The Wars of Watergate (74 page)

Ehrlichman’s defense of White House attempts to discredit the committee’s hearings by reference to Ervin’s partisanship virtually invited the North Carolinian to pose as the champion of constitutional liberty and nonpartisanship. Ervin refused to apologize for his criticism of what he regarded as the Administration’s usurpation of constitutional powers, usurpation entailed by its claims to executive privilege, inherent powers, and rightful impoundment of funds. But he deftly noted that few Senate Democrats had supported the President more staunchly than he on economic and war issues, referring in particular to his recent vote against the War Powers Act because it encroached on the President’s proper constitutional authority.

Ehrlichman offered a maze of detail, contradiction, evasion, and confrontation. He told the committee that as early as July 1972 the President had forbidden his aides to discuss executive clemency for the burglars, omitting mention of other times when Nixon openly considered the possibility. He lamely tried to explain away his instructions that Patrick Gray “deep six” the contents of Hunt’s safe and his discussion of the FBI Directorship with Federal Judge Byrne. Repeatedly, almost desperately, Ehrlichman tried to steer the committee to his fundamental contention that Dean was the primary villain.
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Ehrlichman concluded his testimony on Monday, July 30, once more jabbing at the “falsity” of Dean’s charges. In measured, confident words, he rejected Strachan’s unduly flippant advice urging young people to stay away from Washington. Ehrlichman said he would give them a mission: “Come and do better. Don’t stay away.” Good people, he contended, must be attracted
to fight for what is right, to fight against the “seat-warmers and hacks” who would dominate the field if it were abandoned. Finally, Ehrlichman heaped scorn on a Washington culture he truly loathed. If you worked for the executive branch, he said, Congress and the media would never “throw rosebuds.” Washington was a place which rejected patriotism and family values, Ehrlichman said, implying that a kind of
kulturkampf
explained the Administration’s vulnerability. The truth was there to be seen, he concluded; “preconception or partisanship” never would find it, as if to encourage doubt that the committee could do so. Ervin by this time had had enough of the witness. He left the chair and allowed Baker to offer the usual soothing parting words.
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Haldeman’s demeanor contrasted sharply with that of his colleague. Friendly, smiling, and deferential almost to the point of unctuousness, Haldeman nonetheless conceded nothing by way of personal or Administration wrongdoing. His flat, undramatic tones made his appearance somewhat disappointing, but in this fashion, he offered a determined, tenacious defense, convinced as Ehrlichman was that the Administration had acted only out of necessity and for the national well-being. Haldeman directed a White House operation that worked as a “zero defect system.” He proudly described working with “one of America’s greatest Presidents, a President who had ended the Vietnam War and the cold war,” who had opened dialogues with the Soviet Union and China, and who had returned power to the people with revenue sharing and governmental reorganization.
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Haldeman moved to seal off Richard Nixon from any responsibility for the matters under inquiry. He described a President who generously delegated authority so that he could spend his time on the important issues rather than closely superintending details, seeing everyone who wanted to see him, and reading everything sent to him. Haldeman’s statement stood in stark contrast to his massive files of presidential memoranda devoted to details, often trivial ones.
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Haldeman firmly denied that there was any paralyzing fear in the White House of demonstrators and protesters, but he noted a “healthy and valid” concern for national and domestic security. Accordingly, Nixon designated Haldeman as his “lord high executioner” to deal with leaks in executive agencies. Haldeman described his approach to this task rather benignly as merely directing department heads to tighten security. The Plumbers went unmentioned. He flatly denied any knowledge of the Watergate break-in or the bugging of the Democratic National Committee, and he disclaimed any interest in intelligence-gathering operations by the re-election committee; whatever Strachan knew or did in these areas never touched him, Haldeman asserted.

If the senators wanted a villain, Haldeman thought that John Dean could accommodate them best. Dean was, he said, the “Watergate project officer”
in the White House. He had authority to work on his own; his task was to keep Haldeman and Ehrlichman posted on developments, and through them, the President. Alas, Haldeman concluded, Dean “apparently did not keep us fully posted[,] and it now appears he did not keep us accurately posted.” Haldeman pointedly reminded the committee that he, Ehrlichman, and the President were busily engrossed in “vital matters” in this period, and hence they made no attempt to get into the details, or to “take over” the Watergate case. The White House files again would impeach Haldeman’s view of things, only this time the tapes would offer more than mute testimony to belie Haldeman’s brazen denials.

Weicker pressed Haldeman on his attempts to smear McGovern and the Democratic Party for their alleged links to the “peace forces” and to Communist countries. Haldeman doggedly countered with allegations of Democratic sabotage of the Republican campaign, Democratic-organized demonstrations against the President, and Democratic plans to disrupt Republican meetings and rallies, as well as other misdeeds which he said he should exclude because of the “tender mercies” of the television audience. All these, he said, were documented instances or ones which he had observed.
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Ehrlichman had managed to skirt discussion of the White House tapes. For Haldeman, who acknowledged that he had supervised the installation of the recording devices, that was not so easy. Furthermore, he infuriated the senators when they learned that he had had access to the tapes and had taken them to his house as part of his preparation for his testimony. Ervin sarcastically noted as a “strange thing” that Haldeman could listen to the tapes but the committee could not. The presidency had not been destroyed, the Constitution had not collapsed, and the heavens had not fallen because Haldeman had heard the tapes. Surely then, Ervin thought, the committee could not cause any such calamity. Dash argued, without much success, that Haldeman had violated the terms of his subpoena by failing to turn the “documents” over to the committee as stipulated. If Haldeman could use them as he had, then, as some senators argued, they were, as the President claimed, no longer privileged.

The tapes were a trap for Haldeman. His answers to Baker regarding the March 21 meeting with Dean and the President concerning the unraveling cover-up formed the basis for a subsequent perjury indictment, as the tapes demonstrated a quite different story from the one Haldeman had rendered. The former Chief of Staff, however, confidently believed that the contents of the tapes would never become public knowledge.
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Haldeman concluded his testimony much as had Ehrlichman, affirming that good people should come to Washington to serve the nation. By indirection he, too, attacked the President’s critics by urging people to understand the totality of the Nixon Administration’s accomplishments and not to
view its record through the “microcosm” of Watergate. Haldeman acknowledged that Watergate constituted a failure of some kind, but in a note that he would sound for years afterward, he expressed puzzlement and bewilderment as to what that failure was, why it occurred, and who was responsible for it.
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Haldeman’s testimony took less than three days, and after Ehrlichman, the weary senators seemed grateful for his more direct responses. Sometimes, of course, Haldeman’s denials only evoked incredulity, as in the case of his inability to explain why the re-election committee had decided to pay the burglars’ expenses. Ervin found it hard to believe that political organizations had become “eleemosynary institutions.” Still, the senators responded to Haldeman’s seeming difference in like manner. Gurney may have taken matters to an extreme when he said that Haldeman had testified so fully on the key matters of the President’s involvement in the break-in and subsequent cover-up that he could not “think of a single question” to ask the witness.

Curiously, at the end, John Wilson, Haldeman’s lawyer, decided to do battle with Daniel Inouye. Inouye had irritated Wilson throughout, especially since the Senator had muttered into the microphone, “What a liar,” in response to some of Ehrlichman’s testimony. Wilson unsuccessfully sought to stop Inouye from introducing into the record a California court judgment against Haldeman for illegal activities in Nixon’s gubernatorial campaign in 1962. He objected again when Inouye discussed a memo outlining reprisals against a Defense Department “whistle-blower,” and once more when the Senator questioned Haldeman about White House containment tactics directed against the Senate Select Committee. Wilson hardly helped his efforts when he referred publicly to Inouye as a “fat Jap.” The day after Haldeman’s testimony, Ervin and Baker vied with each other to sing Inouye’s praises as a war hero and valued member of the committee.
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The Administration had lost another skirmish in the vital public-relations war.

After August 2, the committee heard from a variety of prominent witnesses, including Richard Helms, former CIA Deputy Directors Richard Cushman and Vernon Walters, L. Patrick Gray, Richard Kleindienst, and even E. Howard Hunt, who eagerly portrayed himself as a good soldier with a life imitating the spy novels he had written. Henry Petersen defended the Justice Department and the U.S. Attorneys for their pursuit of the case. Petersen also indicated that he had now begun to understand his dealings with the President during March and April. The Administration got in some last words for itself on September 26 when Patrick Buchanan slashed the committee for its excessive leaks and its treatment of witnesses. Buchanan boldly attacked the committee, but John Dean’s image and testimony persisted in the nation’s consciousness, not the mauling tactics of club-fighter Buchanan. During the next phases of the hearings, in October and November,
the committee heard from several dozen witnesses who testified on the need for legislation regulating campaign practices and finances. That subject, after all, was the committee’s
raison d’être.

For nearly three months, television had given Watergate an immediacy and a familiarity that could not fail to capture widespread attention. How had the revelations affected Americans? Public-opinion polls can offer only a snapshot captured through a particular lens at a given moment. Questions shape responses; a slightly reworded question may sharply shift an answer. That kind of variation appeared throughout the polling in the summer of 1973. In general, polls reflected a nation with increasing doubts and misgivings about its President, yet uncertain as to how to deal with him. Richard Nixon had lost the confidence of the American people, and with it, probably, the capacity to govern effectively. Paradoxically, only the special nature of the American constitutional system kept him in office.

At the conclusion of Dean’s testimony in late June, the Gallup poll showed Americans equally divided in their approval of Nixon’s job performance; 46 percent of Gallup’s respondents said they would still vote for Nixon against McGovern, down some 16 points since the November election. (McGovern, however, had gained only 2 percent.) A few weeks later, an overwhelming 62 percent of those surveyed opposed forcing the President to leave, with only 24 percent favoring such action. But following testimony by Nixon’s chief aides, the polls for the first time showed that a majority of Americans regarded Watergate as a “serious matter”; in October 1972, by a 62–36 margin, respondents had considered the affair “just politics.”

Questions also could blur answers. One poll showed that 50 percent of Americans believed John Dean, 30 percent did not, and 20 percent were unsure. Yet when told that Nixon had denied Dean’s charges, the respondents said that they would believe Nixon as opposed to Dean by 38–37 percent, with 25 percent unsure. In early August, by a margin of 56–35, respondents said that the President should have “the benefit of the doubt,” and by nearly the same spread (54–38) they agreed with the President’s announced determination to spend more time working for the country than trying to figure out who was to blame for Watergate. That same Harris poll of August 5, however, showed that by a 55–32 margin the President did not “inspire confidence as a President should.” Ten days later, the Gallup poll gave the President only a 31 percent approval rating, down 9 points in four weeks and 37 points since January. Congressmen matched the public sentiments. A
Christian Science Monitor
poll of nearly two hundred congressmen in mid-August 1973 found an overwhelming number believing that the President had not adequately changed his staff and operations and that he would
be unable to govern effectively. Yet by an equally overwhelming margin, congressmen opposed impeachment and resignation.

Americans evinced some ambivalence toward the press in the polls regarding Watergate. In a Harris survey early in July only 17 percent of those polled believed that the press was out “to get President Nixon on Watergate,” while 61 percent disagreed. Yet 40 percent thought that the media had devoted more attention to Watergate than the case warranted. The polls showed that Americans watched the Watergate proceedings in steadily growing numbers, rather evenly spread across sections, age groups, and educational backgrounds. The Senate Select Committee earned high marks. In September, a Gallup poll found that 57 percent of those questioned believed that the committee was more interested in gaining facts than in discrediting the Nixon Administration, while only 28 percent criticized it. The committee’s approval rating was the inverse of the President’s, again indicating that the Administration had taken a public-relations drubbing. Worse yet, Americans in increasing numbers simply did not believe the President. A Gallup telephone poll showed that 77 percent of the nation heard his televised defense on August 15, but only a little over one-fourth of the audience believed him. Forty-four percent considered him “not at all convincing.”
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The problem was more than public relations.