EHRLICHMAN: We’ve got to think of this thing from the standpoint of the President and I know you [Mitchell] have been right along and that’s the reason you’ve been conducting yourself as you have.
PRESIDENT: Right.
EHRLICHMAN: It’s now time I think to rethink what best serves the President and also what best serves you in the ultimate outcome of this thing.
PRESIDENT: Right.
EHRLICHMAN: I think we have to recognize that you are not going to escape indictment—there’s no way—and far better that you should be prosecuted on information from the U.S. Attorney based on your conversation with [him] … than on an indictment by a Grand Jury of 15 blacks and 3 whites.…
PRESIDENT: And the door of the White House—we’re trying to protect it.
Ehrlichman proposed that he invite Mitchell to call the President to hear the word directly. But Haldeman, as if he were writing a movie about conspiracies, had a better idea. He would phone Mitchell and say that the President wished to speak to him. That would obscure any role for himself or Ehrlichman and make it appear that the President operated “unilaterally.”
The three men knew that Mitchell would be difficult. Ehrlichman suggested that Nixon tell his friend that he could not remain in New York, pretending that “the thing” would go away. On two occasions, the President interjected “[T]here’s nobody else that can do it”—meaning that only Mitchell could keep the affair contained. Only a week earlier, Nixon had been insisting to Haldeman that he wanted Mitchell to know he stood “firm” with him; now, Mitchell was the “real problem” and should take responsibility. Nixon allowed himself some self-pity—perhaps intended ultimately for Mitchell—lamenting the “impossible position” of the White House and the growing chorus of Republican criticism. Still, he carefully explored his options. Should they continue to stonewall it, take their chances with the Ervin Committee, or take any other step that might be better than “this cave-in”? Ehrlichman reassured him that the Mitchell “cave-in” was the only route. The President took the cue; he would tell Mitchell, “I think it is a lot better for us to be forthcoming before you are indicted.”
The ever-calculating Ehrlichman found multiple advantages in Mitchell’s sacrifice. If Mitchell were indicted, that would hamper the Ervin inquiry, for any testimony by White House people might jeopardize Mitchell’s right in a subsequent trial. Mercilessly, Ehrlichman kept depicting Mitchell as incompetent and hopelessly mired in legal violations. He told the President about a pending indictment in New York, involving Mitchell and Maurice Stans and the receipt of a contribution from Robert Vesco, a financier with great legal problems of his own. The President characterized Mitchell’s role there as “dumb.”
Nixon knew about another case of which his aides had learned, and he wanted to hear more particulars. A Baltimore grand jury had been hearing testimony concerning Maryland building contracts and the bribery of public officials, including the former Governor, now Vice President, Spiro Agnew. Agnew’s potential problems provided a welcome diversion. Haldeman reported that Agnew was “scared shitless,” and had threatened to involve Mitchell as a recipient of illegal campaign contributions unless the White House helped him. (Agnew denied ever implicating Mitchell, who “was one of my closest friends,” while Haldeman and Ehrlichman “were my biggest problems on the Nixon staff.”) Nixon thought all Agnew’s problems involved a Jewish crowd in Baltimore, but he found it unbelievable that Agnew would take money in his office, as had been charged. Haldeman and Ehrlichman confidently believed that the Republican U.S. Attorney (a brother of a Maryland senator) would not indict Agnew. But they seemed to enjoy the fact that he would be tarnished and perhaps take some heat away from the White House. “Thank God I was never elected Governor,” the President said, as he referred to the bribery problems of another state official.6
Perhaps Richard Nixon saw Agnew as a pawn; neither then nor later did he understand that Agnew represented a built-in insurance policy against impeachment proceedings directed at himself. For the April siege, however, Agnew still had his uses. On April 25 the Vice President delivered a brief statement to reporters, reaffirming his “full confidence in the integrity of President Nixon,” and urging that nothing be done to prejudice the rights of possible defendants.
The forthcoming Ervin Committee inquiry provided another diversionary moment during the lengthy morning meeting on April 14. Weicker by then had completely alienated the White House. Nixon bitterly resented Weicker’s public criticisms, and he believed that Weicker was miffed because of the treatment of his friend Pat Gray. Apparently, Ehrlichman and Haldeman thought they had sufficient derogatory information to force Weicker off the committee, but Ehrlichman suggested waiting until the hearings started. Then they could embarrass the whole proceeding and, as Haldeman suggested, strike fear into other Republicans. Nixon suggested that his aides “stick it right to him,” but also thought it would be better to fight Weicker, his slick public-relations techniques and all, as opposed to some “smart son of a bitch.” Ehrlichman, meanwhile, remained confident that Howard Baker would safeguard the White House. A few days earlier, on April 11, he had told Mitchell that Baker continued to be guarded in his dealings, but really helpful.7
Ehrlichman had his own agenda. Mitchell, of course, was his primary target, but Ehrlichman thought that Dean, too, should be given an opportunity to serve the President in like fashion. He reminded Nixon of Dean’s knowledge of the hush money, as well as several other links to the cover-up. Ehrlichman did not want Dean fired; if he remained as the President’s Counsel, Ehrlichman believed that Silbert and the grand jury would be more respectful. The President then spoke carefully about Dean’s role. He “only tried to do what he could to pick up the Goddamn pieces and … everybody else around here knew it had to be done.… Uh, let’s face it. I’m not blaming anybody else … That was his job.” But Ehrlichman noted that quite a number of White House people knew what Dean was doing—and even the President admitted his awareness. Nixon then thanked both men for arranging Dean’s role in the way they had, for it showed “why the isolation of the President isn’t a bad position to be in.” Still, Dean was special for the President, even to the point of distinguishing him favorably from Mitchell. Back to the point: if Dean were fired for his wrongdoing, Ehrlichman emphasized, then Nixon would have to—“fire the whole staff,” the President interrupted. Ehrlichman realized that Magruder was no problem, but Dean was a big time bomb. Ehrlichman knew that they must handle Dean with kid gloves; his solicitude, of course, was only self-serving.
Everyone had an agenda; appropriately, the President’s was unique. He told his aides that he was convinced that no one wanted to hurt “the President.” He welcomed that attitude “because it isn’t the man, it’s the Goddam office” that must be protected. Better, however, that others protect the office. He told Ehrlichman to call Mitchell and persuade him to take responsibility. Nixon may have sensed how much Ehrlichman relished the idea of telling Mitchell what he had to do. But it was not a time for ironic reflections. The President himself could not face Mitchell; indeed, he directed Ehrlichman to inform Mitchell that he considered it the “toughest decision he’s made,” tougher than Cambodia and the Christmas bombing together. Nixon waxed and waned as to the outcome. He sounded certain that Mitchell would resist, but finally realized that the former Attorney General must submit. Nixon closed by exhorting his troops: “We have to prick the Goddam boil and take the heat. Now that’s what we are doing here. We’re going to prick the boil and take the heat.”8
* * *
Shortly after lunch on April 14, Nixon and Haldeman met briefly in the Oval Office. Haldeman finally had reached Magruder, who informed him that “it is all done now”—that he had decided to cooperate with the prosecutors. “[E]verybody involved here is going to blow,” Magruder warned. Nixon had not yet told Mitchell of his decision, but he realized the bleakness of Mitchell’s situation. “How the hell can John Mitchell deny it? He was right on the [unint
elligible] spot,” Nixon said. But now, in reality, Mitchell was beside the point. What would Magruder say about his relationship with the White House, specifically with Gordon Strachan and thus with Haldeman? Haldeman confidently believed Strachan would deny any knowledge that the reports he had received from Magruder came from illegal wiretaps. Magruder, however, had reported that the prosecutors had little interest in Strachan.9 So far, so good—for the White House.
Meanwhile, John Mitchell appeared at the White House to meet Ehrlichman, who had been delegated to do the President’s bidding. (Although Ehrlichman later expressed shock that Nixon had taped their meetings, he himself had regularly engaged in the practice, as he did on this occasion.) Ehrlichman and Mitchell played a cat-and-mouse game. “Poor John” Dean, the former Attorney General said. He’d gotten caught in the middle, and like others (presumably himself) had been simply “trying to keep the lid on” until after the election. Mitchell added that Dean had kept the lid on things even “worse, I think, than the Watergate business”—in an almost taunting reference to Ehrlichman’s involvement with the Plumbers. Clearly, the President’s men were at an impasse among themselves, each having sufficient knowledge to incriminate the others.
But Mitchell made his position clear. He would stay where he was. He had been “euchred into this thing” because he had not paid attention to the “bastards” who had been directed from the start by the White House. Thus, Mitchell, too, had decided to “stonewall”—a term he borrowed from the President. Ehrlichman so informed the President, adding that Mitchell had lobbed “mudballs” at the White House and refused to take any responsibility.10
Ehrlichman gave complete details of his talk at an afternoon meeting with Nixon and Haldeman. Mitchell implicitly had threatened Ehrlichman with his own knowledge of things. Mitchell opposed a special prosecutor but believed that the President needed Counsel to take Dean’s place and suggested one of their former law partners. Meanwhile, Nixon bravely announced that he would not be intimidated by Mitchell’s threats. “[T]hrowing it off on the White House isn’t going to help him one damn bit,” he said. Yet he realized that if Mitchell carried out his threat it would be “a hell of a problem for us.” Interestingly, the President seemed equally, if not more, concerned that Colson might be indicted. Perhaps that would be too close for comfort, as he remembered Colson’s promise of clemency to Hunt.
Clemency talk rang a bell for the President and his men. “There could be clemency in this case and at the proper time,” the President said, “having in mind the extraordinary sentences of Magruder [who had not yet been sentenced]…. but you know damn well …” Haldeman finished the point: “It’s gotta be down the road.” During the morning session on April 14, the President seemed to promise “full pardons” for everyone. He also spoke of clemency for Magruder, provided he kept the White House distanced from his story.
Ehrlichman thought that it would be useful to get his report to Kleindienst to demonstrate the White House’s cooperative spirit. Ehrlichman and Nixon spun a story claiming that the President ordered an investigation when McCord revealed his intention to talk. The two carefully coached and rehearsed each other. After a pause, the President asked whether Mitchell would be convicted. Ehrlichman thought he would be. Alone later with Haldeman, Nixon consoled his aide, berating Mitchell for trying to involve Haldeman. But as always, his feelings covered a wide gamut. Indignantly, he complained that Mitchell had let it all happen himself. But he was worried that Mitchell had said he knew of other things. The President was sure Mitchell would never go to prison. “What do you think about that as a possible thing—does a trial of the former Attorney General of the United States bug you?” he asked, as if thinking out loud. “This God damn case,” he muttered.11
Shortly after 5:00 P.M. on that April 14, Ehrlichman returned to the Oval Office to report on his meeting with Magruder and his lawyers. It was as expected: Magruder would implicate Mitchell, along with Dean. He had given the prosecutors details of the extent to which Dean’s coaching had led to his earlier perjured testimony. Nixon realized that Dean might be an enemy within, now that he found himself threatened. Magruder had warned that the prosecutors were hot on Dean’s trail and that they remained interested in Haldeman’s links to the wiretap intelligence. It was time to think the unthinkable: Would Haldeman, too, have to sacrifice himself? Briefly, the President speculated on Haldeman’s resignation, perhaps expecting some help from his side. But Haldeman told him he would have to “figure out” that “crunchy decision” by himself.
At the end of the conversation the President cursed the growing official and public preoccupation with the Watergate story. “[D] ragging the God damn … thing out and dragging it out and being—and having it be the only issue in town,” he complained to Ehrlichman. Get the “son of a bitch done,” he said. Indict Mitchell and the rest; there would be a horrible two-week scandal, but he was sure they could survive. He thought the story might appear worse than Teapot Dome, but he saw a difference: no venality, no thievery, no favors. Still, he realized the seriousness of the picture if Mitchell were indicted. And then there was what he described as the vulnerability of others—he must have realized that these others included him—regarding the charges of obstruction of justice. On this front, he exhorted Haldeman and Ehrlichman to fight. After all, he said, “we were simply trying to help these defendants.”12
Ehrlichman had a substantial body of information in his possession. Lest he ever have to face any charge as an accessory, he sought cover by unburdening himself to Attorney General Kleindienst—and undoubtedly testing Kleindienst’s reaction to Mitchell’s involvement. But when Kleindienst learned that Ehrlichman had been collecting information for several weeks, he delivered a warning: “Yours is a very goddamn delicate line as to what you do to get information to give to the president and what you can do in giving information to the Department, you know, to enforce the law.” With undoubted sarcasm, Ehrlichman replied: “Well, you are my favorite law-enforcement officer.” With that, Kleindienst, the President, and all his men prepared for the annual White House correspondents’ dinner. The Washington Post won numerous awards that evening for its Watergate stories, articles Nixon considered libelous. Yet he noted the irony, as he said, that he had just “learned the facts” of the Watergate case.13
Before the dinner, Nixon dictated a long diary entry, summing up the extraordinary events of April 14. He expressed relief that “the loose cannon”—meaning Magruder—“finally has gone off.” He regretted that “we” had not resolved the affair just after the elections. “I just wasn’t watching it that closely then and nobody was really minding the store.” Pity the good men who had acted with “the best of intentions, with great devotion and dedication,” who were caught up in the affair. He berated himself for leaving too much to Dean and Mitchell. But not a word about how he had schemed to have Mitchell assume responsibility in order to keep the White House and “the presidency” secure. Finally, the inevitable self-pity: Nixon noted the good approval rating he had received in the polls, but he sensed that this was probably the last time it would appear so high, “unless we get a couple of breaks toward the end of the next year.”14 It never was to be.
The President could not let go. After the correspondents’ dinner, he had telephone conversations with both Haldeman and Ehrlichman. Each man fit a special compartment of his concern. Nixon realized that Haldeman might have to be sacrificed because of his links with the fruits of the Watergate break-in, such as they were. Ehrlichman was an especially delicate problem because of his connections to the Plumbers. How long could that business remain under wraps?
Whatever empathy or relief the President expressed toward Magruder in his diary entry was forgotten as he told Haldeman that he just could not depend on Magruder. He seemed particularly anxious to establish the line that money payments to the defendants had not been intended to obstruct justice. He reassured himself that it would be the word of felons such as McCord and Hunt against the
word of those who raised the money. But he worried that someone might have “some piece of paper that somebody signed or some God damned thing.…”—as if in fear that written or taped evidence would undermine the White House in some way. Alternate notes of confidence and defiance ran through the President’s thoughts. He told Haldeman that they should consider telling the Ervin Committee that White House officials would testify in executive session or not at all.15
Several minutes later, the President called Ehrlichman. He discussed Haldeman’s possible resignation, insisting he would be loath to have it. It would give an appearance of other wrongdoing; besides Haldeman had done many good things. “You don’t fire a guy for a mistake, do you?” But what Nixon really wanted to know was how Ehrlichman planned to deal with Dean. By now he realized that Dean, not Magruder, was his greatest danger. The President was blunt in what he could offer Dean: “Look, he’s gotta look down the road to, to one point, that, uh, there’s only one man that could restore him to the ability to practice law in the case things still go wrong.… [H]e’s got to have that in the back of his mind.” Ehrlichman had to reach all those involved and get the “straight damn line” that “we raised money,… but, uh, we raised money for a purpose that we thought was perfectly proper.” (When the White House prepared tape transcripts a year later, Nixon inserted at this point: “RN is referring to E[hrlichman], H[aldeman], [and] not to himself.”) The President was beside himself: “[W]e weren’t trying to shut them up, we just didn’t, we didn’t want ’em to talk to the press.” That was “perfectly legitimate, isn’t it?” he asked his former Counsel. Ehrlichman guardedly said he did not have a “perfect understanding” of the law relevant to the matter. Like a man anxious to establish an alibi, the President eagerly sought to ensure that everyone offered the same explanation for the payment of money to the defendants.
The Wars of Watergate Page 44
