by Jo Haldeman
“Your Honor,” he states, “I’m not getting to ask too many questions. I told the court that I would be through by Wednesday, but that won’t be the case if Mr. Haldeman continues to give such long answers.”
Ben-Veniste is not happy. With the jury out of the room, he complains to the judge, “Mr. Haldeman’s answers are wandering up and down the lot. They’re breaking up the rhythm of my cross-examination.”
“I don’t care if this interferes with his rhythm,” Wilson interjects.
“If Mr. Haldeman were charged with verbosity, he’d certainly have to plead guilty,” Jim Neal counters.
Court is adjourned for lunch. Returning from McDonald’s, we overtake the marshal on his way back to the courthouse. Next to him is a short man with a black fedora pulled down over his face. He is stooped over, and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his heavy black raincoat.
“How were the Big Macs?” Tom asks good-naturedly.
The two men smile as we walk past them.
“Do you know who that was?” Bob asks.
Tom grins. “A member of the Mafia?”
“Nope,” Bob says. “His Honor, Judge John J. Sirica.”
It’s cold in the courtroom when we return, and the jurors look more alert than they did earlier. As Bob answers a question about the $350,000 in the White House fund that was transferred to the CRP, Ben-Veniste impatiently walks up and down in front of the jury.
Bob stops talking and stares at him. “Sir, I will wait for you.”
Returning to the lectern, Ben-Veniste replies, “I’m listening.”
At another point, Ben-Veniste questions that payments to the Watergate break-in defendants were made for “humanitarian reasons.”
Admonishing the jury not to place any emphasis on the judge’s questions, Sirica asks, “Why did you use the term ‘humanitarian reasons,’ Mr. Haldeman?”
“I doubt that I did,” Bob replies.
“Doesn’t the payment of any funds to the defendants bother you?” Sirica questions.
“Very much so,” Bob says. “Particularly in recent months.”
There’s laughter, but the man seated behind me doesn’t think the remark is funny. I hear him mutter under his breath, “I don’t know if I want to stay and listen to this Haldeman guy continue to lie.”
I clench my hands and feel my knuckles tighten. This man has no knowledge of the facts, and I resent that he can be so quick to pass judgment. I’m concerned that Bob can come across so believable to me, and yet that’s not the case with others. I worry about how the jurors see him.
Ben-Veniste is increasingly frustrated as Bob modifies his answers. “I can’t recall… I can’t answer that when you take little bits and pieces out of the transcript… I just don’t see it that way… I have to go back to explain… I didn’t use that tone of voice.”
When we are walking to the parking lot after court, Bob complains that the worst thing about the trial is having to be respectful to Richard Ben-Veniste.
“It takes everything I’ve got to address him as, ‘sir,’” he says dejectedly.
December 4, 1974—Trial Day Thirty-Seven
“Good morning, members of the jury,” Judge Sirica says on the thirty-seventh day of the trial. Once again, Non, Betsy, Tom, and I are seated in the family section on the bench, and Bob is in the witness box. Richard Ben-Veniste is at the lectern. This time, he’s clutching the tape transcripts, which are bulging with notes held in place by paper clips.
“In respect to the tapes, Mr. Ehrlich…er…Mr. Haldeman,” he begins, correcting himself.
Bob glances at John and cocks his right eyebrow to mimic John’s typical quizzical expression. John smiles and returns the look.
The assistant prosecutor quotes from the March 21, 1973, tape, zeroing in on the president’s remark, “It would be wrong.” Nixon was referring to granting clemency to the Watergate burglars, but Bob mistakenly testified at the Senate hearing that the remark, “It would be wrong,” was in reference to raising a million dollars for the burglars.
As Bob explains his error, Ben-Veniste drums his fingers on the lectern and repeatedly looks at the clock. When Bob concludes, the assistant prosecutor asks him if he took notes during the meeting.
“I may have,” Bob answers. “But I don’t remember seeing them, and I can’t find them, so maybe I didn’t take notes.”
“Was it hard to access your files, Mr. Haldeman?”
“Access wasn’t hard,” Bob replies. “The difficulty was in trying to review my papers with two or three Secret Service agents always in the room with me. They were constantly talking, making phone calls, and smoking, and as my wife will testify, I don’t work well under those conditions.”
The jury looks in our direction, and Non nudges me. “He’s talking about you, Jo,” she whispers.
Returning from the morning break, I write in red in my notebook, “Morning was tedious. Bob seemed subdued. BV’s aggressiveness probably paid off…if the jury was following.”
Things are slow as the morning drags on, and several jurors look sleepy. There are long lapses of time while Ben-Veniste pauses to look over a transcript. Reading portions of it out of context, he then asks Bob to verify conclusions that are contrary to Bob’s recollection of the events.
John Wilson objects, and Judge Sirica states that if the defendants want the full tape played, they can do so at the time of their rebuttal.
“That’s unfair,” Non says in a loud, agitated whisper. Betsy and Tom nod in agreement.
Looking in our direction, Sirica scowls. “I realize some members of…out in the audience don’t like my ruling. But that’s the way it is. Everything’s settled. Let’s proceed.”
At lunch, Bob and Susan caution me that the judge’s remarks about “the audience” were directed at our family. I explain that it’s hard not to react when the prosecution is allowed to make so many distortions and Bob is denied the opportunity to correct or clarify them.
In the afternoon, the jury is alert and seems to be paying close attention to Bob’s answers. During the break, the court clerk tells him that he has never seen a witness hold the jury’s attention like he did.
“You always make everything so clear,” Non says. “I don’t see how anyone can believe those awful things ‘Bona-testy’ keeps saying about you.”
“It’s Ben-Veniste, Mom,” Tom interjects. “Ri-chard Ben Ven-is-te.”
On the news tonight, ABC opens with a picture of Bob, Susan, and me standing at a side door of the courthouse. “Haldeman’s difficulties began when he tried to get in a little-used side door,” the commentator states. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but, as always, it has a negative spin.
December 5, 1974—Trial Day Thirty-Eight
Richard Ben-Veniste’s cross-examination of Bob continues for the fourth day, and the jury seems to be paying close attention. Ben-Veniste continues to distort the transcripts by reading selected passages. When Bob answers the questions, he takes his time and speaks with authority.
“Are you finished?” Ben-Veniste asks at one point.
“The answer to your question is, ‘no,’” Bob responds.
Sirica repeatedly allows the assistant prosecutor to make long statements and won’t let Bob explain or clarify. In my notebook, I write, “This is becoming an inquisition.”
John Ehrlichman’s lawyer asks to the approach the bench. When Sirica says, “No,” Bill Frates requests that the record reflect the denial. The judge relents. “All right, approach the bench.”
“FRUSTRATION!!” I write in red. “I’m on the verge of getting up and leaving…”
After Ben-Veniste completes his cross-examination, three of the other defense attorneys question Bob. John Wilson waives his right to redirect examination. At 11:20 a.m., Bob is finally excused. Other than a few character witnesses, his defe
nse has concluded.
Next, it’s John Ehrlichman’s turn.
John Daniel Ehrlichman
This afternoon, we have a change of pace when Ehrlichman’s lawyers call Charles Wendell Colson to the stand as a “court witness.” The forty-three-year-old former White House special counsel pled guilty to obstruction of justice and received a sentence of one to three years. He is being held temporarily at Fort Holabird, along with John Dean and Jeb Magruder. This is Chuck’s first public appearance in court, and as a court witness, his credibility is not vouched for by any of the parties in the case. Both the defense and the prosecution are apprehensive about what he might say.
When Chuck takes the stand, the defendants’ concerns are justified. His testimony is damaging to all five of them. If anyone is pleased, it’s the chief prosecutor. Beaming, Jim Neal exclaims, “If Mr. Ehrlichman’s other witnesses are like Mr. Colson, I’d be inclined to bring them all in here myself.”
Mary McGrory writes in her column in The Washington Star, “Even Richard Nixon’s long-suffering, erstwhile press secretary was moved to call [Charles Colson] ‘a cobra.’ Why a defense lawyer would call [him] from prison and set him loose at the Watergate conspiracy trial is unfathomable. The results were predictable. All of the defense [lawyers] were practically jumping on their chairs to get out of his path.”
Chuck’s testimony is a blow to John’s defense, which receives another setback when Sirica rules that Nixon will not be called as a witness in this trial. John has always believed that the former president’s testimony is indispensable to his case.
December 9, 1974—Trial Day Forty
On Monday morning, we stop on the way to court to mail our Christmas cards. I didn’t write any personal messages this year. Our lives are so public everyone knows what has been going on.
Non, Betsy, and Tom flew back to California over the weekend, and I miss them. As Bob, Susan, and I walk through the parking lot, we pass two young men exchanging autographs.
“I’ll trade you two Ehrlichmans for a Haldeman,” one of them says.
In court, the lawyers spend most of the morning arguing among themselves while the jury is out of the room. When John takes the stand in the afternoon, I’m seated next to Jeanne. In order not to distract her during his testimony, I don’t take notes.
Slouching in the witness chair, John looks dumpy as he peers over his rimless glasses. At the same time, his lawyer, Bill Frates, seems unprepared and ill at ease. Throughout his direct examination, he often changes subjects and interrupts his client. His “long list of rock bottom” twenty witnesses disintegrates, and the tapes he wants to submit as evidence can’t be played until a technician arrives.
During the afternoon break, Jeanne tells me that she worked all weekend trying to organize John’s papers, but there was only so much she could do. “Bob had plenty of time to prepare,” she says, “but John didn’t. As soon as he was found guilty in the Ellsberg trial, he had to start all over again on this one. John was a broken man when he walked into Sirica’s courtroom.” I try to be encouraging, but there’s not much I can say. The situation is awkward.
Leaving the defendants’ rooms this evening, Bill Frates sums it up when he jokingly admits, “I should have gone to med school…if I could have gotten in.”
December 10, 1974—Trial Day Forty-One
Jeanne’s words stay with me, and I can only imagine how hard this trial must be on her. While Bob appears calm and collected, Jeanne describes John as emotionally wrung out. She admits that he seems to be distancing himself from her. While Bob and I are closer than we’ve been in a long time, the two of them appear to have stopped functioning as a team.
This afternoon, Bill Frates continues with his direct examination. He isn’t as nervous as he was earlier, and he makes fewer untimely side remarks and jokes. Wearing a blue-gray suit, blue shirt and dark blue tie, John looks more put together than he did yesterday. The courtroom is completely silent as Frates guides John through his waning days at the White House and asks him to describe his last meeting with Nixon.
“The president asked Bob Haldeman and me to come up to Camp David together,” John says in a low, unsteady voice. “After we arrived, he called Bob to meet with him at his cabin first. Then, it was my turn.”
Following a long pause, John’s face flushes, and his voice cracks. “Nixon and I talked on the terrace for a while, and then we moved inside. He said, in substance, that this was a very painful conversation for him. He was obviously very emotionally upset.”
Frates interrupts. “How could you tell?”
“Because the president broke down at one point and cried.”
Reliving this experience is agonizing for John, but he keeps going. “The president said that I had been, or tried to be, his conscience. I replied that I hadn’t been as effective as I would have liked. He said that, on reflection, my judgment was correct.” John stares at the wood railing on the witness box and then looks over at the jury.
“Nixon asked if there was anything he could do for me, and I said that sometime I would like him to explain to our children…” John stops. Unable to complete his sentence, he reaches for a cup of water. “Excuse me,” he apologizes. “I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Ehrlichman, would you like me to call a brief recess?” Sirica asks.
In an attempt to compose himself, John removes his glasses. “Excuse me,” he repeats.
His eyes fill with tears, and I can’t look at him. I’m overcome with sympathy, and at the same time, I’m uncomfortable. It’s hard to see a grown man cry. Bob is looking down, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
The judge calls for a twenty-minute break. The jury exits, filing by the slumped figure in the witness box. John looks the other way.
When court continues, Frates tries to change the subject, but John interrupts him. “It’s important for me to finish my last sentence,” he says, clearing his throat. “When the president asked if he could do anything for me, I told him that he could explain to my children…” He stops again, and there’s another long, agonizing pause before he can continue, “…explain to my children…why he was asking me to leave.” John studies the jury and then adds, “That basically was the end.”
Staring at a crumpled candy wrapper under the bench in front of me, I feel confused and uncomfortable. This isn’t the John that I knew. I always thought of him as the Rock of Gibraltar. Smart and confident, he definitely had an air of cockiness. He was also sensitive and seemed to have the ability to balance the demands of the White House with the needs of his family. John was the only person I ever thought I could to turn to if I needed to talk to someone about my relationship with Bob. Maybe I didn’t really know him. Has he changed? Is Jeanne right when she says that John is a broken man?
At this moment, I feel so very, very sorry for him. And for Jeannie, too.
From One Ham to Another
December 11, 1974—Trial Day Forty-Two
Today, I start on my third steno book. Between its gray-green cardboard covers, there are eighty blank pages, and I can’t imagine how or when this saga will end. Note-taking continues to keep me focused in court and helps me retain what transpires. As I review what I have written, it reinforces my conviction that there is no way this can be a fair trial. Without permission to take and refer to notes, it’s impossible for the jury to track and remember the individual cases of the five defendants.
The first thing I write this morning is, “Susie had dinner last night with Jamie Wyeth.” The son of Andrew Wyeth, the well-known American artist, often attends the trial where he sketches people and scenes. His drawing of Susan is a remarkable likeness.
◆
After John Ehrlichman’s display of emotion yesterday, I’m apprehensive about his cross-examination in court today. When he takes his place in the witness box, however, he looks composed. His jacket is unbuttoned, and he’s leaning back c
omfortably in his chair.
Gathering up his papers, Jim Neal exudes an aura of confidence as he walks over to the lectern. Using John’s own words as ammunition, Neal repeatedly asks him if he wanted to get the truth out as Watergate developed. On one occasion, Neal quotes John as saying, “umm humm, umm humm,” as if he were agreeing with the president.
Interrupting, John says, “I’m not sure I said, ‘Umm humm,’ in quite the way you ‘umm hummed’ it.”
“How did you ‘umm humm’?” asks Neal.
“I made a noise that was essentially noncommittal.”
In several instances, John aggressively counters Neal’s attack with caustic remarks, but he also compliments him. He tells the chief prosecutor that he’s artful, and he appreciates the job that Neal is doing. “And you’re doing it very well,” he adds.
At the end of the day, I write, “I believe John is coming out better on the cross than he did on the direct.”
◆
Over the next couple of days, the lawyers for Bob Mardian and Ken Parkinson present their cases. Although I hardly know these men, I continue to take extensive notes. It’s hard to stay engaged, and every now and then, my head nods. How alert is the jury?
◆
It’s the weekend, and Bob, Susan, and I buy our Christmas tree. When we return to our home in Arlington, Bob builds a fire in the living room fireplace, using wood he received as a gift from one of his lawyers. With a light snow falling outside, the three of us string garlands of popcorn and cranberries to go on the tree, along with red and white candy canes. Bob tapes a yellow paper star on the top. It sits at an angle.
December 17, 1974—Trial Day Forty-Six
Hank is the first of our children to arrive in DC for the holidays. On Tuesday, I’m eager to have him join me in court, where Sirica is on the warpath. “Tyrant,” I write, explaining to Hank that the judge wants things to move along faster. Word is, he has plans for a cruise at the end of December. There’s no indication that the trial will be over by Christmas, and the jury turned down his suggestion that they sit on Saturdays.
