Known and Unknown (23 page)

 

A
nother ongoing challenge to the proper functioning of the White House was Ford's chief speechwriter and former chief of staff, Bob Hartmann. The President knew Hartmann had not adjusted well to his new role—or, more important, to Ford's.
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As one of the few wholly Ford people on the White House staff, Hartmann had been a loyal friend to the President for a number of years. Ford didn't want to upset him. That gave Hartmann, still serving as Ford's chief speechwriter and political adviser, the space to continue to operate pretty much how he wanted, leading to frustrations among the others on the staff. Hartmann, who had seen his influence diminished in nearly every other area, guarded most speeches as matters that were between only the President and him, even though they required meticulous coordination and review by relevant senior administration officials.

Working with Hartmann, the President embarked on a program called Whip inflation Now or WIN. inflation hovered at above 10 percent. The price of gas had jumped sharply, from thirty-nine cents a gallon in 1973 to fifty-three cents in 1974. The Dow Jones Industrial Average had lost a third of its value. The American people clearly wanted something to be done about the economy, and Ford decided to take action. The idea behind WIN was to treat the nation's economic woes like an enemy and to spark a public campaign to help defeat it, with bumper stickers and lapel pins.

The President decided to introduce his new economic proposal to the public in a televised address to Congress in early October 1974. The final draft of the speech arrived in my office four hours before the President was to deliver it. As I skimmed the text, I found it unimpressive.
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The speech urged Americans to make up “a list of ten ways to fight inflation and save energy.” Hartmann wanted the President to wear a big red WIN button during the speech. I agreed with Ford's determination to do something about the economy, and to try to engage the public. But to deliver a speech that sought to address a severe economic downturn with gimmicky catchphrases and buttons was not, in my view, presidential.

Knowing how the speech shop operated, I suspected that the draft of the speech sent so late to my office might not have been vetted properly by the President's economic advisers or experts in the Treasury Department.
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I called Alan Greenspan, chairman of the President's Council of Economic Advisers, to check if he had seen it. Greenspan said he had received a copy of the speech only a few hours earlier. He and his staff had worked hard to try to improve it in the brief time they had, but the speech still contained errors and misstatements. He could only vouch for the accuracy of about four fifths of it. Even with his last-minute edits, Greenspan felt the speech was high risk.

I went in to see Ford and urged him to cancel the speech. Because the networks had cleared airtime for the President, I suggested that he instead give a five-minute address discussing the economic problems facing the country, and then say he was not yet satisfied with the economic programs presented to him but was committed to finding the best possible policy. I reiterated my concerns about Hartmann's speechwriting operation.

Ford heard me out, but since he had already authorized Hartmann to go forward with the idea, he was reluctant to back down. “Don,” he finally said, “I think it is a good program.”

“Okay,” I replied. “I wouldn't have felt right if I didn't at least give you this thought.”
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The response to the speech was not what Ford had hoped. Wearing a pin to defeat inflation became a national punch line. Ford was disappointed by the negative reaction to his speech both in Congress and in the country. I felt sorry for him, but it was a self-inflicted wound and still another sign that the spokes-of-the-wheel approach the President had selected at the outset was not working.

As chief of staff I tried to keep my personal views on the substance of policy issues out of my advice to the President unless asked. I wanted to serve as an honest broker. But since my days in Congress, I had views on the economy and the limited role government should play. During my time in the Ford administration I came to know a young economist at the Department of Treasury named Arthur Laffer, who further focused my views. At one dinner I had with him and Dick Cheney, Laffer outlined his view that higher tax rates did not necessarily translate into higher tax revenues. On a cocktail napkin he sketched out what later became famously known as the Laffer Curve to illustrate his point.
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Put simply, the theory that the higher the tax rate the greater the revenues to the government is disproved by the fact that if the tax rate were at the highest rate—100 percent of earnings—government revenues would drop precipitously. If everything one earned was to be confiscated by the government, people would have little if any incentive to work.

Laffer advised what seemed counterintuitive to many then (and even today) that the administration might need to
reduce
taxes to achieve higher revenues, since that would leave more money in the hands of those who create the jobs and therefore expand the economy. That night gave quantitative context and rationale for my inclination toward lower taxes coupled with fiscal responsibility. Laffer's approach would also appeal to one of the Republicans soon to be running for president—Ronald Reagan.

 

W
hen Ford offered Rockefeller the vice presidency in August, he had indicated—or at least he had left Rockefeller with the impression—that Rockefeller would have broad responsibilities for domestic policy. I was concerned by any vagueness in such matters and convinced that the President needed to provide clarity, and fast. “It seems silly now,” I conceded to Ford, “but mark my words, it will be a monstrous problem, and you will spend all your time trying to unsort it unless you address it now.”
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If Vice President Rockefeller was in charge of domestic policy and Secretary of State Kissinger was in charge of national security policy, I thought, what exactly was President Ford's area of responsibility? I suggested that Ford even consider giving Rockefeller a cabinet department to run as part of his duties, so he would have a clear area of management responsibility.
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The President considered the idea but decided against it.

Ford was eager for Rockefeller to feel accepted in the White House as he, on occasion, had not in the Nixon administration. “I want us to embrace him, make him feel at home,” he said.
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After Rockefeller was confirmed in December, the new Vice President met with Ford in the Oval Office. With his shock of gray hair and distinctive dark-framed glasses, Rockefeller was an energetic and powerful presence. The President said he wanted the two of them to work closely together. “Do you have anything else to add, Don?” he asked me.

“I do, Mr. President,” I said. “I think it would be very bad if anyone had the understanding that I was acting as the doorkeeper between you and the Vice President.” I suggested that the two of them agree that Rockefeller should have walk-in privileges with Ford, without including me in the meetings. They both agreed to this, although Rockefeller did say he wanted to stay in close touch with me.
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Additionally, I expressed the hope that Rockefeller and his staff, if they saw a problem, would act promptly to address it before another news cycle passed. “I think we all ought to agree that we'll pick up the phone and get any problem that seems to be building sorted out immediately,” I said.
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Shortly thereafter, I showed Rockefeller and his two sons around the White House, which was then decorated for the Christmas season. reflecting on the early interactions between Ford and Rockefeller, I told Cheney cheerfully, “They are off to a good start.” Rockefeller, I added, “is such an enthusiastic and decent person.”
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It was not long, however, before my relationship with the Vice President went south, somewhere below Chile, as a matter of fact. Ours turned out to be the most difficult personal relationship I experienced in all of my years in the executive branch of the federal government.

It didn't help our relationship that Rockefeller and I understood our respective roles quite differently. I saw my job as helping to make sure that the President received a full range of advice on policy questions, even when the advice contradicted the views and initiatives of others, including those of the Vice President. Rockefeller, by contrast, seemed convinced he was an autonomous factor, alongside the President, who had been delegated domestic responsibilities by Ford and, therefore, whose activities and advice should not be challenged by anyone.
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Looking back at how I had suggested Rockefeller as a possible vice presidential nominee to Richard Nixon in 1968, I realized how mistaken I had been. Though I have had to deal with many strong-willed people in government and managed to get along with them, Rockefeller was quite different. His chief of staff, Ann Whitman, once said that the Vice President “acted as if he were President. He'd come back from a meeting announcing that he was going to run the White House.”
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More than one observer thought Rockefeller still had his mind set on the office he by then had sought three times. Bill Moyers, a onetime aide to Lyndon Johnson, memorably quipped. “I believe Rocky when he says he's lost his ambition. I also believe he remembers where he put it.”
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A man of vast inherited wealth who was accustomed to getting his way, he would badger and pester subordinates until they said what he wanted to hear.

The situation worsened considerably when the Vice President came forward with his own energy proposal. It bore Rockefeller's unmistakable imprint: It was big, ambitious, complex, and as the Vice President modestly contended, billed to resolve America's energy woes for the foreseeable future. It did have some attractive aspects, such as an emphasis on conservation. But, after studying it, I was concerned that this kind of giant, amorphous proposal could become a “Christmas tree” in Congress—an opportunity for members to tack on amendments funding their pet projects.
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Rockefeller proposed a $100 billion “quasi-public corporation” called the Energy Independence Authority that would finance energy projects—the idea being that funds from the government would incentivize innovation in the private sector. With no guidelines, some of those loans could potentially go to people who were friends of people in the White House, and likely friends of Rockefeller's. In short, this looked to be a political, financial, legislative, and ethical time bomb.

I suggested to the President that he ask the relevant experts in his administration to review and comment on Rockefeller's proposal, such as the Office of Management and Budget, the Department of the Treasury, and others. When Rockefeller learned I had made the suggestion and was circulating his proposal in the White House staffing system, he became furious, convinced I was trying to scuttle his plan and sabotage him.

As it turned out, many in the administration had concerns about the proposal. Several people on the staff urged me to persuade the President not to introduce it.
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Alan Greenspan came out vocally against the plan, warning that it “creates a large potential for real or perceived corrupt practices…. There are realistically no limits to the types of projects it can assist, and virtually no limits as to the kind and amount of assistance it can offer.”
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Rockefeller resorted to his usual responses when questioned by anyone: strong-arm tactics, bullying, and anger at any who disagreed.

Around the same time, Rockefeller's personal poll numbers were dropping, which he found inexplicable.
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Ford was differing with him on emergency funding to bail out New York City, then in a financial crisis caused by local mismanagement. This led to an unfortunate headline: “ford to city: drop dead.”
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Ford decided he did not want to oppose Rockefeller on the energy plan at the same time as he was opposing him on the New York City financial bailout.
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Rockefeller led Ford to believe he had support for his energy proposal within the administration, which was hardly the case, although he may well have believed it, since few in the administration were willing to incur his wrath by disagreeing with him.

The plan's arrival on Capitol Hill was at first heralded in the press as a triumph for the powerful Vice President against his imagined White House adversaries, a perspective undoubtedly promoted by Rockefeller.
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But support for his mammoth energy bill cooled once people read it. Not surprisingly, criticism of Ford, rather than Rockefeller, began appearing in the press, for his endorsement of what was characterized as a “horrendous mistake” and a “stunningly bad idea.”
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Congressional support evaporated steadily, until eventually a vote was held on a much-reduced version. Even that was resoundingly defeated in the House of Representatives.
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Gerald Ford, who allowed the avoidable political embarrassment to happen, wound up taking the political blame for Rockefeller's unwillingness to work with others in the administration. Time and again over those months I would consult with Cheney about how we could deal with Rockefeller. It is amusing now to consider those who thirty years later would call Dick Cheney an “imperial vice president.”
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Back in the Ford years, Cheney and I had to deal every day with the real thing.