by Curt Gentry
Supplied with airline tickets and expense money, the group made arrangements to fly to Washington, D.C., the following day, their objective to disrupt the antiwar demonstration and, specifically, to totally incapacitate Ellsberg.
Perhaps there was a leak. Or maybe someone simply realized that the files might not be in the securely locked office of the former director. For early that afternoon Assistant to the Director John Mohr had a visitor—Assistant Attorney General L. Patrick Gray III.
Mohr was busy making arrangements for Hoover’s funeral, and he told him so. Speaking for the Justice Department, Gray had a few suggestions about seating and protocol. Always a somewhat brusque man, Mohr was unusually so that day and he informed him the funeral would be handled by the FBI, in its own way.
Eventually Gray got around to the real point of his visit: “Where are the secret files?” As head of the administrative side of the Bureau, responsible for the Files and Communications Division, Mohr was the logical person to ask.
Mohr replied that there were no secret files.
Ignoring his response, Gray repeated his question. And Mohr repeated his reply.
Gray gave up, for the time being.30
“Old Gray was all spooked off,” Mohr recalled, years later, in explaining his denial to the Washington Post reporter Ronald Kessler. Moreover, Gray had asked the wrong question. Although the files were secret to the public, they were not secret to FBI personnel, Mohr disingenuously explained. Had Gray asked if there were any dossiers on members of Congress, for example, “I’d obviously have said yes.”31
Mohr provided an even simpler explanation in 1975, when called before a House subcommittee investigating the disappearance of the files. By definition, Mohr said, “a secret file is one marked secret.” And these bore no such markings.32
Still later, in a letter to the same subcommittee, Gray himself would observe, “It now appears, in retrospect, that I did not know how to ask the right questions.”33
Gray was neither the first nor the last to be deceived by the semantics of the files.*
Hoover having been a Mason for over half a century, John Mohr had planned a Masonic funeral. But at 2:15 P.M. Mohr received a call from the White House: the president had decided that Hoover would be given a state funeral, with full military honors.
Mohr spread the word. Almost automatically, Crime Records, the FBI’s public relations division, began preparing a press kit, to be passed out before the services.
That afternoon, it was widely reported, Acting Attorney General Kleindienst held a number of “name dropping” sessions, their purpose to pick a new director of the FBI.
As Kleindienst had anticipated, the president had tossed the ball right back into his court. With rare exceptions, Nixon seemed incapable of hiring or firing people, much preferring that others do it for him. Twice the previous year the president had called Hoover to the White House, with the intention of asking for his resignation. Although only Nixon and Hoover—and the White House tapes—knew what transpired during these meetings, both times Hoover emerged from the Oval Office still director.
Exactly who participated in the name-dropping sessions, and what force their opinions had, is unknown, but it is known who was not consulted: any current or former executives of the FBI.
Press speculation put Mark Felt, John Mohr, and Alex Rosen high on the list of “possibles,” with the former FBI executives William Sullivan, Louis Nichols, and Cartha “Deke” DeLoach also in the running.
It’s probable, however, that none of these names was even mentioned; a decision had apparently been made that the new director would not come from within the Bureau. The risk of perpetuating the Hoover reign was far too great. An insider would insist on holding to the FBI’s traditions, including its independence. And as this president had already shown, repeatedly, independence was not something he desired in his administration. Loyalty was everything.
Among the “outsiders” suggested in the press were Supreme Court Justice Byron “Whizzer” White (who, it was suspected, probably had no interest in changing jobs); the Washington, D.C., police chief, Jerry Wilson; the Los Angeles sheriff, Peter Pitchess, himself an ex-agent; and Joseph Woods, former sheriff of Cook County, Illinois (and brother of the president’s secretary, Rose Mary Woods).
The man Kleindienst picked was on only a couple of the lists, and very near the bottom. Few Washington reporters had ever heard of him. He was totally lacking in law enforcement experience, but among his qualifications was one big plus: he was intensely loyal to both Richards—Kleindienst and Nixon.
It was decided that the announcement of L. Patrick Gray III’s appointment would be made the following day, after the Rotunda services but before Hoover’s funeral.
One name unmentioned in any of the speculation, because of his age and poor health, was that of the current acting director, Clyde Tolson.
Even death could not stop bureaucratic paperwork; one of the first directives FBIHQ sent out after Hoover’s death specified that all official correspondence should be prepared for Acting Director Clyde A. Tolson’s signature.
Since Tolson had not returned to headquarters, his secretary, Dorothy Skillman, did most of the signing for him. However, either in error or to make Tolson feel that he was still needed, several batches of memos were sent to the Thirtieth Place residence. But Tolson was too grief stricken to handle them, so Crawford read them aloud to him and, with Tolson’s approval, signed Tolson’s name on them.
The memos were routine, but the moment was not. For decades J. Edgar Hoover had resisted hiring blacks for anything except the most menial jobs in the FBI. Under pressure from the NAACP, and to keep them from being drafted during World War II, Crawford and a few others, all chauffeurs or office help, had been made special agents, though their duties remained much the same. Later, when Robert Kennedy was attorney general, Hoover had been forced to accept more, but not many.
On the day Hoover died there were 8,631 special agents in the FBI. Of that number, 3 were American Indians, 15 Asian Americans, 62 Spanish-surnamed, and 63 black.
It would never be recorded in the Bureau’s official history, but, for a brief time, James Crawford, one of the few blacks ever to be an FBI agent, would serve as de facto, if not de jure, head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Although J. Edgar Hoover’s will would not be made public for two weeks, when it was placed in probate, Tolson was aware that, excepting only a few small personal bequests, all of Hoover’s estate, including his home and its contents, had been left to him.
Hoover’s only surviving relatives, four nieces and two nephews, were not mentioned in the will.
Tolson moved into the house that same night, staying at first in the guest room and then, after about a month, moving into the master bedroom.
One of the estate appraisers later remarked, “It was as though Tolson had sold all of his belongings and just moved in with a suitcase and stayed. He didn’t bring a favorite chair or anything. But apparently he wasn’t attached to mementos.”*35
That night President Nixon wrote in his diary, “He died at the right time; fortunately, he died in office. It would have killed him had he been forced out of office or had he resigned even voluntarily…I am particularly glad that I did not force him out at the end of last year.”37
Leaderless, the widespread Bureau seemed to draw back into the vacuum that now existed at the Seat of Government. Many SACs flew to Washington that same day. That night, together with hundreds of other agents and ex-agents, they made the pilgrimage to Joseph Gawler’s Sons’ funeral home, at Wisconsin Avenue and Harrison, and silently filed past the open coffin.
One later told the author Sanford Ungar, “They had washed his hair, and all the dye had come out. His eyebrows, too. He looked like a wispy, gray-haired, tired little man. There, in the coffin, all the front, all the power and the color had been taken away.”38
* * *
*Although Felt was fifty-nine, he was still junior to m
any of the senior FBI officials.
*Kleindienst was confirmed on June 8, 1972. He resigned on April 30, 1973, along with H. R. Haldeman, John Ehrlichman, and John Dean. Charged with having committed perjury in his Senate testimony, a felony, the former attorney general plea-bargained. After pleading guilty to a misdemeanor, failing to respond fully to questions, he was given one month in jail, suspended, and a $100 fine.
*Over the years Hoover’s enemies list was known by a dozen different names, including the “no contact” and “not to be contacted” lists, while those who were considered allies were listed as “Special Correspondents,” “Bureau friends,” and the like.
*Several years passed before it became known outside the Bureau that there had been those exceptions which prove every rule, Hoover having made sure, at least during his lifetime, that they were not reported, and especially not by Jack Anderson.
*The bribe, payable as a contribution to the Nixon campaign, had been offered by Robert T. Carson, administrative assistant to Hawaii’s Senator Hiram Fong. Carson was subsequently convicted of bribery-conspiracy and perjury, fined $5,000, and sentenced to eighteen months in prison.
*According to John Ehrlichman, the president himself ordered Gray to obtain Hoover’s secret files. In Witness to Power Ehrlichman states, “That same day (May 2) Nixon instructed Assistant Attorney General Pat Gray to seize all Hoover’s secret personal files and deliver them to the White House. But Gray was too late: Hoover’s secretary had gotten there first.”34
*Thomas Mead, chief appraiser for the district court, and Barry Hagen, assistant chief appraiser, spent three days inventorying the more than eight hundred items in the antique-stuffed residence, compiling a list fifty-two pages long. “The number of boxes in the basement alone was monumental,” Mead recalled; “it was like the storeroom of a gift store.”36
2
Wednesday, May 3,1972
There were some who refused to believe that all that power had died with the director. All one needed to unlock its mysteries, they were convinced, was a single key.
Shortly before nine on the morning following Hoover’s death, Gray again appeared in Mohr’s office. This time he was adamant: he wanted to know, now, where the secret files were kept.
Once again Mohr denied their existence. To Mohr, Gray seemed agitated. He was more than a little agitated himself, he would later recall: “I think I did cuss at him a little bit. I think the secretaries even heard me out there talking to him.”
“Look, Mr. Mohr,” Gray barked, “I am a hardheaded Irishman and nobody pushes me around.”
Mohr looked him right in the eye and responded, “Look, Mr. Gray, I am a hardheaded Dutchman and nobody pushes me around.”1
It was Mohr’s impression, not so much from his words as his attitude, that Gray was looking for files that could embarrass the Nixon administration. If he was, he left without them.
Mohr clearly felt he’d gotten the better of the encounter. The assistant attorney general knew no more about the files than when he’d asked the first time.
Within six hours John Mohr would be informed that President Nixon had appointed L. Patrick Gray III acting director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
The hearse was twenty-five minutes late in reaching the Capitol. In life Hoover probably would have reprimanded and/or transferred the driver.
As the drizzle became a steady downpour, eight young servicemen removed the flag-draped coffin from the back of the vehicle and very slowly carried it up the thirty-five steps, past the rigidly attentive column of honor guards. Although it was not apparent in the rain, all eight were sweating heavily; two actually suffered ruptures. Concerned that the director’s body be protected, John Mohr and Helen Gandy had selected a lead-lined coffin, weighing well over one thousand pounds. Reaching the top of the stairs, the pallbearers passed through the great bronze doors into the Rotunda.
The president of the United States was not in attendance—he would be delivering the eulogy at the funeral the following day—but most of official Washington was. The Supreme Court, the Cabinet, Congress, the diplomatic corps, and all the Bureau’s top executives stood as the coffin was lowered onto the black catafalque on which had rested the coffins of seven presidents, including Lincoln, Eisenhower, and Kennedy, and such military heroes as General of the Army MacArthur.
This time, though, there were no dirges or drums, just a long silence, which ended only when the Reverend Edward L. R. Elson, chaplain of the Senate, Hoover’s pastor and his longtime friend, began the opening prayer.
Elson was followed by Chief Justice Warren E. Burger. His voice echoing off the 160-foot dome, Burger eulogized “this splendid man who dedicated his life to his country in a half century of unparalleled service.” Calling Hoover “a man of great courage who would not sacrifice principle to popular clamor,” the chief justice concluded, “I am proud to join in this salute to a great American who served his country so well and earned the admiration of all who believe in ordered liberty.”2
Warren E. Burger had been J. Edgar Hoover’s choice for chief justice. With a skill born of half a century of political infighting, the director had pushed him to the forefront of the other suggested nominees, several of whom were then eliminated as a result of FBI background checks.
After the Reverend Edward Hatch, chaplain of the House, pronounced the benediction, the Rotunda was opened to the public and remained so throughout the rest of that day and all that night. It was some hours yet before another event was scheduled to begin on the Capitol steps.
Minutes after the services in the Rotunda ended, Acting Attorney General Richard Kleindienst called L. Patrick Gray III on his car phone and told him to be in his office at 2:15 P.M. They had an appointment at the White House, Kleindienst said.
Gray presumed there had been a new development in the ITT case or the nomination. When Gray entered the AG’s office, Kleindienst told him, “Pat, I’m going to appoint you acting director of the FBI.”
At first Gray thought his boss was kidding; on finding he wasn’t, he “was just, just flabbergasted.” Accompanied by an aide, the pair went directly to the White House where, according to Gray, the president talked to him about “the importance of the job and the fact that it had to be nonpolitical.”3
The naming of Gray as “acting” rather than “permanent” director was in itself a shrewd political move. It eliminated the risk of another stormy confirmation hearing before the election. It gave the Bureau a pacifier, by leaving open the possibility that when a permanent director was named he still might be from within the FBI. And, best of all, it could be presented as a nonpartisan act, since the winner in November, be he Democrat or Republican, would be free to name his own man.
The official announcement was made immediately after the meeting.
By the time Gray could locate his wife, Bea, who was at the beauty parlor, she had already heard. At least one of his four sons was surprised when he reached him. Patrick, a student at Washington College, in Chestertown, Maryland, asked, “What are the guys here going to say when I tell them my dad’s become the head fuzz?”4
While the news of J. Edgar Hoover’s death had hit the Bureau with all the intensity of an earthquake measuring eight on the Richter scale, the announcement that his replacement would be an outsider with no law enforcement experience was an aftershock measuring at least five.
Far from being pacified, many of the assistant directors prepared to submit their resignations. Mohr and Felt talked them out of it, for the time being.
Gray’s first official act following the announcement was to call Clyde Tolson to offer his condolences. Tolson refused to accept the call. Instead Tolson placed his own call, to Mark Felt, and asked him to prepare his letter of resignation. Couching it “in much softer terms than Tolson would have, had he dictated it himself,” Felt later recalled, it read simply, “Due to ill health, I hereby submit my resignation. Clyde A. Tolson.” It was signed not by Tolson but by his secretary, Mrs. Ski
llman.5
Moving quickly to take charge, Gray also called Mark Felt—bypassing John Mohr—and asked him to call a meeting of the executive conference, composed of the Bureau’s fifteen top executives, at 4:00 P.M. While realizing they were grief stricken, he told Felt, he thought it important that they see “this individual who had been named to follow Mr. Hoover.” Felt, who was quick to pledge allegiance to the new director, agreed.6
The meeting was tense. Most if not all of those present not only resented Gray’s appointment but also felt the timing was in bad taste, Hoover having not yet even been buried.
Sensing the hostility, Gray met it head-on. After speaking of his deep respect for the Bureau, and the man who created it, Gray observed that he was not J. Edgar Hoover, he was his own man, and he would be making changes, but in common with his predecessor he intended “to maintain the FBI as an institution.” Despite their reservations, more than a few were impressed.7
Following the meeting, Gray was introduced to Helen Gandy, who interrupted her work to give him a thirty-five-minute tour of the director’s suite of offices. During the tour, Felt asked Gray when he planned to move in. Gray asked if May 12, a week from Friday, would give them enough time to remove Hoover’s “personal memorabilia.” Although Gray may have had in mind the Dillinger death mask and similar grisly artifacts, upon which he gazed with unconcealed distaste, he probably was referring to the hundreds of photographs, plaques, scrolls, and honorary degrees which were prominently displayed in the outer office and passageway.
Gandy and Felt said they were sure that would be more than enough time.
