The Wars of Watergate (69 page)

Part inquest, part inquisition, congressional investigations are subject to no restraints except those imposed by congressmen themselves. A committee applies the traditional judicial measures of due process according to its own sense of fair play and perceptions of what public opinion demands or will tolerate. In the heyday of the House Committee on Un-American Activities or of Senator Joseph McCarthy, witnesses had been subjected to interminable questions, each of which evoked incantations of the Fifth Amendment’s prohibition against self-incrimination. The net effect only heightened public belief in the noble ends of the interrogators and the evil of the witnesses. The Senate Select Committee in the present case, acting according to its opinion of constitutional proprieties, as well with an eye on what would be politically acceptable, chose not to follow that particular form of humiliation. When the committee Counsel informed Ervin that a witness had
decided to take the Fifth Amendment, the chairman found “no legislative purpose” in bringing him to a public session.
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Historically, congressional investigating committees have played a prominent role in spotlighting alleged wrongdoing in the executive branch and corruption in other aspects of American life. Individual and institutional interests of members of Congress inevitably blend with higher motives, thus creating a strange mixture of circus, morality play, exposé, and education. It was ever thus, beginning with a congressional inquiry into military adventures against Indians in the western lands during George Washington’s Administration in the 1790s, and continuing through inquiries into the British burning of Washington in 1812, the Joint Committee on Reconstruction, the revelations of the money trust by the Pujo Committee in 1913, the machinations of World War I munitions dealers, Harry Truman’s firing of General MacArthur, and whether organized baseball had violated the antitrust laws. History permeated the Senate Caucus Room, the site of the 1973 hearings and of the dramas of Teapot Dome, the Kefauver Crime Hearings, and the Army–McCarthy confrontation—the site, too, of the Senate’s inquiry into censure proceedings against their very own Joseph McCarthy, an inquiry in which Sam Ervin had played a key role.

The formalities of the May 17 opening session barely concealed the personal and political postures of each senator. Sam Ervin was predictably apocalyptic; for him the Watergate break-in represented nothing less than an attempt to invade American homes and steal Americans’ “most precious heritage: the right to vote in a free election.” The Senator had his special concerns, notably impoundment of funds appropriated by Congress, and executive privilege, both of which he believed reflected the dangerous growth of executive power. In a more general sense, Ervin hoped that the probe would dissipate the growing public distrust and suspicion of government. The other Democrats, Herman Talmadge, Daniel Inouye, and Joseph Montoya, generally shared Ervin’s concerns, and they gave him free rein in administering the committee.

For the Republicans, Howard Baker scrupulously reminded the committee that its task was to assemble facts and proceed toward remedial legislation on campaign financing. But Baker also acknowledged that congressional investigations have a myriad of purposes, not the least of which may be partisan. He reminded the spectators that from the outset he had advocated equal party representation on the committee. But, almost as if to disarm his fellow senators, he assured them that “this is not in any way a partisan undertaking but, rather, it is a bipartisan search for the unvarnished truth.” Privately, Baker realized that scapegoats had to be offered, and he carefully
distinguished between the campaign practices of political professionals at the Republican National Committee and the actions of the President’s men. Was Baker suggesting that the party and its well-being were more important than the President? It was not clear; but in time, it would be. Baker’s remarks keynoted themes that became a litany: Republicans would be serious and impartial throughout the hearings. Meanwhile, Baker maintained communications with the White House.

The fissures within the committee exposed themselves during the opening statements of Republicans Edward Gurney and Lowell Weicker. Gurney established himself as a Nixon loyalist and steered clear of the pieties that Baker had expressed. Key figures, Gurney argued, had been indicted and tried; others, whose conduct might have been questionable, had resigned. The only possible result from the hearings, he suggested, would be to destabilize the American presidency. “[T]he rocking of the boat by Watergate, its catastrophic effect upon the institution of the Presidency,” was, said Gurney, a matter of real concern. By August, he complained that the hearings had damaged the government, the nation, and relations with other nations.

If Gurney wanted to close down shop, Weicker had only expansion on his mind. His metaphors hardly missed a political button. “A few men,” he contended, “had gambled that Americans wanted the truth suppressed rather than the ‘turbulence’ of truth. And they were stopped a yard short of the goal by another few, who believed in America as advertised.” The Watergate story, then, was not just one of breaking and entering and bugging, “but of the acts of men who—who almost stole America.” The Republicans did not have a majority on the Senate Watergate Committee, but they certainly had diversity.
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Committee Counsel Samuel Dash decided to forgo drama for the first day and instead developed the foundations for his case. Dash’s first witness, Robert C. Odle, the former director of administration for CREEP, described his organization and personnel. Odle testified that when he heard about the Watergate burglary, he told his associates that it could never happen at Republican headquarters because James McCord headed its security staff. Following Odle, Bruce Kehrli, the White House Staff Secretary, described its organizational structure and provided a list of persons transferred from the White House to the re-election committee. Baker asked Kehrli if any White House officials had instructed him as to his testimony. “I was encouraged to cooperate,” Kehrli responded.
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McCord offered a mixture of fact and fancy in his testimony, especially when he described his motivation for revealing his story. He passionately affirmed his deep attachment to the CIA. He especially was eager to ridicule the White House attempt in June 1973 to use the Agency to thwart the FBI
investigation, and he was equally anxious to repudiate any hint that the CIA had anything to do with the break-in. McCord would not, even at the cost of his freedom, “turn on the organization” that had employed him for nineteen years. The President’s dismissal of CIA Director Helms convinced him that the White House had succeeded in establishing “political control” over the Agency. McCord compared the grab for control of the CIA and the FBI with Hitler’s hegemony over his intelligence services.

McCord unwittingly provided a foundation for the Administration’s defense when he explained why he thought the break-in was permissible. He noted that the operation had been approved by Mitchell as Attorney General, “the top legal officer of the U.S. Government,” and by Dean, the President’s Counsel. He knew that the Attorney General could approve wiretapping for national-security reasons. Whether this was a national-security operation was “a justification beyond which was known to me,” as McCord put it. He believed that Mitchell had taken the matter “to higher authority and got a final approval from his superior.” He admitted to Gurney that it was a “gray area,” but the involvement of Mitchell and the White House proved decisive for him. “I realized the illegality under normal circumstances,” said McCord, “but I also realized that the Attorney General can make matters legal by his signature on a piece of paper, or his oral authorization of it [
sic
].”

Much of what McCord related on May 18 had earlier been leaked. Perhaps he did his greatest damage when he discussed the pressures on him to remain silent, pressures that he traced to “the very highest levels of the White House.” He cited discussions with Howard Hunt, his own attorney, and John Caulfield. Caulfield, in particular, had relayed several messages, including one that promised McCord executive clemency, care for his family, and a future job. He urged McCord to “get on track” and follow “the game plan.” When asked why he was so long in coming forth, McCord replied: “Because it involved directly the President” and his own friend, Caulfield.
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His “friend” corroborated much of McCord’s story. Caulfield acknowledged that he had lengthy discussions with Dean regarding McCord’s silence and executive clemency. While neither Dean nor Caulfield ever spoke of the President’s having promised executive clemency, both believed that clemency had been considered at “the very highest levels.” But Caulfield testified that on the basis of his three years in the White House he knew “what the relations are,” and in his mind, he “felt that the President probably did know” about the matter.

Caulfield acknowledged that “my loyalties … to the President of the United States” overrode his respect for the law. Ervin gently pressed the point, asking whether Caulfield had been “trying to protect” Nixon by carrying out a mission assigned by the President’s Counsel. “Absolutely correct, Senator,” Caulfield responded. The next witness, Anthony Ulasewicz,
offered further corroboration as he described his role in relaying messages between Caulfield and McCord. Ulasewicz conceded that he had been an accessory to obstructing justice.
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The testimony of McCord and Caulfield revealed that Nixon would have vigorous support within the committee. When McCord offered the first intimation of White House involvement, Baker quickly interrupted to establish that McCord’s belief was based on hearsay evidence that he had picked up from Gordon Liddy. Gurney similarly broke in to note that Caulfield was not working in the White House when he allegedly delivered the messages to McCord.
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Bernard Barker, one of the Cuban burglars, testified on May 24 that he thought the break-in would lead to the liberation of Cuba. He claimed that he looked for documents linking Cuban government contributions to Senators McGovern and Kennedy. By helping his friend “Edwardo”—E. Howard Hunt—who had participated in the 1961 Bay of Pigs operation and was a known friend of Cuban liberation, Barker and his colleagues hoped to persuade the White House to move against the Castro government. Barker painted a picture of a paramilitary operation, in which one never questioned the decisions of superiors and focused on a paramount goal. In that atmosphere, it made no difference whether he burglarized Daniel Ellsberg’s psychiatrist or the headquarters of the Democratic National Committee. But Barker responded rather pathetically to Weicker’s question whether he truly thought national-security matters could justify the break-ins. “I feel it was a proper justification for Ellsberg, and although not in the same degree, I feel it was a justification for Watergate,” Barker said. “But quite frankly, I am just a human being. I get confused about all these things. I do not pretend to have all the answers, sir.”
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The hearings adjourned for nearly two weeks to give the staff more time to prepare its case. But the committee’s brief public doings added to the growing perception that Watergate was something larger than a break-in, larger even than a high-level cover-up. Acting FBI Director William Ruckelshaus spoke to the growing sense of national unease when he addressed the commencement ceremonies at Ohio State University on June 8. Ruckelshaus recognized the declining credibility of previously cherished institutions, from business to religion to education. “To our country’s great misfortune,” he noted, “the ‘Watergate’ has accelerated that process.” Recent events had shaken public confidence in government, that most fragile of institutions. Ruckelshaus emphasized the necessity for maintaining faith that government could and would bring lawbreakers to account. He directly confronted those who wished to dismiss the affair as “politics as usual.” To do so, he warned, only invited “cynical abuse” of the political process. Quoting Ralph Waldo
Emerson, Ruckelshaus concluded that “this time ‘like all times is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it.’ ”
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When the sessions resumed on June 5, the committee focused on the structure of CREEP and the activities of key personnel. Former CREEP treasurer Hugh W. Sloan, Jr., testified that key campaign officials pressured him to cover up cash payments he had made to White House officials and to the Watergate burglars. Sloan admitted giving $250,000 to Herbert Kalmbach, the President’s lawyer, and $350,000 to Gordon Strachan, Haldeman’s aide. Liddy had requested $83,000, ostensibly to finance the activities of his break-in team. Sloan discussed the matter with the campaign finance chairman, Maurice Stans, who told him: “I do not want to know and you do not want to know” why Liddy needed money. Sloan described efforts by Magruder and LaRue to suborn his perjury if he were called to testify in the burglars’ trial and said that Dean told Sloan’s lawyer that Sloan could be a “real hero around here” if he took the Fifth Amendment. Less than a month after the break-in, Sloan resigned, futilely trying to establish some distance between himself and the other conspirators.
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Herbert Porter, the former scheduling director at CREEP, poignantly testified to the tremendous pressures on members of the “team” to “go along.” Central Casting could not have provided a better actor than Porter to play the quintessential Nixon admirer who found himself betrayed and disenchanted. Porter testified that at Magruder’s request, he secured $69,000 in cash from Sloan for Liddy’s use and that at Magruder’s request, again, he had lied to the FBI, the grand jury, and the burglars’ jury as to the purpose of the money.

Baker used the occasion to explore Porter’s motivation and thereby portray him as a misguided, youthful zealot. Why, Baker asked, didn’t Porter try to stop activities when he concluded they were wrong and nonproductive? Porter offered an elementary lesson in group dynamics: “In all honesty,” he replied, “probably because of the fear of group pressure that would ensue, of not being a team player.” Porter then said that he was also moved by personal loyalty “to this man, Richard Nixon,” a man whom he believed he had known longer than any other witness the committee would hear. With obvious emotion, Porter described meeting Nixon when Porter was eight years old, in 1948. The young boy proudly wore Nixon campaign buttons in that election and succeeding ones. His parents worked in Nixon campaigns. “I felt as if I had known this man all my life—not personally, perhaps, but in spirit,” Porter stated. “I felt a deep sense of loyalty to him. I was appealed to on this basis.” Baker would have none of it, claiming that he had known Nixon even longer, and that Porter’s worst disservice to the President was “to abdicate his conscience.” But Porter had the last word, saying that he believed the truth would provide “atonement” for him—regardless of the damage it created for those he so admired.
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