The Wars of Watergate (77 page)

The institutional limits of the office of Vice President frustrated Agnew, and his relationship with the President was marred by distrust and antipathy, as has often been the case, given the nature of the two offices. Nixon added feelings of contempt. According to Henry Kissinger, the President had referred to Agnew as his insurance policy against assassination attempts. When asked by a newspaper columnist whether he had briefed Agnew on Henry Kissinger’s contact with the Chinese in 1971, Nixon seemed incredulous.
“Oh, of course not,” the President replied. The two men rarely saw each other and rarely exchanged views, a situation that only added to the Vice President’s frustration. “I had long desired to be his close partner, but he preferred to work with a controlled staff,” Agnew noted. He knew, according to one of his aides, that Haldeman and Ehrlichman, as well as other White House staffers, “looked at him with disdain and didn’t pay any attention to him.”

Agnew bitterly remembered that he never engaged the President in a substantive conversation. He claimed that Haldeman had told him that the President did not appreciate it if he said anything that could be “construed to be mildly not in accord with his thinking.” Unlike most Vice Presidents (including Nixon during the Eisenhower years), who publicly insisted that they shared in decision making, Agnew refreshingly acknowledged that he never participated directly in any decision. When the two would talk, the President generally embarked on “a rambling, time-consuming monologue,” successfully avoiding subjects not to his liking. “I was not of the inner circle,” Agnew candidly admitted. Privately, he told his own aides that the Administration was “intellectually bankrupt.” He disagreed passionately with the China move but muted his criticism. His contempt for the President’s staff was boundless; he considered them “mere technicians,” utterly lacking in principles. Those who admired Agnew praised his intellectual honesty and his loyalty to his friends, a source of both weakness and strength but “a problem Nixon never had,” according to one of Agnew’s more cynical aides.
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After the 1972 election, Agnew believed that the President, now a lame duck, resented Agnew’s growing political stature and was miffed as well at his failure to put John Connally in Agnew’s place. But at that time Nixon told Haldeman that while he did not wish Agnew to appear as his heir apparent, he had no desire to push him down. Agnew, he said, was not the ideal choice as a successor, but Nixon thought he might be the best of a bad lot.
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By the summer of 1973, the
Wall Street Journal
had been investigating rumors of Agnew’s illegal activities for more than a year and had learned of the Baltimore grand-jury inquiry. The newspaper advised Agnew on August 6 that it would publish the story the next day, mainly fearing that it would be scooped by another newspaper. Agnew immediately informed reporters that he had learned he was under investigation for extortion, bribery, and tax evasion—all of which he actually had known since April. He insisted he was innocent and was confident that the criminal-justice system would vindicate him. Two days later he appeared at a televised news conference to denounce the allegations as “damned lies.” Agnew said he had nothing to hide, that he had no expectation of being indicted, and that he certainly would not resign.

Agnew visited the President on August 7 for nearly two hours. He reported that Nixon had “unequivocally” supported him, but Agnew added that he was not “looking around to see who’s supporting me. I’m defending myself.” The next day the President expressed “confidence” in Agnew. At his August 22 news conference, Nixon again asserted “confidence in [Agnew’s] integrity” and praised his “courageous conduct and ability.” He joined the Vice President in denouncing leaks from the Department of Justice, the Baltimore prosecutors, and the grand jury. The two men saw each other again on September 1, and four days later at his news conference, the President once more denounced the charges against Agnew as “innuendo and otherwise,” but he properly refused to discuss the substance of those charges.
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During the next several weeks, Agnew and his staff realized that the President’s support was lukewarm, given Nixon’s own calendar of woes. The Agnew camp channeled its hostility toward Attorney General Richardson, who, Agnew believed, was engaged in nothing less than a plot to discredit and remove him in order to further his own presidential ambitions. Richardson had written to Agnew on August 1, informing him of the investigation; meanwhile he had told Nixon, through Haig, that he had never seen such a “cut-and-dried” case. Richardson advised the President of his appraisal on August 6—before Nixon met Agnew. Presidential counselors Buzhardt and Garment supported Richardson’s assessment. The President’s own evaluation of the situation was coldly realistic. He knew the charges were serious and persuasive; he also realized that Agnew’s denials had aroused a sympathetic constituency. Yet if the President actively defended Agnew, and the charges were substantiated, he would only impair what he described as his “own already dwindling credibility.” If he adopted a neutral stance, however, he knew he would enrage Agnew’s supporters. The President wisely chose the second course, stoically willing “to bear the brunt of the criticism that was to come.”
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For his part, Agnew later claimed to have warned the President that the investigation was merely an attempt to embarrass the Administration and that it was foolish to believe it would divert attention from Watergate. He understood, to some extent, that his removal would make it easier for the “left-wingers who despised us both” to force the President from office. Later, Agnew came to believe that Nixon sought to pacify Richardson because he was preparing to move against Cox. “I was treated like a pawn in the game—the game of the Watergate cover-up,” Agnew wrote. He did not realize at the time the President’s own vulnerability and weakness; otherwise, he claimed, he “might have fought it out.” Conspiracy notions had fueled Agnew’s most successful political rhetoric during his first term; quite naturally, he believed that again he had been victimized by what he undoubtedly
regarded as an “elite, effete” cabal—this time led by Attorney General Richardson.

Agnew and his staff felt that Richardson “was out to get” him. He later added the touch of Zionist conspiracy: Richardson wanted someone in the line of presidential succession who, like Nixon, “would defend Israel, whatever the risk to the United States.” Agnew was convinced that Richardson sensed the President was “cracking” under the Watergate strain, and “so I must be knocked out of the line of succession before it was too late.”

Curiously, three years after he left the White House, Nixon lent some credence to Agnew’s darkest suspicions when he noted Richardson’s presidential ambitions for 1976 and worried that the Attorney General might have had some political motivation. The charges against Richardson, of course, were absurd. He had inherited the Agnew case; moreover, the evidence against Agnew readily persuaded such varied White House advisers as Haig, Buzhardt, and Garment. Henry Petersen had only the highest regard for Richardson’s professionalism in the affair; “I never met a man who was so careful,” Petersen recalled. Richardson, he thought, was “one of the best, if not
the
best” Attorney General he had ever served. Melvin Laird learned of the Agnew case from Buzhardt. Buzhardt’s advice prompted Laird to tell his Republican congressional friends “not to get too far out in front in defense of the Vice President.” Ironically, a few days after Agnew’s resignation, and as Richardson prepared for his own, the Attorney General noted that rather than proving his independence, the Agnew affair had reinforced the convictions of some that he had merely served the President’s interests.
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Agnew’s felonies had no relation whatsoever to the mounting catalogue of Watergate crimes. But the Vice President’s situation and eventual departure from office worsened Nixon’s deteriorating position. After Petersen became involved for the Justice Department, the President called him on numerous occasions, expressing opinions that the case against Agnew would not lead to impeachment and that somehow Petersen might “handle” the Baltimore prosecutors. A New York lawyer, a warm Nixon admirer, urged the President to ask Agnew to suspend himself if indicted; if he refused, the President himself should request Agnew to vacate his office in the Executive Office Building. The lawyer claimed—without knowing them—that the liberal New York attorneys representing Agnew were motivated by “the continued distress the internal feuding” caused the President. Apparently, she appreciated what Nixon liked to hear.

As early as September 1, Agnew advised Nixon that he wanted to take his case to the House of Representatives, claiming that a sitting Vice President, like the President, could not be indicted and must be judged by the House. According to Agnew (probably correctly), Haig and Buzhardt reacted with alarm, for the investigation could well result in impeachment and
thereby offer a dangerous precedent. Haig pressed Agnew at this point to resign, but the Vice President refused. “I was to be a living demonstration that the President spurned cover-ups …—this was the whole idea behind the White House move to make me quit.” He detected the fine hand of Laird’s lobbying on Capitol Hill when Haig told him that Speaker Carl Albert was not interested in pursuing the case.
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Despite White House opposition, Agnew wrote to Albert on September 25, asking that the House inquire into the charges formulated by the U.S. Attorney in Baltimore. His lawyers prepared a memorandum contending that he could not be indicted, although Vice President Aaron Burr had been indicted for the murder of Alexander Hamilton following their famous duel in 1804. (Burr was never tried.) Agnew based his claim on an 1826 precedent established when Vice President John C. Calhoun demanded a similar investigation of charges that he had improperly profited from a military contract when he was Secretary of War. The accusations apparently had been inspired by Calhoun’s break with President John Quincy Adams. The House exonerated the Vice President after a forty-day investigation. Calhoun established several interesting precedents. He was re-elected in 1828 with Andrew Jackson at the head of the ticket, and thus became the first Vice President to serve under two different presidents. But then he was also the only man to resign the vice presidency—until 1973.

Despite Agnew’s plea, Carl Albert and the House Democrats were reluctant to intervene. Judiciary Committee Chairman Peter Rodino (D–NJ) told the Speaker the matter ought to be left to the courts. Agnew had complained to Albert that the “White House” was behind the campaign against him, “harassing him to death.” When Richardson later went to the grand jury, he notified the Speaker, in a move that Albert interpreted as an Administration message, that Congress should let the judicial process run.
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Agnew had his defenders. The ranking Republican on the Judiciary Committee, Edward Hutchinson (MI), and thirteen committee colleagues introduced a resolution contending that the House had a “constitutional duty” to honor Agnew’s request. Hamilton Fish (R–NY) also sympathized with Agnew’s desire for a hearing. Columnist William White criticized the House leadership for a “cop-out” in the Agnew case and asserted that the House would have to face the issue, because Agnew “is simply not going to resign” even if indicted. He also chastised the Justice Department, which was anxious to “sanitize” its poor showing in the Watergate case. House Minority Leader Gerald Ford called Albert’s decision “political [and] unfortunate.” But Ford had been advised by Richardson and by Nixon of the extent of the evidence against Agnew—a vain attempt, as it turned out, to keep Ford from playing partisan politics or looking foolish. Agnew later sent Ford a note of “gratitude and affection.”
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Speaking in Los Angeles on September 29, Agnew seemed to brim with
confidence and determination. He denounced the Justice Department for the leaks and innuendoes against him and also charged that some of its officials were anxious to recoup their reputations. “I’m a big trophy,” the Vice President told his cheering supporters, who waved “Spiro Is My Hero” placards.

The vise tightened. On September 21, Petersen prepared for Agnew a draft resignation statement admitting that as governor, he had received payments from contractors doing business with the State of Maryland. Nixon remained wary. At his October 3 news conference, he defended Justice Department officials but added that Agnew’s determination to remain in office “should be respected.” He noted that Agnew repeatedly had denied the charges to him personally; still, the President acknowledged that they were “serious and not frivolous.” He scored the leaks and their publication and pleaded that Agnew not be “convicted in advance.” The Vice President’s years of distinguished service should, he added, give him the “presumption of innocence.” As so often, Richard Nixon’s remarks reflected his own problems. Meanwhile, the President’s men—Richardson, Haig, Buzhardt, and to some extent, Garment—persisted in trying to persuade Agnew and his lawyers that the Vice President must resign. According to Agnew, Haig passed word that the signature of the Vice President’s wife had been noted on Agnew’s purportedly false income-tax returns.
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Without effective support in Congress, with the President’s aides increasingly hostile and demanding his resignation, and with public support deteriorating as details of the charges emerged, Agnew and his lawyers turned to plea-bargaining. The unspoken assumption on both sides was that the Vice President would resign. That would afford some comfort for the Administration, but it appears that for its own ulterior reasons the White House was equally anxious to avoid a public spectacle. Shame and humiliation would cover the Vice President, to be sure; but he had enough leverage to avoid prosecution and penal punishment. On October 10 Agnew made a dramatic appearance in the federal courtroom in Baltimore and pleaded
nolo contendere
to a charge of income-tax evasion. The Vice President contended that a trial would be lengthy and costly, and would unduly “distract public attention from important national problems.” (He later told an attorney that he could not go to trial before a jury of blacks.) Richardson acknowledged that he received less than he wanted in Agnew’s subsequent plea, but the government managed to file a more complete summary of its evidence.