In the Shadow of the White House

by Jo Haldeman

  Setting up the backgammon board, Bob hands me fifteen white checkers. As we take turns rolling the dice and moving our playing pieces, he gives me an update on his book. The paperback edition will be out this month, and Dell wants him to make a commercial promoting it. The publisher thinks that it would generate a lot of publicity if it is filmed while he is still at the camp. We both agree that is not a good idea.

  Shade starts to creep across the patio, and there’s a chill in the air. Bob reaches for his windbreaker, and as he puts it on, I study him. Over the past year and a half, his demeanor has mellowed. Except for an occasional flicker of the Haldeman look, his eyes no longer turn cold and steely. Without his crew cut and dismissive manner of speaking, the White House image of “Von Haldeman” has disappeared. Instead, I see a tan, handsome, fifty-two-year-old man with slightly hunched shoulders sitting opposite me. His meticulously coiffed, dark brown hair is starting to thin slightly in front. He smiles often, showing lots of white teeth. He is both patient and considerate.

  ◆

  Early tomorrow morning, Wednesday, December 20, Bob will be released. I’ve waited a long time for this moment, and now the hours drag. First, I wash the car, and then I pack a few essentials for my overnight at the Parkers. The last thing I do is check on Bob’s office upstairs. Standing in the middle of the room, I look around. This is his space, totally and completely. I picture him sitting in the overstuffed blue chair with his feet up on the ottoman. A stack of yellow pads and a container of blue felt tip pens are on the side table, and his Martin guitar is in its black case in the corner. A patch of afternoon sunlight is beating in on the gray carpet, where I visualize Rufus curled up in a tight ball. The president’s inaugural quote hangs on the wall above the antique, pine desk.

  “Until he has been part of a cause larger than himself, no man is truly whole.”

  It seems as if we’ve been living with these words forever. Bob has said that his cause was neither the presidency as an institution, nor the man, Richard Nixon. It was the unique combination of the two: President Nixon. To be a part of this cause, Bob left the private sector and became a public servant. He gave up priority time with his family, a good job as a high level executive, and a commitment to his local community. He brought with him a sharp intellect and strong managerial skills, as well as his undivided loyalty and dedication.

  In the White House, Bob was given opportunities that only a handful of people ever get a chance to experience. He spent untold hours in the Oval Office, slept in the White House bomb shelter, was toasted by the president in the State Dining Room, and represented the Nixon administration at the opening of Disney World. When Neil Armstrong took his first step on the moon, Bob watched it in the Oval Office, and he was on the USS Hornet when the Apollo 11 lunar module splashed down in the Pacific. Not only did Bob go on the historic trip to China, but its logistics were described as a “Haldeman masterpiece.” As chief of staff, he ran the White House with “ruthless efficiency.” He could be impatient and unbending, but he was consistently confident and in control.

  Watergate was Bob’s nadir. His resignation, the hearings, the trial, the appeal, and his incarceration tested him in ways that he had never been tried before. Strengthened by his faith and the support of his family and friends, he met each challenge head-on. I don’t know if he has any regrets. I don’t know if he ever questions the “what if’s.” I do know that his rough edges were softened, and he emerged as a changed person.

  “Until he has been part of a cause larger than himself, no man is truly whole.”

  As I reread the quote, I wonder if what made Bob truly whole was in fact a combination of both the presidency of Richard Nixon and Watergate.

  ◆

  The next morning, I’m up well before dawn. It’s cold in the Parkers’ family room, where I spent the night on a converted couch. Gay pokes her head into the room and asks if I want coffee and toast. I tell her that I’m too excited to eat much.

  As I drive to Lompoc, a heavy morning mist hangs over the valley. The fog clears just as I turn into the camp parking lot. Across the road, a group of shivering reporters and photographers stand in an area that has been roped off for the press. I feel their eyes on me as I climb out of the car. Without any games, mail, or picnic hamper, I have nothing to carry, and I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jacket. It’s too early for visitors. I am here alone.

  At 6:50 a.m., a guard opens the main door of the two-story Administration Building, and Bob steps out into the yellowish glow of a weak December sunrise. Flashbulbs go off, and reporters shout questions from behind the line. An inmate calls out from a window, “Goodbye, Mr. America,” and Bob waves.

  Bob is smiling. No, he’s beaming. There are little crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Taking my hand, he guides me over to the press area. Joyously happy, I’m briefly diverted by minutiae. A wayward tuft of chest hair is protruding from the open collar of Bob’s shirt. Somehow, it reassures me that the scene is real. Handing me a brown paper bag with his belongings, Bob moves up to a battery of microphones.

  “This is generally considered a special time of the year to rejoice. It certainly is for me.” After thanking his supporters, Bob concludes with a simple statement. “Now I’m on my way home to rejoin my family, and I wish you all a very merry Christmas.”

  A reporter shouts, “Mrs. Haldeman, how does it feel to have your husband home?”

  “Great!” I call back.

  Bob wraps his arm around my shoulder, and we walk across the road to the parking lot. The warmth of his body next to mine assures me that everything is going to be fine. My earlier fears and concerns about the future vanish, and I know that the two of us together can, and will, make things work.

  At the car, Bob opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in. For the first time in a year and a half, I look over to my left and see Bob. He is in the driver’s seat, and we are going home.

  THE END

  Jo Haldeman sailing her Sabot at Newport Beach, 1994.

  Epilogue

  Summer 1994

  I have a small sailboat. It’s a Sabot, and there’s just enough room in it for one person. My legs are cramped as I grab the tiller and push away from the dock. It’s summer, and I’m back at Bay Island, where nothing ever seems to change. And yet, this year everything is different. Eight months ago, Bob passed away.

  The wind causes my little boat to heel as I cross the channel. I’m alone with my thoughts, and my mind goes back in time. This is where it all began twenty-six years ago. It was a journey that took Bob and me to unbelievable heights, as well as to the deepest depths.

  Then it gave us a second chance. After being released from prison, Bob took a year off to find the right job. Impressed with David Murdock, Bob became president and CEO of the hotel operation of Murdock Development Company. During this time, Bob and I went on a Bible tour of the Holy Land.

  When he retired seven years later, we left Los Angeles and moved to Santa Barbara. Using our guest house as an office, Bob mentored small start-up businesses. He gave talks in the community, grew fantastic roses, rode his horse, Sam, on the beach, and took walks with Rufus. He was an enthusiastic Sunday School teacher, as well as the chapter advisor at the Beta House at the University of California at Santa Barbara. He doted on his grandchildren. And, true to his word, Bob took me dancing every year on our anniversary.

  Bob had a remarkable lack of animosity and an exceptional ability to accept his destiny. He stayed in touch with President Nixon through infrequent phone calls and occasional visits. Bob did write a forty-six-page letter to Jim Neal, the chief prosecutor. In it, he described the various elements of the cover-up from his perspective and showed how each could be viewed in a radically different light than it was portrayed during the trial. Writing the letter had such a cathartic effect for him, he never felt the need to send it.

  Bob’s twenty-seven hours of mo
vies were edited and narrated to be packaged as a television special on the Nixon White House. While he was working with G. P. Putnam’s Sons and Sony Corporation to publish his daily journals in book form, along with a concurrent CD-ROM, Bob became ill.

  Bob passed away at home on November 12, 1993, at the age of sixty-seven. He never wavered in his reliance on Christian Science, and with full confidence in what lay ahead, he did just what he had always done—held to the positive and moved forward.

  As soon as I enter the main channel, a blast of wind fills the sail. If Bob were here, he’d be in the windiest part of the bay, heeling and going as fast as possible. Without thinking, I find myself looking for him in his Sunfish.

  I miss him with all my heart.

  Afterword

  Bob’s daily journals were published posthumously in May 1994. Titled The Haldeman Diaries: Inside the Nixon White House, the book spent seven weeks on The New York Times Bestsellers List. Bob’s movies package was never produced, and the movies were donated to the Nixon Foundation.

  Non passed away not long after we moved to Santa Barbara. #11 Bay Island had to be sold when my parents passed away. The Ehrlichmans were divorced, and both John and Jeanne remarried. The eight seashells that I collected with Jeanne on the beach at Key Biscayne are on my dressing table. For a number of years, Bertha, our beloved housekeeper in Washington, called to speak to Ann on her birthday. I never burned the picnic hamper, and Nixon’s portrait is still stored in the attic. A yellowing White House phone sits on a little table in the grandchildren’s playhouse.

  President Nixon’s inaugural quote hangs on the wall of the family room. Every time I pass it, I am reminded of Bob and our years together in Washington.

  “Until he has been part of a cause larger than himself, no man is truly whole.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, dear Bob, for taking me along on your unique ten-year journey. I never would have written this book without your insistence that I had a story to tell. I tried to present that story honestly, and in portraying both the highs and the lows, I came to realize that even in the depths of my experience, the heights were always there.

  Although Non predeceased Bob, her unabashed pride in our country and devotion to her son were a constant inspiration as I wrote. In turn, my mother’s enthusiastic reaction to each new chapter bolstered my confidence that I did indeed have a story to tell.

  A special expression of appreciation is due to Dorothea Parfit, who was my mentor in my early years of writing. From my very first vignettes of life in Washington, she never doubted that I would eventually complete my story and find “revelation and resolution.” Later, Dorothea’s son Mike, an author and producer of documentaries, had enough faith in my book to encourage me to pursue publishing it.

  Through the years, as I wrote, I came to value deeply the words of support, poignant silences, and heartfelt tears of Joan Kurze and Harriet Green. Sitting by the fire and reading to them every night during our annual visits to Yosemite Mountain Ranch, I gradually grew to better understand myself through their insights and comments.

  My thanks to Kay Perrin and Margaret Foster, who opened their lovely homes in Montecito for me to share my writing with others. The Jo Haldeman Monthly Book Readings both entertained an interested group of friends and provided me with valuable feedback.

  In reading my book, Jeanne Ehrlichman Bleuchel, Kathleen Bell, and Nancy Ziegler relived their experiences in the Nixon White House and confirmed my memory of various events.

  I am indebted to Susan Kybett and Fred Hunter, who read the book with an author’s eye and tried to convince me that I, too, was a writer. I greatly appreciate the professional advice and expertise of Oscie and Evan Thomas, who spent an afternoon on Bay Island discussing the Nixon years and then followed up with suggested edits. Thanks to Dee and Larry Higby for their helpful ideas, and special thanks to Dwight Chapin for both his critique of the book and his dedicated help in the publishing process.

  I thank Tom Haldeman, Bill Horton, April Aubrey, and Kathy Bloomer (with her yellow Post-its) for their editing suggestions. I appreciate the perceptive professional advice of Larry Habegger, Bernadette Murphy, Jo and Willard Thompson, Hannah Carlson, and Joe Evanisko.

  Thanks to the residents of Alta Vista who listened to me read my first drafts, plus Sally Smith, Janet Crisler, Helen Wilson, and Laurel Smith. Thank you, Marcia de Garmo, Jan Evans, John Murnane, Paul Klingenstein, Bill Bonham, Diana Cohen Robinson, Johan Wassenaar, Mike Ross, and Richard Berti for your helpful ideas.

  The family of Ollie Atkins graciously provided the cover photo for the book. Lisa Jobe went above and beyond to search the Library of Congress for a specific newspaper headline. Ann’s “Marlborough Mafia,” Susan’s moms’ group, and the San Francisco reading group offered valuable feedback and advice.

  I value the friendship of my neighbor, Caroline Willsie, who contributed to the edits and patiently listened to me vent my frustrations on our daily walks.

  In developing my story, I worked side-by-side with my daughter-in-law, Heather Haldeman, who was writing her own memoir. I am deeply grateful for her help and for her steadfast advice to use my voice. I also appreciate my son Hank Haldeman’s solid backing in this endeavor.

  My strongest supporters and sharpest critics were my two daughters, Susan Haldeman and Ann Coppe, who were determined to see me produce the best book I possibly could. Without their unswerving dedication, long-suffering patience, and hands-on editing, I never would be where I am today. Thank you both for believing in me.

  This book is the result of a widespread collaborative effort, and for all of you who have contributed suggestions and support, you have my heartfelt gratitude and appreciation.