by John W. Dean
Ehrlichman continued with his account: Mitchell now said to Magruder, “Are you sure you can do it?” Jeb said, “Yeah, I think Liddy can pull it off.” And Mitchell said, “Okay, I’ll call him.” So Mitchell called Sloan and said, “Just go ahead and give Liddy the money.” Ehrlichman observed, “This was that kind of an almost casual to begin with,” but having left Hunt out of his account so far, he continued, “undertaking and then Liddy, being a kind of a nut, sat down with Hunt and said, ‘Okay, how are we going to pull this operation off?’ And Hunt said, ‘Listen, I know five Cubans that’ll come up here for that kind of dough, and they’ll crack the United States Treasury for that.’ So they had to call McCord for equipment, since the security director does that. And they said, ‘Well, we need some walkie-talkies, and we need tools, and we need this and we need that.’ And McCord says, ‘What the hell are you guys up to?’ And they told him, and they tied him into the operation. And that’s how she went.”
Nixon, rather stunned, only remarked, “Gosh,” and then asked, “That’s where they were getting the reports on?” Ehrlichman confirmed, “They were getting reports. Liddy was getting the reports, and my hunch is that he was sharing them with Magruder, Colson and probably Mitchell.” The president added, “And Strachan.” Ehrlichman confirmed Strachan, and continued. “And there’s some pretty juicy stuff in there,” indicating that he had become privy to what was overheard in the DNC. (The National Archives has withdrawn approximately forty-seven seconds of material here, based on privacy, because it was obtained using an illegal wiretap.) “What else?” the president asked. “I don’t know,” Ehrlichman answered, adding, “That’s the only occasion I’ve had to find out what was in it, when that [interview] thing cropped up.” Clearly Ehrlichman had his own channels for obtaining information, and before hearing this I was unaware that he had been privy to the contents of the bugged DNC conversations. Although he did not explain how he had obtained all of this information, a good clue came with his next comment: “But I suspect, without knowing, that Mitchell probably advised himself of the general parameters of the operation through Fred LaRue; he’s sort of Mitchell’s eyes and ears. Fred told me about—” Ehrlichman started to say, but cross talking makes this section of the tape inaudible. LaRue, however, would undoubtedly have known the contents of the overheard conversations from either Magruder or Liddy. Ehrlichman told the president that LaRue was “going to be a witness in this,” whom Ehrlichman noted that Senator Jim Eastland would look after. “But Fred will be up there,” Ehrlichman assured the president. “So that’s how I can see it unraveling. If you want to lay it all out, that’s the way you’re going to have it.”
Thinking aloud, Nixon was still considering how he might issue a report in light of this information. “If Mitchell was involved,” he said, “we can’t put it all out.” Thus, as far as Watergate was concerned, he thought they might “simply state flatly that these seven were involved,” which was true, and then declare, “there was nobody else involved—period.” On Segretti, “we just put the facts out.” The report he envisioned was basically intended for “our friends,” who needed to be reassured. “Well, God damn it, as I’ve often said it, John, if the facts are going to come out, let us help get them out.” How to do that was the question. Ehrlichman agreed and said: “Supposing you were to look at it this way, and I’ve thought a lot about this. Supposing you were to say Mitchell’s future, Colson’s future, Ehrlichman’s future, whoever, is not as important as the integrity of the presidency.” Nixon liked that thought a lot, and firmly repeated, “The integrity of the presidency.” Ehrlichman continued, “Now, if you accept that premise, then there is really nothing at all that you can’t say. And let the chips fall where they may.” “I believe that,” Nixon said, but then added a qualifier. “I believe that, except for Haldeman.”
That remark reopened the entire discussion, and Ehrlichman opened the door to another dark passageway: “It comes back to Bob in another way that I’ve never mentioned to him, but for some time, we had [Frank Lane or Frank Raines]* on the payroll.” Nixon, surprised, asked, “Frank was?” knowing exactly to whom Ehrlichman was referring. Ehrlichman reported, “He was supposed to be doing odd jobs on various task forces in Southern California for [unclear]. He was a bagman. He was delivering money. He was in contact with people. He was paying our sleuths.” The president wondered if such records were kept, and Ehrlichman said they were kept forever. He told Nixon that Haldeman was not in direct contact with this bagman, and Nixon instructed Ehrlichman to tell Haldeman about this business. The upshot of the exchange was that, notwithstanding Ehrlichman’s earlier call to “let it all hang out,” they both came to the conclusion that lines would have to be drawn on what could be revealed.
Still the president wanted a Dean report. It would not be sworn. Ehrlichman, however, warned Nixon, “Well, it’s almost impossible to draw that document. To make it the whole truth, to make it consistent with the extensive facts and have it hold together without going all the way. I mean, you’d have to incriminate Mitchell to some extent, you know, and so on.” The president had an answer for that, “Oh, I already handled Mitchell. He approved it but didn’t know what it was used for.” Ehrlichman surmised I could draft such a document, “But you don’t answer every question.” That was not the president’s goal, however; he merely wanted to say something—“The president has spoken about the God damn thing”—which, in his view, would remove him from the cover-up. “We’ve been over this a number of times,” Ehrlichman explained, “and every time we’ve decided, no, that we can’t do it, because there’s no way to do an effective job of disclosure and tie up all the loose ends in this thing: the nagging loose ends, the little inconsistent facts, the unassailable piece of evidence that wasn’t included. It is always the little thing that bites you in the end and, and makes you worry about it.” As Ehrlichman was talking, the president sighed and said, “I know. I know,” finally suggesting, “He can make it more general.”
“You have to make it general, and when you make it general, then it’s a cover-up. It’s a ridiculous thing,” Ehrlichman said, noting the ultimate impossibility of the task. Conversations like this were remarkably inconclusive, because Haldeman, Ehrlichman and the president were not telling one another all they knew, and this lack of candor continued to the end, until investigators and prosecutors finally established facts and liabilities beyond a reasonable doubt. Ehrlichman thought maybe Dick Moore should be given the assignment of writing a report, explaining, “Dean’s not as artful as Dick” and noting that Moore had had experience as a writer. “Dick could write it more from the standpoint of where everybody gets a copy.”
That evening the president called Colson, simply to commiserate,8 and then phoned me.9 Nixon requested updates on a number of matters, but the real reason for his call was to press me to write a report. “Well, you should go forward and work with Dick Moore, and others with regard to the matter of getting sort of a general statement that might be prepared, I mean, to be given to me after the court directs sentences, you see,” he instructed. “I don’t know whether w-w-w-we will want to use it or not,” he stuttered, seemingly signaling his awareness of the impossibility of the task, and adding, “but in order to know, we’ve got to see what it could be, you see?” For the moment I simply reported, “I just learned late this afternoon that Sirica is going to definitely sentence on Friday next, a week from today [March 23]. He plans to give a speech from the bench at that time. The government is recommending no specific term in years for any of the defendants; rather, prison sentences for all of them.”
After answering his questions about sentencing, I addressed the matter of the Dean report: “I had a long conversation with Dick Moore, just this evening. Dick and I really have been talking all this time about this whole thing, and there is a degree of impossibility in writing a sort of let’s-hang-it-all-out report without creating problems that would open up a new grand jury, without creating problems that would cause d
ifficulty for some who’ve already testified. I’ve caveated some of these to Dick. Dick doesn’t possess all the knowledge I have. So it’s a particularly difficult assignment for Dick,” at which Nixon chuckled. “Yeah,” I continued, “and, in fact, I told him, I said, ‘It might be to your advantage, Dick, to write from your basic lack of knowledge.” I indicated that we would work on it further, and Nixon made it clear he wanted it set forth “in the most general terms, just virtually saying what I might even say in answer to a press conference question, but in more general terms that an investigation has been conducted, and this, and that, and the other thing, and whack. Just like that, do you see what I mean? Rather than going into the specifics of who did what to whom. Do you see what I mean?” When I did not respond, he kept talking, only vaguely explaining what he wanted, circling back to “general terms.” Then he added, “I realize the problems of getting too specific, because then you do open up the possibility of, ‘Well, why didn’t you say that? Why didn’t you say that?’ But you just put it in very general terms, you see? I don’t know. Do you think that’s possible?”
“It’s going to be tough, but I think it’s a—” I grabbed for a thought, because one does not turn down the president of the United States when he makes such a request, so I said, “I think it’s a good exercise, and a drill that is absolutely essential we do.” “Yeah. That’s the point,” the president said appreciatively. “The exercise is important.” Looking for an upside to the undertaking, I added, “It sharpens thinking, and as I’ve—” Nixon cut me off, adding, “To find out what our vulnerabilities are, and where we are, and so forth and so on.” He was making a good point, which I wondered if he fully appreciated, but because I was not certain he actually wanted a written document identifying our weaknesses, I raised another approach. With a chuckle, I suggested, “Maybe there’ll be some time when I should possibly report a little fuller than I really have, so you can appreciate the full sum of the vulnerable points and where they lead to.” When the president agreed, I continued, “I don’t think that should be a written document right now.” “Oh, by no means,” he said flatly. “No, I don’t want any damn written document about any of that. I’m just speaking of a document that is put out—” “A public document,” I said, and he clarified, “—[the] sort of a report perhaps which then we could deliver it to Ervin, you know?” Now he was making the task even more difficult, so I began groping, “That might, ah,” but then spoke more frankly, “It’s going to be tough, but I say it’s certainly worth the effort.”
The president offered me a summary of his request, which I quote here verbatim to demonstrate the difficultly of fulfilling it and his confused thinking on the topic: “Yeah. And just sort of a general thing, and very general, very general, you know? Put, put out, ah, but by all means, laying off of all the—Don’t, don’t get into the, well, we investigated this, we investigated that, we saw this, we deny this, we support this and so forth. Lay off of all that. I have in mind just sort—Basically, so that it can be said that, ah, something was presented that I have seen or that, you know what I mean? So that they, so that, ah, my reiterated statements from time to time that, well, no one in the White House staff was involved will have some basis, you see?”
What was clear was that the president wanted support for the initial claim he had made within days of the arrests, based on his conversations with Haldeman. I had certainly confirmed it months later and still believed it was technically true based on all I knew. He said just having that in writing would be helpful, yet he was clearly asking for me to say more than nobody in the White House (with the possible exception of Strachan) was aware of Liddy’s activities. I would do what I could, but it was really an impossible assignment to carry out truthfully. More important to me was the fact that I had made the point that we needed to talk, so I could explain the vulnerabilities, for I increasingly believed he really did not understand what was actually happening. I felt that if I could describe these to him, as I had to Haldeman and Ehrlichman (who clearly had not discussed them with the president), that he, too, would back away from the notion of issuing a Dean report, as they had every time this matter had been previously suggested.
March 17, 1973, the White House
It was Saturday and St. Patrick’s Day, so the White House was very quiet. Shortly after his late morning briefing, Ron Ziegler went to the Oval Office to report to the president,10 “The Senate’s simmering down a little bit on this separation of powers and executive privilege [matter].” Dick Moore joined me in my office to see what we could come up with to meet Nixon’s request for a report. The president, learning I was in my office, asked me to come to the Oval Office. When I arrived early in the afternoon I told him what Moore and I were working on, and he mentioned that if I needed some peace and quiet, I could go to Camp David.11 I told him I had been talking with Mitchell, and “we probably need a good sit-down, kick-this-thing-around session.” We discussed the latest from The Washington Post, and the need to get ready for the Ervin hearings, and how it was likely to be a public spectacle. Nixon reminisced about his handling of Hiss in executive session, and the president turned again to a written report. He wondered aloud if Moore and I, even with Mitchell, could collectively write one. He again explained what he wanted in vague terms: “What I’m getting at is that the moment that you get it too specific, and I realize that they’re going to say why did you withhold something, that you could simply say these are conclusions that we have reached based on your evaluation of the information that came to your attention. They got a chance to look at all the evidence, and we want to be as helpful as we can. Here’s what we’ve concluded, and we welcome you to review it.”
I started to fill him in on background: “Well, the interesting thing is, in the sequence of the way things occurred, and I don’t know if anyone has ever taken you through this, but the last involvement to my knowledge of the White House was when I came back from a meeting—” I began to describe the meetings in Mitchell’s office I had reported to Haldeman when Nixon cut me off. He wanted me to say I knew nothing about Watergate, but as I clearly did, I said, “Right, well, ah—” and began again, but he was still telling me how to respond. “‘I’ve stayed miles away from it, so I didn’t know even if there was a White House involvement,’” he said, seemingly speaking for me as well as himself.
“Well, but there was, you know, there was a preliminary discussion of setting up an intelligence operation, and the last—” at which point the president again interrupted, but I continued to give him information I believed he needed. “—and the last was when I came back from a meeting with Mitchell, Magruder and Liddy, and after telling them that they couldn’t discuss this in front of the attorney general of the United States, I came back and told Bob that if there’s something like that going on, we’ve got to stay ten miles away from it, because it just is not right, and we can’t have any part of it. Bob said, ‘I agree, and we’ll have no part of it.’”
“Hmm,” the president groaned softly, acknowledging this account, which I did not know whether Ehrlichman or Haldeman had actually ever imparted to him. I continued, “And that was where I thought it was turned off, and the next thing I heard was that was this break-in on June seventeenth, which was six months later.” While I was still talking the president asked, “You heard discussion of that, but you didn’t hear any discussion of bugging, did you, in that, your meetings? Or did you?”
“Yeah, I did. That’s what distressed me quite a bit,” I responded. “Oh, you did?” he asked, which I affirmed, and the president continued, “Who raised it? Liddy?” When I confirmed that fact he asked, “Liddy at that point said we ought to do some bugging?” “That’s right,” I said, “and Mitchell just sat there with his pipe and puffed and said nothing. He didn’t agree to it, and I, at the end of the meeting—”
“Well, you don’t need to say in your statement about the bugging,” the president instructed, to which I agreed. “You could say that they were going
to engage in intelligence operations, you said the main thing is that it must be totally legal, and that the laws and ethics and so forth and so on. And so you came back, and Bob says no, so you can answer. You know what I mean?” The president suggested I could “make some self-serving God damn affidavits.” When I pointed out that “the embarrassment point would be that the White House knew that there was an intelligence operation going,” the president countered, “Why should I get embarrassed?” He felt everybody knows that such operation are undertaken. The president also thought it could be explained, and we discussed a hypothetical justification that was not totally inaccurate: namely, that Liddy’s operation was believed, as the president stated it, to be “totally necessary because of the violence, the demonstrations, the kind of activities that we knew were threatened against us at our convention and in our campaign and in all of our appearances. We had to have intelligence and about what they were going to do that we could, in turn, issue instructions to our group to go around and find out what they’re doing, and, something like that.”
