In the Shadow of the White House

by Jo Haldeman

  “What do you mean?” Bob’s words send out a red flag. He never uses such exaggerated terms in talking about his work.

  “It’s just that the president spent the whole day discussing Watergate with Ehrlichman and me. He couldn’t get beyond it. He kept asking for advice from other people, and then he’d rehash everything all over again with us. He went back and forth. The upshot was, John and I ended up meeting with a lawyer this evening.”

  It’s dark, and my hand gropes for the banister of the stairs. “You’ve met with a lawyer?”

  Bob is right behind me. “Yeah. A guy named John Wilson was recommended to us. He’s the best. We decided to share our legal fees and ask him to represent both of us.”

  “You have the same lawyer?”

  “Yes. The president thinks that John and I are both vulnerable. He keeps talking about the need for the two of us to take leaves of absence or…” Bob clears his throat and swallows. “Or resign.”

  “Resign?!”

  “Yeah.”

  Resign? What happened to the leave of absence? My mind goes blank. It’s like a black pit; there’s nothing there. I struggle for the appropriate words.

  “You’ll make the right decision when the time comes, Bob.” My voice is low and surprisingly steady. “I’m glad that you and John are getting good legal advice. Whatever you decide to do, just know that I believe in you.”

  “I know that, Jo.”

  Together, the two of us pause at the landing. I can feel Bob’s closeness in the dark. His hand brushes against mine as we turn and walk across the hall into our bedroom.

  It’s hard to fall asleep, and when I finally do, I’m jarred awake at midnight by the phone. Bob flicks on the light, and I slide down under the covers. It’s the president. Doesn’t he ever sleep?

  Bob listens, gives a faint-hearted laugh, and agrees to “keep the faith.” The conversation moves from this evening’s state dinner to Watergate. It goes on and on, and by the time Bob hangs up, I’m almost asleep.

  “Well,” he says, turning off the light. “Dean’s obviously trying to save himself, and the president thinks that he’ll probably get immunity.”

  In no time, Bob is asleep. But I’m wide awake. What does this mean? Keep the faith? A lawyer? Leaves of absence? Resignation? Night thoughts start to build up in my mind, and I know I must counter them.

  ◆

  Although nothing changes in my daily routine, on Wednesday morning, April 18, I feel jumpy and apprehensive. After yesterday, I realize that I have no idea what to expect. I fix breakfast and feed the dogs. Bob leaves, and then Ann. With Hank back at UCLA and Peter in Minnesota with Susan, I’m alone. The house is quiet. Too quiet.

  I watch the clock. Mother and Non will be expecting to hear from me around ten o’clock, and I’m not sure what to tell them. Before dialing, I hesitate. I want to be as up-front as possible about what is going on, but there are some things that I’d rather not share until they become certain. The family devours everything the press reports. They know that Bob might have to testify before the grand jury and/or the Senate Watergate Committee. This morning, I decide not to tell them about the lawyer. Hopefully, I’ll never have to mention the possibility of Bob’s taking a leave of absence…or worse still…resigning. Knowing that distance magnifies their concerns, I try to be positive and reassuring.

  Tennis and a luncheon date help to distract me, but when Bob calls late in the afternoon, my concerns grow. “John and I are choppering up to Camp David with the president. We’ll be spending the night, and I won’t be back until sometime tomorrow.”

  That’s all I know. However, the arrival of a swarm of reporters at our front door confirms that something big must be up. They refuse to leave, even though I tell them that Bob isn’t here. If only he would call. The press must think that I know things they don’t. On the other hand, I think they know more than they are saying. By nightfall, I feel trapped in the house. Each time I walk by a window, I duck, hoping that no one outside can see me. Ann asks what’s going on, and I tell her that I don’t know.

  When I go to bed at 11:00 p.m., there are about twenty reporters chatting directly below my dressing room window. In a last ditch effort to get rid of them, I pick up the phone and ask the White House operator for the press secretary.

  “I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this, Jo,” Ron Ziegler apologizes. “Those guys just won’t let up. Simply tell them that Bob’s at Camp David. You won’t have to say anything else. That should get them off your back.”

  Ron’s advice works. The reporters leave, but instead of going back to bed, I spend a long time gazing out the window looking at the moon through the masses of cherry blossoms. At the base of the tree, a frog croaks somewhere in the tulips.

  ◆

  Thursday morning, April 19, is windy. When I step outside to get the paper, a gust blows cigarette stubs and candy wrappers along the sidewalk in front of me. It’s trash from the reporters last night. I’ve heard nothing from Bob, and I assume the press hasn’t either, or else they’d be back again today.

  Ann appears for breakfast with dripping wet hair after her shower. When she’s ready to leave for school, I walk with her to the corner. A blast of wind whips at her uniform, and she struggles to hold her skirt down. Watching her cross Wisconsin Avenue to the bus stop, I’m touched by the normalcy of the scene. This is what I should be focusing on—our children, our home. Instead, it’s Watergate.

  Throughout the day, the wind continues to reinforce my unsettled feeling. At dinnertime, I hear from Bob’s secretary, who tells me that Bob’s on his way home. Pat’s cheery greeting gives me no clue as to what has taken place over the past twenty-four hours.

  After dinner, Bob finally opens up. As we are doing the dishes, he tells me that nothing was resolved at Camp David, although he and John spent the whole time discussing Watergate with the president. He describes last night’s dinner as “painful.”

  “Did you talk about taking leaves or resigning?” I ask, handing Bob a skillet to dry.

  “We talked about both, but the president can’t decide. He doesn’t want to let John and me go, and yet he’s been told that if nothing else, it’s an embarrassment to keep us on.”

  Why can’t the president just make up his mind? What Bob tells me is frustrating, and I can only guess how hard this must be on him. “How can you stand all this uncertainty?” I ask.

  “I can’t. It’s counterproductive to be spending so much time going round and round. John and I met with our lawyers this afternoon, and you’d be interested to know that they don’t think we should leave.”

  “That’s good,” I say, wiping off the stove burner where some bits of corned beef hash had splattered. At least someone is taking a firm stand.

  Bob goes up to his office to make some phone calls. Before he comes to bed, I hear him recording the day’s events in his journal. My heart goes out to him. I love this strong, disciplined man. How difficult it must be for him to describe the agonizing uncertainty of these days.

  ◆

  The Minneapolis Tribune features an interview with Susan on its front page. In the article, she is quoted as saying that her father is “a fun guy.” I’d like to think that this helps to soften Bob’s image, but at this point, I’m not sure that it makes any difference.

  Before flying to Key Biscayne to spend Easter with his family, the president meets with members of his cabinet and tells them, “We’re going to clear up Watergate.” In an attempt to make up for all that Bob and John have been going through, he suggests that they spend Easter weekend at Camp David with their families. He tells them to include their assistants and their wives, Larry and Dolores Higby and Todd and Suzie Hullin.

  The presidential retreat provides a welcome haven. The days are sunny and warm, and at night, the sky is chock-full of stars. The tulips are in full bloom in the meticulously planted
flowerbeds. Attentive stewards in red blazers take care of all our needs.

  While Bob and John spend time researching the facts for their lawyers, the rest of us attempt to keep the weekend upbeat and fun. Everyone dyes eggs, and I “plant” my traditional gumdrop tree. On Saturday night, Larry pulls out all the stops and produces Joe’s stone crabs from Miami Beach, Florida.

  The morning of Easter Sunday, April 22, Suzie Hullin leaves surprise Easter baskets on the doorstep of each of our cabins. Bob and John hide eggs for our egg hunt, and in Laurel, one long table is set for breakfast. After consuming eggs, bacon, ham, waffles, pancakes, and corned beef hash, we gather up the Sunday papers and settle on the terrace outside.

  The Washington Post has four different Watergate stories on the front page, and The Washington Star features Bob in its headline. As soon as Jeanne sees it, she holds up the paper and exclaims, “Whoa, take a look at this.”

  “Probers Eying Haldeman.” The large, black letters practically leap off the page. According to the article, the grand jury is looking into a possible connection between Bob and payments made to the Watergate defendants. The story also mentions John as a likely target of the grand jury probe.

  As we speculate on the ramifications of these latest disclosures, a steward announces that the president is calling. After talking to him, Bob and John report that their options don’t look good.

  “At least the president favors our taking leaves rather than resigning,” John adds.

  As difficult as it is to talk about this, everyone has an opinion. As Bob and John openly discuss their fate with their families and their assistants, I’m deeply saddened. Spending Easter weekend at Camp David should be a happy time for them. And yet here they are, fighting for their survival.

  Following an egg hunt in the woods, Dolores suggests that we take a walk around the perimeter of the camp. The men lead the way, with their wives straggling behind. Absorbed in my thoughts, I try to prioritize Bob’s three options: status quo, leave of absence, or resignation.

  I reason, and I rationalize, but no matter how I approach it, the pros and cons of each of the three choices balance out. There is no clear-cut answer, and I can appreciate the president’s dilemma. Bob says that if it appears to be in the president’s best interest for him to resign, he will do so. Right now, at least, he doesn’t think that his resignation is inevitable.

  ◆

  Bob and John remain at Camp David until Monday, while the rest of us return home Sunday night. Memories of our Easter weekend together linger as I unpack, but they are bittersweet compared to my twenty previous visits. Over the past four years, I’ve spent fifty-three days at the presidential retreat. Now I wonder if I will ever be going back.

  Bob gets home in time for dinner on Monday night. He looks weary and says that he and John spent the day getting background material for the lawyers. They discussed strategy for taking leaves of absence. Just as we finish eating, he gets a call, which he takes in his office. It’s a long conversation. Stepping into our bedroom afterward, he leans against the doorframe. What is it this time?

  “That was Ziegler, calling from Key Biscayne,” Bob says. “The president asked him to inform me that a leave is not a viable choice. He thinks that I should submit my resignation.”

  “Oh, no,” I blurt out. Then, I pause to think about the circumstances of the call. “Ron is the one to tell you that you should resign?” My tone denotes disbelief. “Couldn’t the president have had the decency to tell you himself?”

  “It’s not that simple, Jo,” Bob says, sitting down in one of the captain’s chairs at the round table. “As you know, the president has trouble dealing with personal situations like this. It’s easier for him to rely on someone else to convey the bad news.” He swivels around and gazes out the window. His voice sounds wistful when he adds, “The funny thing is…that ‘someone else’ has always been me. Tonight, it’s Ron…and I feel sorry for him. The poor guy had a terrible time trying to tell me.”

  “What about John?”

  “The president wants both of us to resign. I had to tell John.”

  “Bob, how could you? How did he take the news?”

  “He pretty much came unglued. He doesn’t think that he’s as vulnerable as I am, and he kept saying how unfair it is.”

  “It is unfair. This whole ghastly mess is unfair.”

  With that, the discussion is over. Is this how it all ends? Bob and John are going to resign without even talking with the president? As we climb into bed, I wonder if Bob is as upset with Nixon as I am. Probably not. As soon as the light is turned off, he’s snoring.

  We’ll be Eaten Alive

  I spend a restless night and awaken early Tuesday morning, April 24, to find Bob already on the phone in his office. Before leaving for the White House, he steps outside on the patio where I’m feeding the dogs.

  “Ron called again,” he says.

  “What’d he say this time?” I’m still upset at the way things were handled last night.

  “The president hasn’t made up his mind after all.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I exclaim. “So what happens now?”

  “Everybody has a different idea. Ehrlichman thinks that the president should fire Dean and that I should take a leave of absence. He would stay on the job but be prepared to take a leave if it becomes necessary. I’m just waiting to see how it all falls out.”

  As if to confirm John’s opinion, the cover of Time features cartoon figures of Nixon and six men in the administration tangled up in wiretap equipment. Bob and John Dean are two of the six, but John Ehrlichman is not. In the upper right corner, a yellow banner proclaims, “Watergate Breaks Wide Open.”

  The seven-page article hardly mentions Bob, except to say that he’s being hopelessly compromised

  …if only because many of the men in the deepest trouble at one time or another reported to him… It is Haldeman’s duty as chief of staff to protect the president from such disasters; instead his shop played a big hand in creating the debacle… One man moving most frantically to clear himself was John Ehrlichman, who has long worked intimately with Haldeman and thus could be tainted… It would be tragic if Richard Nixon’s considerable achievements as president were coupled in history with the sordid business of Watergate…

  Over the next couple of days, Bob says that all their time is consumed with Watergate discussions and that the president continues to vacillate on whether he and John need to take leaves or resign. I don’t see how they can continue on like this much longer. Bob and John are scheduled to meet with the US attorneys and the chief counsel for the Senate Watergate Committee next week. They will also be meeting with the grand jury, as well as other congressional committees looking into Watergate.

  On April 26, a new disclosure at the Pentagon Papers trial keeps Watergate on the front page. Testimony reveals that, in 1971, two of the Watergate defendants, Hunt and Liddy, broke into Daniel Ellsberg’s psychiatrist’s office in an attempt to get information on Ellsberg’s mental state. The judge in the trial orders the prosecutor to find out who hired them.

  The next morning, Acting FBI Director L. Patrick Gray resigns, stating that he destroyed documents at the direction of Ehrlichman and Dean. Bob tells me that the president is going to Camp David tomorrow to work on a major Watergate speech, which he will give Monday night.

  “At this point, the president expects John and me to request voluntary leaves,” Bob says.

  “Really, Bob?” I don’t see how my husband can take this. At what point will it end?

  On Saturday, April 28, a large group of noisy reporters gathers on the sidewalk outside our townhouse. Our newsboy is daunted by their presence. Instead of leaving our paper at the front door, he tosses it over the back fence. Later, a sympathetic friend is so intimidated that she asks me to walk around the block to pick up a plant she left for us. When I discover that th
e large fern in the middle of the sidewalk is heavier than I expected, I agree to let a considerate reporter carry it home for me. Another reporter cracks a joke.

  “Mrs. Haldeman, does the fern have bugs?” he asks. “Get it? Bugs?”

  Although everyone laughs, there’s an ominous feeling in the air. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s here, and I’m sure the press senses it as much as I do. Their commentaries speculate about what the president is going to do and suggest that Haldeman and Ehrlichman will have to go. Clearly, the situation is worsening. I try not to react to the rumors and innuendos, while clinging to the faint hope that the president might change his mind again.

  Putting everything aside, Bob and I go out for dinner and a movie. He appears to be in good spirits, and I try hard to relax and enjoy the evening.

  On Sunday morning, April 29, I retrieve The Washington Post from under the azaleas in the patio. Using my apron to wipe off bits of dirt, I read that John Dean reportedly is ready to swear that he gave both Ehrlichman and Haldeman progress reports on the cover-up. Pressure is growing for the president to replace the Justice Department lawyers with a special prosecutor, and there is more speculation about removing Bob and John.

  “Boy,” Bob says at breakfast. “As soon as the president reads all this stuff, he’ll want John and me to come up to Camp David immediately.”

  “What do you mean?” I question.

  “He’ll want our resignations.”

  “I thought you said he wanted you to take leaves of absence,” I comment weakly.

  “Things are moving too fast in the other direction,” Bob says. “Either way, I’ll be out of the White House.” He stands and walks over to the kitchen window, where he looks down at the reporters mingling on the sidewalk. “It’s time for me to tell our families that I might have to take a leave of absence. Then they’ll be prepared in case I have to resign.”