the Republican opposition. He attempted to wrest procedural control of the committee’s hearings from Patman, but the Chairman ruled that members could comment on Reuss’s motion to authorize subpoenas but not offer amendments. A Republican critic referred sarcastically to the “9:42” or the “10:18” rules, depending on the time the Chairman pronounced a judgment. Another complained that Patman had taken thirty minutes to explain the need for an investigation, while others had only five minutes each to reply. But the significant mischief came from within Patman’s own ranks—from conservative Southern Democrats and from two northerners who were rather unlikely opponents.
Robert Stephens of Georgia was widely recognized as one of the Patman Committee’s shrewdest horse traders. When the committee’s ranking Republican yielded his time to Stephens, Patman was upset. Speaking for himself and two other southerners, Stephens stated bluntly that the staff report did not indicate any need for legislative change; rather it focused on the possibility of legal violations. Therefore, Stephens insisted, the jurisdiction belong
ed to the Justice Department. He acknowledged the committee’s proper oversight role, but he thought any action premature pending court developments.
Benjamin Blackburn, a Georgia Republican, assailed Patman, charging that the Chairman had “prostitute[d] his committee for blatant political purposes.” Blackburn wanted no part of a “witch hunt” that would endanger the rights of the burglars. But the real jolt for Patman came when Garry Brown yielded his time to two Democrats who consistently had supported the Chairman. Frank Brasco of New York endorsed Blackburn’s remarks: “politics should stay out of justice.” Richard Hanna of California complained that the committee had delayed action on a housing bill for months; clearly, then, it could not act properly on such short notice for the proposed investigation. The short time frame, he maintained, demonstrated that the proposal to use subpoena powers was “purely political,” and he could not support the resolution. Another southerner tried to propose a substitute motion to subpoena documents but not witnesses, pending examination of the written materials. The effect, of course, was to delay matters, and Patman ruled the proposal out of order.
With Republicans holding firm, the Democratic defections made defeat of Reuss’s motion for subpoena powers inevitable. The vote was 20–15. As the meeting adjourned, a bitter Patman warned: “The fight is not over.”35
Prying into campaign irregularities was, to be sure, a potentially embarrassing subject for a variety of individuals, especially during a campaign. But the reasons for the Patman Committee’s impasses were less abstract and more personal. The committee’s southerners openly disliked George McGovern. Their leader, Stephens, had close ties with the Administration. In the next six months, he received an extraordinary amount of patronage. Stephens had little interest in the civil liberties issue. When later asked if he were a civil libertarian, he replied that there was a club in Georgia with “a bad connotation—a civil liberties club.” Another Banking and Currency Committee member, William Chappell (D–FL), was in a tight race for election that year. Before the committee’s vote, he visited privately with the President and then had a photo session—an important move, given McGovern’s immense unpopularity in Chappell’s district. Perhaps more important, one of the Congressman’s secretaries had signed a complaint in 1969 alleging that Chappell had forced her to kick back some of her salary. Chappell acknowledged a “technical error,” and the Justice Department decided not to prosecute.36
The Wars of Watergate Page 34
