The Wars of Watergate (111 page)

Perhaps most revealingly, the pardon gave Republican conservatives who had abandoned Nixon cause to dismiss Ford as merely another immoral political
apparatchik
. Months later, when conservative activists attempted to replace Ford with Ronald Reagan for the 1976 election, Richard Viguerie, a leading conservative fundraiser, attacked Ford for the pardon (among other things), claiming it demonstrated that he was not “an honest and forthright” Republican. In a completely cynical vein, William Buckley’s
National Review
stated that conservatives were happy with the pardon, for, at last, it had exposed Ford to liberal criticism. The President, the magazine remarked, had “burned his bridges to the great organs of liberal opinion,” preparing the way for “the real battle” in American politics. Charles Colson, now a “born-again” Christian, delivered his own innuendoes, and denied the President any comfort in his struggle with conservatives, when he reiterated that Nixon never would have resigned unless he had reason to believe Ford would pardon him. To Colson, it followed that if Ford won the nomination (which Colson obviously opposed), Democrats would campaign on the theme that he and Nixon had struck a corrupt bargain.
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Key Watergate figures divided on the pardon. Sam Ervin instinctively
turned to a Biblical quotation and then contended that the pardon was “inexpedient, incompatible with good government, and sets a bad precedent for the future.” Ervin made it clear that the pardon settled nothing. Pardons, he insisted, “are for the guilty—not for those who profess their innocence.” Elliot Richardson, however, thought that Nixon’s distinguished service and the humiliation of resignation justified the pardon, although he thought that the President could simply have quashed any indictment of Nixon by using his prosecutorial discretion as Chief Executive. Apparently, Richardson—of all people—did not understand the extent of the independence Jaworski enjoyed on this issue. In defending the pardon, Richardson emphasized most of all the desirability of avoiding the “embarrassment of a protracted trial.”
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The White House worked desperately to douse the flames. Dean Burch had remained at his post under Ford, still conducting political defenses. With presidential aide Anne Armstrong, he pressed Buchen for explanations to satisfy the media clamor. While congressmen warned Ford not to grant pardons to others, reporters raised a question that readily came to the public mind: why try Nixon’s aides, and not Nixon himself? The White House spokesman replied that the former President was “unique” because the House Judiciary Committee had judged him guilty, and that his punishment of resignation was “very severe.” Another Ford aide urged the President to plead that the country should not suspect his motives when it disagreed with his decisions. But Ford could not shake such suspicions. Author Larry L. King pithily summed up the situation: the manner and timing of the pardon appeared as if Mr. Clean had suddenly dealt a dirty card from the bottom of the deck.

Without conclusive evidence—such as a tape recording or document sealing a bargain between Nixon and Ford—there is little evidence of a conspiracy leading to the pardon. To be sure, Haig, Garment, and other Nixon White House holdovers pressed for a pardon, undoubtedly in part for selfish and personal reasons, yet also perhaps moved by some degree of altruism. After all, in arguing for pardon they only did what was expected of loyal retainers. The pardon, too, may have been necessary if Ford was to get on with the business of running the government. Watergate, in some measure, continued to be a distracting force after Nixon’s resignation.

What went wrong was that Ford failed to prepare the country for what he must have known he would do, certainly as early as the end of August. He apparently consulted with no political leaders; furthermore, his lack of desire—or his inability—to get that measure of contrition from Richard Nixon that the national mood may well have demanded was a serious miscalculation. In deciding to pardon Nixon, Ford relied on only a few advisers. Given
his congressional experience, Ford must certainly have understood the virtue and indispensability of consultation. Yet he made no effort to touch the necessary political bases in this momentous case.

Ford made a brave decision; he need not have made one amid such “splendid isolation.” As he prepared for his announcement, he telephoned congressional leaders and claimed that they registered no objections. But they confronted a
fait accompli;
their reactions to the President were one thing, to the media, another. Imagine if Ford had asked former congressional colleagues from across the political spectrum—Mansfield, Scott, Goldwater, Albert, Rhodes, and O’Neill—to stand with him as he delivered his announcement. Melvin Laird believed that Ford made a mistake “by surprising people.” Laird maintained that the President in a short time might have persuaded congressmen to publicly support the pardon.
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Ford’s position had logic on more than one level as a means to end the Watergate “nightmare.” Lost in the welter of suspicions and charges of corruption was the very practical consideration that the pardon may have spared the legal process from mockery and embarrassment. If Nixon had been indicted and tried, he and his lawyers undoubtedly would have spent years warding off, contesting, and appealing any charges. In time, that spectacle would probably have repelled the nation. Ford also recognized the possibility that Nixon would eventually go free on technical grounds—and that might well have cast a shadow on Ford’s legitimacy as President.

“Few people want to see the President in jail,” Vice President-designate Rockefeller told a Senate committee in September. Leon Jaworski, by his own account, had no desire to try Nixon. A month after the pardon, Jaworski told a reporter that he found nothing wrong in Ford’s action. Although Nixon would not be indicted and tried, Jaworski firmly believed that the existing and forthcoming evidence would “show he’s guilty, just as much as a guilty plea.” He defended Ford, including the granting of a pardon prior to any indictment; it was wrong, he argued, to believe that a trial would have produced even more evidence. Jaworski refused, however, to engage in “hypotheticals,” when asked if he would have sought an indictment and trial had there been no pardon. He insisted that the pardon signified guilt: “A pardon isn’t just a beautiful document to frame and hang on the wall. You are offered a pardon only because it is believed you can be charged and convicted.”
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Jaworski’s pointed views reflected his reaction to several months of often heated debate among his subordinates in the Special Prosecutor’s office, first over whether to grant President Richard Nixon immunity, and then over how to deal with his pardon. Lacovara pressed Jaworski on confronting Ford, following his earlier suggestion with one outlining a “conditional pardon,” contingent upon Nixon’s acknowledgment of his complicity and the prosecutors’ continued access to his files. Jaworski replied rather sharply, noting
that Ford had not sought his advice on the matter: “I believe it would be highly presumptuous, in fact improper, for me to impose my thoughts on his action,” he continued. “The President has not undertaken to tell us how to prosecute and I do not regard it proper to tell him how to pardon, if he has this in mind.” Lacovara hastily apologized, but he explained that his recent review of new presidential tape transcripts led him to conclude that “Mr. Nixon’s role was even more serious” than previously understood, and he was concerned that these revelations should become a matter of public record. Lacovara told an interviewer that the pardon left him dissatisfied, because Nixon had failed to give a statement of contrition and because of the inadequate arrangement for custody of and access to the presidential materials. By this time, according to Jaworski, his deputies were engaged in their own struggles for prosecutorial assignments.
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Some prosecutors considered challenging the pardon, with a few even suggesting that the Special Prosecutor’s charter precluded presidential interference by means of a pardon. They argued also that the pardon suffered from technical defects, particularly for its failure to specify Nixon’s alleged crimes. But Jaworski did not share such concerns. When he resigned in October, he told Attorney General Saxbe that he would neither seek an indictment nor would he question the pardon. As if to refute many of his staff workers, Jaworski thought a challenge to Ford’s pardon “would constitute a spurious proceeding in which I had no faith” and would be tantamount to unprofessional conduct.
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Watergate presented many extraordinary constitutional issues. The pardon itself provided one; the aftermath another, as President Ford appeared in person before a congressional committee in October to answer questions about his decision. The President had once said he was a Ford, not a Lincoln; but his only predecessor to take similar action in fact was Abraham Lincoln. On September 16 Congresswoman Bella Abzug (D-NY) introduced a resolution requesting that the President respond to ten questions relating to the pardon. A week earlier, she had written to Jaworski, contending that the pardon was unconstitutional and that he should proceed with an indictment. No reply was sent.
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Abzug’s resolution went to William Hungate’s Subcommittee on Criminal Justice. The next day, John Conyers introduced another resolution focused on four specific inquiries and a broad question concerning the possibility of future pardons for individuals involved in Watergate. At first, the White House replied that the pardon documents, subsequent briefings, and a September 18 presidential press conference covered the relevant matters. That proved unsatisfactory, however, and the subcommittee moved to obtain testimony from Buchen, or someone else who had extensive knowledge of
the pardon—a prospect that threatened to ignite still-smouldering questions of executive privilege. The White House reply came on September 30 with dramatic suddenness: the President himself would appear to answer questions.

Ford’s decision was shrewd. If the subcommittee had insisted on calling Buchen and Haig, then, whether they refused or cooperated, the outcome would have cast doubt on Ford’s veracity. But the President’s appearance helped to restore his image of honesty and openness. When he testified on October 17, Elizabeth Holtzman carried the burden of the questioning, mainly repeating the questions that Abzug and Conyers had stipulated in their resolutions. But she launched them in rapid-fire succession, hardly allowing Ford time to answer. Finally, he interrupted: ‘[T]here was no deal, period, under no circumstances.”

Holtzman felt betrayed by her fellow Democrats. She was dismayed that none of them pursued her inquiry into whether Ford would surrender tapes of his conversations with Nixon. She also complained that the subcommittee had not accumulated sufficient staff or taken the time to prepare adequately. Finally, she demanded that Buchen and Haig testify, as well. Holtzman was right: the other members, to be sure, wanted to believe Ford. In the end, they really had no choice. They had not prepared for his appearance, and having questioned the President, they could not logically call Buchen and Haig. Most had voted to confirm Ford in 1973, knew him as a Congressman, and had little desire to pursue the matter. After he testified, the subcommittee had nowhere to go short of a full-scale investigation. Representative Charles Sandman had warned the President not to provide another media opportunity for a liberal vendetta, and now he hastily congratulated Ford on his appearance and his “magnificent job.”

William Hungate was a witty, shrewd man, as he had demonstrated throughout the impeachment inquiry. He also had keen political antennae, and he sensed, as he told his staff, that the resolutions of Abzug and Conyers amounted to a fishing expedition. Despite some chagrin and dissatisfaction with Ford’s manner of issuing the pardon, Hungate was ready to accept it. He believed that the nation was in no mood to witness another large political inquiry with a full-blown staff—nor, he added, was Congress.

Henry Ruth tried to persuade Holtzman that no one had evidence of any corrupt bargain. She contended that a pardon was invalid if given under fraudulent conditions. But Ruth responded: “You do not challenge every Presidential Act on the idea that it is illegal, you have to have some indication [of wrongdoing], I would think.” Covering all contingencies, however, he added: “Unless Watergate has gone further than I thought.”

The subcommittee met on November 22 to pass judgment on Ford’s version of events. Holtzman sought to continue and expand the inquiry,
but the group rejected her request by a 6–3 vote. Hungate and James Mann joined four Republicans in opposition.
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Still, the question of a corrupt bargain leading to Nixon’s pardon would not die. The
Washington Post
’s Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein published a story more than a year later contending that Haig had actively campaigned for a pardon during August 1974. Holtzman renewed her demand that Buchen and Haig testify on their roles in the pardon. The
Post
’s story revolved around technicalities of timing and language, and may have been planted by Haig to embarrass Ford.

Hungate’s staff prepared a report and again questioned whether Congress and the nation would tolerate a large-scale investigation; moreover, they believed that the lack of substance to the new charges would only expose the Democrats to accusations of political motivation. The staff report proved decisive, and the subcommittee voted not to reopen the investigation. Holtzman was isolated—and enraged.
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The investigations of the Subcommittee on Criminal Justice nevertheless served the Democrats quite well. They could raise the spectre of a corrupt bargain and berate Ford for having granted the pardon without any expression of contrition from Nixon. Meanwhile, the pardon conveniently ended the affair for them while allowing the Republicans to stew in their own juice. But a prolonged pursuit of the matter might have raised a backlash against the seeming Democratic vindictiveness. The lack of will and the lack of evidence operated in a cycle; the task of wisdom was to end the affair.