by Jo Haldeman
When the appointment of G. Harrold Carswell goes down in defeat, I worry about Bob’s having to bear the brunt of Nixon’s disappointment and frustration. I want to do something special for him tonight and decide to fix a nice dinner.
The children eat early in the kitchen, while I set the table in the dining room for Bob and me. I use the good china and silver. With prune soufflé cooling on the counter, I prepare fried chicken, green beans, and a tossed salad. Popovers are in the oven when the White House phone rings.
“Good evening, Mrs. Haldeman.” It’s Pat, and I expect her to tell me in her usual cheery voice that Bob is about to leave the office. The timing is perfect.
“Hi, Pat.”
“Mr. Haldeman asked me to call and tell you that he will be delayed this evening.”
“Oh…”
“He’s on the Sequoia with the president and the attorney general.”
“Do you know when he’ll be home?”
“The president wants to eat dinner as they cruise down the Potomac to Mount Vernon. After that, they will chopper back to the White House. Mr. Haldeman should be home around nine thirty or ten.”
“Oh…nine thirty or ten… Thank you, Pat.”
I struggle to keep my tone light, but Bertha overhears the conversation. She knows how disappointed I am. Giving me a reassuring smile, she helps me clear the table and store the food in the refrigerator. I pour myself a bowl of cereal and eat alone at the kitchen table.
Parental Concerns
We live with violence on a daily basis. We see it in the news every night as we watch the fighting in Vietnam. In addition, this month there are bombings in New York City and a deadly earthquake in Turkey. On several major US campuses, antiwar students set buildings on fire and battle the police. Threats of violence force the Nixons to cancel their plans to attend both Julie’s graduation from Smith and David’s from Amherst.
Ann’s school has to be evacuated due to a bomb scare. The girls are sent across the street to the shelter in the basement of the National Cathedral. When I pick her up after school, Ann is eager to share what she experienced.
Over a period of several nights, student radicals at Stanford set fires, break windows, and throw rocks. In Susan’s weekly collect call home, she tells Bob and me that she skipped classes in order to attend protest rallies. The Haldeman name is becoming more widely known, and she tries not to be recognized. At one rally, she hid behind an antiwar banner in an attempt to avoid being filmed by a camera crew.
Hank has his driver’s license and is quite independent. I don’t see much of our sixteen-year-old, except at mealtimes. His main communication with me is over the use of the car and the phone. Although he looks like a liberal with his shoulder-length hair, wire rim glasses, and heavy boots, he’s an outspoken conservative on national issues and the war. I’m concerned when he attends a huge “Earth Day” rally at the Washington Monument. He tells me that it will be peaceful and has nothing to do with the antiwar demonstrations. Still, I worry about the widespread use of marijuana and other drugs at all large gatherings.
At Sidwell Friends, a Quaker school, Peter, thirteen, is exposed to a liberal environment. I’m relieved that he doesn’t appear to be unduly affected by the peace demonstrations. However, I’m not happy when he paints his bedroom door black and moves most of his furniture out in the hall. He’s now sleeping on his mattress on the floor.
At ten, Ann is more concerned about having to participate in mandatory piano recitals and school plays. Appearing as Toto in The Wizard of Oz, she gratefully disappears under her costume, Peter’s brown shag bathroom rug. In The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, she plays the role of a chair.
When Bob and I discuss the children, he assures me that as parents we’ve given them a good moral foundation, as well as the tools to work through their problems. I hope he’s right. The young people today face much greater challenges than we ever did.
Perks
On April 10, I attend a state dinner at the White House in honor of the chancellor of West Germany. I wear my inaugural ball gown, and Bob is in white tie and tails. In the Entrance Hall, the US Marine Band plays ruffles and flourishes, followed by “Hail to the Chief.” Every head turns to watch as President and Mrs. Nixon, along with Chancellor Willy Brandt, slowly descend the red carpeted Grand Staircase.
Throughout the evening, we are immersed in protocol and pomp. Social aides in their dress uniforms are posted at every door along the main hall, and an honor guard stands at the entrance to the State Dining Room. At dinner, Nixon is at his best when he gives his toast. Combining the serious side of the chancellor’s visit with some humorous remarks, he has everyone laughing at his reference to the “infiltration of Germans” on his White House staff. When he names Kissinger, Ehrlichman, and Haldeman, I get goose bumps. I can hardly wait to tell Non that the president of the United States referred to her son in a toast at a formal state dinner. I can already hear her embellishing the story as she shares it with friends.
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At midnight on Monday, April 13, Bob and I are awakened by the jarring ring of the White House phone. He jerks up and fumbles for the light. From the caller’s deep voice, I can tell that it is Henry Kissinger. Something has gone terribly wrong with Apollo 13. The space flight was launched three days ago, and the astronauts should be preparing to land on the moon. Bob tells Henry that at this point, there is nothing Nixon can do, and it’s better to let him sleep. He reminds Henry that the president doesn’t function well when he’s tired. I’m glad I don’t have to make that decision.
Within minutes of Henry’s call, the phone rings again. It’s Dwight Chapin, who gives Bob an update from NASA. After that, Henry calls two more times. Instead of going back to sleep, Bob remains sitting up in bed with the light on.
“There’s been an explosion in the Apollo command ship,” he tells me. “The mission has to be aborted. The only way for the three astronauts to get back to Earth is in the lunar landing module. It wasn’t built for that purpose, and no one’s sure if they can make it back.”
Lying on my side, I stare out the window. As I think of those men in space, a feeling of helplessness surges through me. Then, I remember that I can pray. Searching the sky for the moon, I silently repeat a hymn.
O gentle presence, peace and joy and power.
O Life divine, that owns each waiting hour.
Thou Love that guards the nestling’s faltering flight,
Keep Thou my child on upward wing tonight.
The next day, NASA reports that the lunar module’s supply of oxygen, water, and power is critically low. The astronauts’ families remain in seclusion, and the nation is kept in suspense for three days. When the module finally splashes down in the Pacific, everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. I hear the news on my car radio, while I’m driving in Georgetown to attend a garden tour. Simultaneously, people start cheering. Drivers wave and honk their horns, and I enthusiastically join them.
The near-tragedy has weighed heavily on the president, and I can only imagine how relieved he is. Tonight’s Evening at the White House with Johnny Cash gives him the perfect opportunity to share his elation.
“I’m honored to be here, Mr. President,” I say as I greet him in the receiving line. “What a special occasion.”
“It sure is! What a great day!” Nixon says, pumping my hand enthusiastically. “Our whole country was united in prayer for those brave men. And they pulled through.”
As I move on to greet Pat, it occurs to me that the president is so euphoric, he forgot to mention my “drinking problem.”
Then, I hear his voice call, “Don’t go overboard on your toasting tonight.”
◆
The next day, the Nixons fly to Hawaii to welcome the astronauts. While they are there, the president announces a troop withdrawal of 150,000 men from Vietnam over the next year. They will be replaced by train
ed South Vietnamese soldiers. The withdrawal is evidence that “Vietnamization” works. Pleased with the surprise element of the announcement, Bob calls it a “real bombshell.” Both he and Henry have been frustrated by a recent increase in security leaks to the press.
“The only way to prevent a leak is not to tell anyone,” Bob states.
◆
One of the perks of Bob’s position is the use of the presidential yacht. In order to maintain the Sequoia, the crew takes it out on a regular basis. When it is not being used officially, the yacht is available to top White House staff. On the night of April 21, Bob suggests that we take a cruise with the Ehrlichmans and my parents, who are visiting us.
The six of us board the 104-foot classic yacht at exactly 7:30 p.m., or seven bells. Its creamy white exterior and varnished wood interior, combined with the formality of the crew, are reminiscent of the old-world elegance of 1925, when the Sequoia was built.
Tonight, the rectangular table in the teak-paneled dining room is set for six. Napkins are intricately folded in the shape of a swan. On a white tablecloth, a centerpiece of fresh orange and yellow marigolds sits between two silver candlesticks. As we eat, we cruise down the Potomac to Mount Vernon. After dinner, a traditional ceremony to honor our first president takes place on the deck. The yacht stops at George Washington’s grave, and the crew lines up on deck, according to height. They salute and stand at attention while “The Star Spangled Banner” is played over loudspeakers. The six of us place our hands over our hearts. There are tears in my eyes as I sing our national anthem. I’m keenly aware of where I am—and who I am. I’m living a part of American history. The events that I experience through Bob will be written about in the history books someday. The feeling is indescribable.
In addition to the cruise on the Sequoia, my parents spend the weekend at Camp David and attend an Evening at the White House. Bob provides them with a memorable week, and I’m sure their heads are spinning as they pack to go home. But when they say goodbye, I’m the one who is at a loss. I miss them more than ever and don’t understand why. On the surface, I have everything. Bob gives me so much, and because of him, I lead a charmed life. And yet, on this visit, Mom and Dad have given me something, too. Not until I return home from the airport do I figure it out. Through their deep interest and support, my parents made me feel important. To them, I am special, and I desperately need to know that.
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Spring is here in all its glory. Kenwood is captivating with its cherry trees in full bloom. The top is down on our neighbor’s little green Mustang as Harry C. drives through a tunnel of pink flowers and stops to pick up our children for school. I take deep breaths of the perfumed air as I walk out with Hank, Peter, and Ann. The fifty-year-old giant trees are spectacular, and every year at this time, spectators flock to our neighborhood. On Sundays, the traffic is controlled by a policeman. Lemonade stands pop up on many of the streets as the children in the area take advantage of the opportunity to make money.
This year, Martha Mitchell, the wife of the attorney general, is part of the annual Kenwood House and Garden Tour and decides to use the occasion to provoke Bob. Martha is a character, and her personality grates on Bob. Constantly seeking publicity, she has been described as a misfit in the staid Nixon White House.
Accompanied by an entourage of press, Martha tells her driver to stop at Ann Haldeman’s juice stand. With her encouragement, a large photo of the two of them appears in The Evening Star. The columnist writes, “The exaggerated blonde with a beehive hair-do, minx-like grin, and spiky high heels said ‘be sure and send this picture of Ann and me to Bob. He’ll die.’”
Bob doesn’t die, but he’s not happy. The main reason he puts up with Martha is out of respect for her husband. John Mitchell has told Bob that he truly loves his wife and wants to please her.
Weird
Martha’s antics are a diversion from a growing concern over the Vietnam War. After South Vietnamese troops cross the border in pursuit of the Cambodian Communists, there is a fear that the president might expand the war into Cambodia. On several campuses, antiwar students clash with police, and the National Guard is called out at Ohio State and Stanford.
On April 29, the situation is tense, and the White House announces that the president will address the nation tomorrow night. Bob calls to say that he will be working late, and I should cancel our plans to attend a reception at the Japanese Embassy. Non is visiting us for the week, but instead of being disappointed, she is consumed with the news and appears to thrive on the excitement.
At 9:00 p.m. on Thursday evening, April 30, the president appears on television. Non, Hank, and I watch his speech in the den. Bob is at the White House. Seated at his desk in the Oval Office, Nixon points to the map of Cambodia behind him and states that the Communists now control a quarter of that country. From hidden Communist sanctuaries, North Vietnamese forces have been attacking the South Vietnamese army, as well as American troops. Nixon tells us that it’s time to act, and the United States, in cooperation with South Vietnam, will be launching attacks in Cambodia.
“This is not an invasion,” Nixon states with assurance. Rather than expanding the war, he stresses that this will help to end the fighting and win a just peace. On the other hand, he warns that if the United States “acts like a pitiful, helpless giant, the forces of totalitarianism and anarchy will threaten free nations and free institutions throughout the world.”
“Way to go!” Hank says when the speech is over.
Non jumps up and claps her hands. Her charm bracelets jangle annoyingly as we struggle to hear the commentators. “Wasn’t the president marvelous?” she exclaims.
I lean my head back against the couch and momentarily close my eyes. This is a bold move by the president, and I wonder how the country will react.
The White House phone rings. It’s Bob, asking for my reaction to the speech. I read him my notes, concluding that it was “decisive, clear, and to the point.”
“I’ll be staying late to monitor some of the follow-up calls,” he says. “Tell Mom that I’m sorry. Say goodnight to her for me.”
Flicking off the lights in the den, I pause before going upstairs. This is the second time Bob has sought my opinion after one of Nixon’s speeches, and I’m flattered. His interest is in marked contrast to the times he treats me with indifference.
May 1970
The next day, the president makes it clear that his action in Cambodia is an “incursion,” not an invasion. The hawks back his decision, while the doves oppose it. Speaking with a friendly crowd at the Pentagon, the president refers to our soldiers as “the greatest.” He contrasts them with the “bums” who are “blowing up the campuses” and “burning up the books.”
Nixon’s comments generate a tidal wave of protests from antiwar politicians, journalists, students, professors, clergy members, and business leaders. Susan calls to tell us how upset she and her friends are. At Kent State, student protestors burn down an army ROTC building. Eleven eastern colleges promote a nationwide academic strike, and the National Student Association calls for the president’s impeachment.
The Nixons retreat to Camp David for the weekend, but Bob remains in DC. He works at the White House both days. We don’t get together as a family until Sunday night, when Non voices what we all are thinking.
“I don’t understand why the president called those students ‘bums.’”
“These have been rough days, Mom,” Bob explains. “The president has been really cranked up over the reaction to Cambodia, and whenever he thinks about how deserving our soldiers are, he gets emotional. He wasn’t calling every student a bum, just the destructive ones.” Bob pauses. “Plus, he’s bone tired, and that’s not good.”
From my end of the table, I study Bob and think that he’s the one who looks “bone tired.” How can he face another day like this? When will it all end?
Three da
ys later, on Monday, May 4, our country hits a new low. Along with everyone else, I’m sickened when I hear that members of the National Guard have shot students on the Kent State campus. I sit in disbelief, watching replays of the scene on TV. I’m numbed by the sight of blood and the sounds of gunshots and screams. When it’s over, four students are dead, and nine others are wounded. This could be happening on any campus in these troubled times, and once again I worry about Susan at Stanford. Although the Kent State shooting incites more demonstrations, she assures Bob and me that she’s okay.
“My child was not a bum,” a father of one of the dead students states.
My heart goes out to him, as well as the other parents. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child. No pain could be any greater. I also feel for the president, who has to carry the burden of responsibility.
Mammoth antiwar demonstrations break out across the country. Students march through the streets, chanting and throwing rocks. Strikes close 450 colleges and universities, and the National Guard is called out on 21 campuses. So much is happening so fast, it’s impossible to take it all in.
Over the next couple of days, Bob spends long hours at the White House. The children, Non, and I don’t see much of him. When he arrives home late at night, it’s obvious that he’s driving himself and his staff hard. Throughout it all, however, he remains positive. He believes that every negative circumstance can be turned around.
“There’s an opportunity in all of this,” he says, climbing into bed. “But I sure wish I could figure out what it is.”
For someone so sure of himself, Bob seems to be at a loss. It’s hard to see him struggle, but I admire his expectancy of good. It’s typical, and I love him for it.
◆
A national day of protest has been called for Saturday, May 9, and thousands of demonstrators are expected to flood Washington. Out of concern, schools in the area are closed the day before, and Bob thinks that the children, Non, and I should get out of DC. He insists that we spend the next couple of days at Camp David.
