The Wars of Watergate (96 page)

The White House and the committee repeatedly clashed over the President’s claims to executive privilege and the House’s constitutional authorization for “the sole power to impeach.” What limits could Nixon impose on the inquiry? More than a century earlier, President James K. Polk had promised that the House would receive “all the archives, public or private” and would have “every facility in the power of the Executive afforded them” if the House believed “that there had been malversation in office.” Considerations of confidentiality and national security did, however, constitute a fair qualification on Polk’s generosity. In that regard, the committee had to offer Richard Nixon some running room on his claims of executive privilege and give some credence to his fear that “the institution of the Presidency itself would be fatally compromised.” But the President’s problem was that for every such claim he made, he reinforced assumptions that he was an obstructionist and had something to hide.
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The committee eventually voted 20–18 to authorize Rodino to write Nixon, informing him that he had failed to comply with the subpoena of April 11. Republican Cohen broke ranks; otherwise the vote followed straight party lines. But that partisanship masked some growing disquiet among Republicans and conservative southerners. Just prior to the vote, Cohen proposed a more conciliatory letter than the Democrats preferred, renewing a plea for the President’s cooperation. The Democrats and Nixon’s hard-line supporters
opposed Cohen’s motion, but he picked up eleven votes, including those of Democrats Flowers and Mann and Republicans Railsback, Fish, and Butler. It was a moment that foreshadowed future developments.
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The committee moved to executive session on May 9, and Doar began his presentation of the “Statement of Information.” During his readings, Doar complained about the inaccuracies his staff had discovered in the few available transcripts of tapes. He also objected to the insertion of the transcripts’ recurrent phrase, “Material unrelated to Presidential action deleted.” “I do not know what that word or those words mean,” Doar told the members; “I do not know what the test is. I do not know whether it is inaction that is covered, [or] is knowledge covered, [or] is lack of knowledge covered.” Doar’s position increased demands for renewed pressure on the White House. At the May 30 meeting, Flowers offered a draft of a letter informing the President that the committee considered his acts a “grave matter”; more ominously, the letter warned Nixon that his actions required members to draw a “negative inference,” and that his refusal to cooperate might itself constitute a ground for impeachment. Flowers’s view reflected the maturation of his suspicions at the time of Cox’s dismissal that President Nixon had something to hide. His motion passed overwhelmingly, 28–10.

A coalition of the President’s defenders and wavering committee members suggested that the courts decide whether Nixon had complied with the committee’s subpoena. “[I]t is imperative that we not act alone,” Froehlich told the Chairman. Froehlich thought that the House might find itself in the position of having to vote impeachment on what he called “nonsubstantive,” or procedural, grounds, and he apparently believed that it might be easier to cloak the House’s action with judicial support. McClory, as well as Doar and Jenner, however, successfully argued the impropriety of judicial involvement in the responsibilities of the House. Waldie, perhaps the President’s most outspoken opponent, then proposed that the House order its Sergeant-at-Arms to summon Nixon before the House and show cause why he should not be held in contempt. Republicans objected, and Rodino sustained them. But more ominous words came from staunch Nixon loyalists. When the committee issued the subpoena in March that the White House denounced as a “fishing expedition,” Hutchinson thought the subpoena was “not excessive and it’s right on target.” For Hutchinson, that was equivalent to a denunciation of the President. Vice President Ford later claimed he told Nixon in May that he could no longer support the stonewalling and that the House had a right to the information. “We’re handling it this way because we think we’re right,” the President told Ford.
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Publicly, the Vice President maintained his steadfast support of Nixon.

Meanwhile, numerous members had become restless with Doar’s presentation of the evidence. The information books covered a variety of subjects, with the cover-up being the largest and most important, yet they seemed
aimless. The materials were presented chronologically; thus, if numerous calls or conversations occurred in a three-day period, they were set down chronologically. But they related to multiple subjects, and the chronology had to be keyed to the different subjects. Doar’s presentation did not attempt to do that. About July 1, several members turned to Richard Cates and other staff members for succinct summaries of the evidence and some clues as to the reasonable conclusions that could be drawn from it. Cates notified the entire committee of his intention to analyze the material. The first two meetings dedicated to that task lasted three hours each, with only Democratic members in attendance, although some Republican staff workers appeared. Essentially, Cates disentangled the material from its rigid chronological setting to offer a coherent theory of presidential involvement in the cover-up. Following this, Cates held smaller breakfast meetings for a variety of Republicans and Southern Democrats, some hitherto identified as Nixon loyalists. Perhaps his most important meetings occurred during the week of July 12, when Cates met exclusively with a group of undecided Republicans. Hamilton Fish had initiated these meetings, but again, representatives of different factions attended.

Fish later testified that Cates, “a highly trained trial lawyer who had done exhaustive work,” gave them “a very sensible, rational theory.” Fish found it “convincing”; his colleague, William Cohen, similarly was “very impressed” with Cates’s briefings. Flowers, the Southern conservative, found Cates always available, always helpful, and always “the facts man”—truly, a lawyer’s lawyer.
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Material began to leak from the committee, much to the consternation of the President and his supporters, but the leaks made little difference, since the major evidence—the tape transcripts—had become a matter of public record. That being the case, members concerned with the appearances of justice and fairness—members from both sides, it must be remembered—had a valid objection to the continuance of executive sessions.

St. Clair requested that the House committee hearings be open and televised, claiming that the selective leaks of evidence unfairly damaged the President. But Republican staff members sensed a shrewder reason. St. Clair himself had seen how passively the members listened to Doar, their boredom apparent to all. A television spectacle could either discredit the committee or make the members more active, questioning Doar incessantly and dragging the process on indefinitely. The White House now understood that time was on its side and could create a backlash in its favor, as the nation might grow bored with the inquiry. Reluctantly, committee Republicans opposed St. Clair’s move. With elections only months away, they had no interest in prolonging the work. McClory reported to an ailing Hutchinson that the inquiry was proceeding “in a most satisfactory manner.”
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As Doar’s presentation wound down, the questions became more desultory, more
obviously partisan. For his part, Rodino persistently restricted the members’ questions and comments to keep the proceedings moving. Finally, on June 21, Doar concluded his presentation of the evidence, six weeks and eighteen closed sessions after he had started.

News releases and deliberate leaks from the committee generated a crescendo of charges and implications of presidential wrongdoing. The President’s popularity continued to plunge. In June and early July, Nixon journeyed to the Mideast, traveling where no American President had before, and then to the Soviet Union for another summit. The televised images of the President riding by train through Egypt, cheered by enthusiastic crowds; continuing on to the long-forbidden and malevolent Syria, leader of the so-called radical bloc of Arab states; receiving a warm, emotional reception in Israel; and finally basking in the glow of an apparently enhanced détente with the Soviets, contrasted jarringly with the steady revelations regarding his behavior at home. Cynics saw Nixon’s foreign activities as an attempt to distract attention from Watergate, of course; and lay analysts had a field day when the President’s physician revealed that Nixon had suffered from phlebitis and a blood clot during the Mideast journey.

While Nixon regarded his trips as an attempt to “restore some respect for the office as well as the man,” he had few illusions about their effectiveness in distracting attention from the “merciless onslaught” besieging him. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, however, dramatically sought to mark Watergate’s corrosive effects on foreign policy when he threatened to resign because of a
New York Times
editorial charging that he had lied to congressional investigators about his role in authorizing wiretaps of his aides. In a stopover in Salzburg, Austria, on June 11, Kissinger said he would not have his “public honor” discussed. With his credibility in question, he found it impossible to conduct foreign policy. If the matter were not cleared up, he warned, “I will resign.” The President apparently dismissed Kissinger’s predicament as an amusing ploy. “A
Times
editorial is not a charge,” he told Haig. He nevertheless assured Kissinger of his support. He also reinforced himself during the journey to the Mideast, convinced that his “terrible battering” over Watergate was “really pygmy-sized” compared to what he had done for world peace.
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The President’s journey came on the heels of a cease-fire arrangement between Israel and Syria. The Gallup poll showed a three-point rise in Nixon’s approval rating, and by the end of June, support for his removal had declined from 48 to 44 percent of polled respondents, with 41 percent opposing such action.

The Mideast visit also rekindled some optimism in Nixon. Banking on the euphoria of the trip, the President and his supporters believed that a combination
of Republicans and Southern Democrats could stave off impeachment in the House. Haldeman and Haig both conveyed a buoyant confidence to the President. Joe Waggoner (D-LA), a longtime congressional supporter, told Nixon he would not be impeached as long as the Supreme Court did not hold him in contempt. According to Nixon’s memoirs, his family’s confrontations with the media over Watergate troubled him most. He ignored the fact, however, that his attempts to use his family in his defense put them at risk.
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At the end of June, Nixon flew to Moscow to meet with Leonid Brezhnev. Criticism from conservatives in both parties mounted, fearful as they were that the President would fail to bargain effectively because of his political weakness, even desperation. Critics deplored his willingness to engage in further arms agreements with the Soviets and also prodded him to press Moscow for the release of Soviet Jews who wished to emigrate. Secretary of Defense James Schlesinger insulted the President at a National Security Council meeting, when he proposed a SALT agreement that assured overwhelming American nuclear superiority.

The effect of Watergate on other affairs of state is elusive; even the President had his moments of confusion. At one point he said that his domestic problems severely damaged his ability “to defuse, or at least to circumvent” the opponents of détente. Yet at other times he readily denied the effects of Watergate and thought that limiting détente might serve his domestic political needs. Nixon did not secure any agreement on offensive nuclear weapons, but he carefully refrained from blaming that on Watergate. “I think that it came out about right,” he remembered. It was just as well that we had not reached any agreement on nuclear weapons, he wrote, because an agreement would invite opposition from “some of our best friends prior to the impeachment vote.”

By the time Nixon returned from the Soviet Union on July 4, he realized that he had serious problems in the House of Representatives. The President discounted his aides’ optimism. He canceled a speech that would have summarized the development of détente. Was Nixon afraid of alienating his right-wing supporters? Certainly, his well-honed political instincts told him that “on some subsurface level, the political tide was flowing fast, and flowing against me.”
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James St. Clair finally appeared before the House Judiciary Committee on behalf of the President in late June. Members desperately trying to find a way to support the President had eagerly anticipated the lawyer’s appearance. Flowers expected St. Clair to contrast sharply with the tedious performances of Doar and Jenner, and Cohen thought that St. Clair opened with a skillful presentation. But both quickly realized that St. Clair made a
damning mistake in his first appearance when he introduced a partial tape transcript that the committee long had sought without success. The tape had been subpoenaed, but the President had not complied. Outraged, Cohen thought that in one brief moment St. Clair had totally nullified his earlier effectiveness. Butler was equally annoyed. He thought that St. Clair had been “trifling with us. When he has the things in his safe and just dribbles them out,… it’s just unprofessional.” Flowers deplored the tactic but acknowledged that St. Clair was handicapped by lack of cooperation from the White House. The President’s most ardent liberal antagonists, such as Waldie and Elizabeth Holtzman, openly assailed St. Clair. A broader array of Democrats argued that his presentation had gone beyond the factual and had provided conclusions, contrary to the committee’s rules.

From another perspective, Richard Cates thought that St. Clair had failed to grasp what may have been the last opportunity to save the President. In no way did St. Clair appeal to sympathy or humanity in pleading Nixon’s cause, nor did he attempt to elicit any responses of compassion and understanding—responses that might have kindled latent support for the President. St. Clair’s reputation for “all case and no cause” haunted him. Overall, among committee members, especially Republicans, the feeling was that he had offered many conclusions, but little in the way of exculpatory evidence.
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