After the Fall

by Kasey S. Pipes

  As Nixon was working on the memoirs, he also began to make his first public appearances. That, too, proved to be a difficult task. “I don’t like for people to come up and say they are sorry and I also don’t want to run into unpleasant situations where people come up and snarl around.” But he knew that if he wanted to reestablish his legacy, he would have to engage the public again. Writing the book served as one way to do that, but he also needed to meet people face to face.

  “That is perhaps what we were made for,” he said, “to be able to take punishment beyond what anybody in this office has ever had before—particularly after leaving office. This is a test of character and we must not fail the test.”15

  Nixon began making unannounced appearances at Dodgers and Angels games. And he ate at his favorite Tex-Mex restaurant, El Adobe, in San Juan Capistrano. But these were modest steps compared to the leap he took in early 1976 when he relived his greatest moment as president by traveling to China, where a large contingent of reporters watched him retrace the steps of his famous 1972 visit.16

  To Nixon, it made perfect sense. He was still regarded as a master strategist on the foreign stage. His opening of the door to China continued to impress four years after it had occurred. And the Chinese were eager to welcome the former president back.

  The road back to China began in November 1975 when David and Julie Eisenhower made their own trip and met with Chairman Mao Zedong. At that time, the chairman extended an invitation for Julie’s father to visit. “When your father comes,” he said, “I will be waiting for him.”17

  But Nixon had to tread carefully. It would be his first big step back into the public eye. And he had to be especially cautious with President Ford facing stiff opposition in the upcoming Republican presidential primaries. Governor Ronald Reagan had formally announced he would challenge Ford for the Republican nomination, and the Ford White House was rightly concerned. Still, Nixon believed that with Ford having already gone to China in November, he could now justify going himself. He wasn’t interfering with the president and he wasn’t going ahead of him. He knew, though, that the Ford White House would likely not be wild about the idea of his visit.

  As a result, Nixon played coy. Privately, he made arrangements to fly out on February 20. Publicly, he said nothing. In January of 1976, he met with William Gulley, the chief of White House military affairs who was responsible for handling former presidents. Gulley had come to Annenberg’s Sunnylands to deliver a regular briefing to the former president. But soon the former president decided to brief Gulley.

  “I’m going to China,” Nixon said quietly. And then added, “Don’t breathe a word to a soul.” Gulley overcame his momentary shock to ask what impact this trip would have for the president. Nixon brushed off Gulley’s concerns and predicted that the upcoming New Hampshire primary would go Ford’s way.

  Gulley could not in good conscience honor Nixon’s request to stay quiet. He immediately notified National Security Advisor Brent Scowcroft. But Scowcroft kept a close hold on the information—so close that when Secretary of State Henry Kissinger arrived at La Casa Pacifica on February 2, he didn’t know of Nixon’s plans. And Nixon did not divulge them to him.18

  The public announcement of the trip came not from Nixon, but from China. On February 5, Han Hsu, the Chinese Liaison Office’s deputy, gave the White House an advance copy of the press release announcing the news. Later that day, the Chinese government formally issued the release.

  President Ford, a man not easily angered, was overcome with rage. He held his emotions in check as he called the former president from the Oval Office. Ford took the high road and wished Nixon well on the trip. If he had hoped the former president might ask for Ford’s blessing, he was mistaken. Nixon talked at length about how important China was. Nothing was said about the timing of the trip or about how this might affect Ford’s reelection prospects.

  But once the Chinese government made the announcement, negative reactions began pouring in. If Nixon had hoped that the lingering emotions over Watergate had tapered off, he soon found that they had not.

  In the Senate, Barry Goldwater suggested angrily that Nixon might extend his stay in China indefinitely: “If he wants to do this country a favor he might stay over there.” And conservative patriarch William F. Buckley wrote that people would be so enraged that it would “aggravate sentiments of injustice that can only be exercised at the expense of Gerald Ford.”19

  Not all of the criticism was leveled in public. “You told me that President Nixon is acting without portfolio,” Maine governor James Longley wrote to Ford. “If such is the case, the public deserves to know.” But Ford remained quiet.

  Not everyone criticized the move. Former Nixon speechwriter Bill Safire, now writing a column for the New York Times, interviewed his former boss for a column in which Nixon claimed he was going to China because the relationship begun in 1972 was now “more important” than when he traveled there as president.

  Nixon arrived in Peking on February 20, 1976. He had flown on a Boeing 707 that the Chinese government had sent for him. Pat joined her husband on the trip, as did Jack Brennan and several support staff and Secret Service agents. It was a much more subdued affair than the official 1972 trip, but the media still couldn’t get enough of it. Here was Nixon finally back in the public eye at the scene of his greatest triumph.

  The next day, Nixon was hosted at a state dinner at the Great Hall of the People. The former president rose to make a toast. Wearing a dark suit and looking very much like he had four years earlier, Nixon spoke of how “the future of all the people in this world depends on the reliability and the capability and the determination of our two nations to work together. . . .” It was a succinct summary of what Nixon believed and what he had tried to do as president: bring the U.S. closer to China and pull China away from the Soviets.20

  Still, Nixon’s return trip to China also included reminders that China was still a totalitarian state. After Nixon visited with Chairman Mao the next day, he toured Tiananmen Square and shook hands with ordinary Chinese citizens. When Nixon saw a man holding a young child, he asked him what he wanted the child to grow up to be.

  “Whatever the party decides,” the man answered grimly.

  Nixon met with university students and with new premier Hua Kuo-fend and former minister Chiao Kuan-hua. At a dinner to wrap up the trip, Nixon and Hua both spoke. Hua spoke assertively about the “rapid” expansion of the Soviet Union. Nixon suggested that the relationship between the U.S. and China must continue to evolve: “We shall not fail. We must not fail, because of the young people we saw at the university today.” He added that it would be naïve to think that “the mere act of signing a statement of principle or diplomatic conference will bring lasting peace.”21

  After nine days, Nixon was exhausted but exhilarated. The trip had been everything he had wanted it to be. He had not been forgotten in China. Nor in America, for that matter. American newspapers covered the trip extensively. The New York Times keyed in on Nixon’s closing remarks about how “signing a statement” would not “bring lasting peace,” calling the ex-president’s words “implicit criticism of President Ford and Secretary of State Kissinger” for their roles in the Helsinki talks the year before.

  For a man who had grown accustomed to endless negative press coverage, to be taken seriously by the paper of record on a matter of policy represented an important step forward on the long road back.

  * * *

  Back home in San Clemente, Nixon basked in the glow of his first foray into the world after Watergate. He was delighted when Henry Kissinger called and asked if he would report back to the White House on his trip.

  Yet reality soon set in. Most pressing of all, financial challenges still loomed over Nixon. After he had paid off his medical bills in 1975, he had had only five hundred dollars in his bank account. The advance money from the book publisher was spent on paying staff salaries. Clearly he needed to find more money, and he needed to d
o it quickly.

  “He would sit there figuring away on his yellow pads,” Khachigian would remember, “even when the sums just couldn’t be made to add up, he would end up by saying, ‘Oh, well, it will work out.’ ”22

  As Nixon continued to construct his book detailing the events of his life and presidency, another book was making all the news in Washington.

  The Final Days had been written by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, the two reporters most closely associated with the coverage of Watergate. The book took a similar tack as their reporting of the scandal in the Washington Post. Nixon was portrayed as overly emotional, hysterical, and out of control in his last days as president. Though he never read the book, he did read excerpts. And they enraged him. The former president was particularly irked by the book’s portrayal of Pat as a drunk.

  “The nebulous, weak figure of The Final Days is not my mother,” Julie Eisenhower—no doubt speaking for her father—told the New York Times. Though Nixon considered suing for libel, Bob Finch convinced him it would be a tough case to win.

  Instead, Nixon returned to writing his own description of events to set the record straight. He worked day and night through the spring of 1976. One afternoon in July of that year, he and Pat relaxed in the patio area at La Casa Pacifica. Despite her husband’s outrage over the book, on this particular day Pat had been reading reading The Final Days. And she had learned even worse news: her husband would be disbarred. Nixon himself had offered to resign from the New York State Bar. But rather than accept his resignation, the bar had chosen to publicly disbar him.

  The impact of the book and the disbarment news hit Pat hard. The years of stress from being in the public light and the months of anguish over the loss of the presidency finally caught up with her. After sitting in the sun on the patio that afternoon, she felt suddenly sick, put down the book, and quickly returned to the house. David and Julie were in town on vacation and they were all supposed to meet at the pool later that afternoon. Pat emerged for the swim but did little more than sit on a step in the shallow end. Later, she managed to attend the dinner that Julie had prepared. “She said little and ate only a few bites,” Julie remembered.23

  She retired to bed. In the morning, she stumbled her way into the kitchen and struggled to open a new can of coffee. When Nixon arrived in the kitchen, he noticed his wife slurring her words.

  After excusing himself to go to the office, Nixon went to the bedroom where Julie and David were staying. “I think your mommy’s had a stroke,” he told his daughter. He immediately called Dr. Lungren, who in the interest of time recommended that a doctor from nearby Camp Pendleton come visit. The military doctor took her blood pressure and found that it was 175 over 100.

  Not long after, Pat Nixon arrived via ambulance at Long Beach Memorial Hospital. There the diagnosis was quick: she had suffered a stroke.

  In the eighteen months since the resignation, Pat had been a constant source of strength to her husband.

  “Dick,” she often told him, “I don’t know how you keep going.”

  “I get up in the morning just to confound my enemies,” he once replied.

  But now, back in Long Beach Memorial Hospital, the roles were reversed. Nixon found himself offering words of support.

  He would come visit her every day in the hospital. He would kiss her and then grab her hand, saying, “Well, let me feel your grip.” Often he would sit in the chair next to her bed and read telegrams that had come in from people around the country wishing her a speedy recovery. Often, Julie remembered, she seemed tired after just fifteen minutes of visiting.24

  That’s not surprising, given that the doctors had said publicly that “she may not walk normally” again. But Pat proved tougher than the stroke. After weeks of therapy at the hospital, she was well enough to return home. She had home health care available to her. But a long road still lay ahead of her.

  One day while she was reclining again on the patio where she had first suffered the stroke weeks before, Pat spoke of the pain the last few years had caused her. With her husband, Julie, and David sitting near her, she spoke of the scandal that had brought down Nixon.

  “Watergate is the only crisis that ever got me down,” she said. “I guess it did because every day there were more ugly stories and there still are. It is just constant.” Then she added sadly, “And I know I will never live to see the vindication.”

  Looking over at her husband, she added, “I don’t think there’s a man living who has more noble qualities, who is as kind and thoughtful and unselfish. He’s always thinking about the country and not himself. Well, there just isn’t anything small about him in any way.”25

  Watergate had taken a toll on Pat—emotionally, mentally, and now physically. But it never took a toll on her relationship with her husband. She remained his constant supporter.

  * * *

  As Pat continued recuperating at home, the presidential election season was in full bloom. The Nixons watched the campaign closely, and it was not lost on them that President Ford referred often to the last “two and a half years” and not to the last eight. Ford needed distance from Nixon. And while the Nixon family undoubtedly understood that, it still stung. It felt like Nixon’s presidency was being erased from history.

  Nixon had stayed quiet through the GOP primaries. President Ford faced a formidable opponent in former California governor Ronald Reagan. Reagan ran to Ford’s right and sharply criticized the détente policies of “Dr. Kissinger and Mr. Ford.” Of course, these were largely the same policies as Nixon’s. Yet Nixon seemed to take little offense. Perhaps his political antenna picked up on the deep connection Reagan was making with conservative voters. Even if he didn’t win the nomination, Reagan could win by losing. If the Democrats won in November, Reagan, assuming his health would hold up at his age, could take over the party in 1980.

  In the end, Ford barely secured the nomination. But at the convention in Kansas City, Reagan stirred the crowd with his bold oratory, demanding that the GOP stand for “bold colors,” not “pale pastels.” But Reagan’s time would have to wait. The immediate question was who Ford’s vice presidential nominee would be. And here Nixon had definite opinions. His first choice was John Connally, who had served both as governor of Texas and as Nixon’s treasury secretary. Nixon personally called delegates at the Republican convention in Kansas City to lobby for Connally. When that failed, Nixon tried calling Ford, but he was unable to speak with him.

  In the end, Ford chose Kansas senator Robert Dole, a war hero who had been wounded in Europe at the end of World War II. Nixon knew and respected Dole. In fact, as chairman of the RNC in 1974, Dole had been loyal to Nixon. Interestingly, at that time Dole represented the conservative wing of the party; indeed, Reagan had given his approval to Dole’s placement on the ticket. Nixon, perhaps anticipating a more conservative era looming for the party, did not object. In fact, ever the political strategist, he only worried about Dole’s public persona. Nixon had struggled with his own challenges with his own personality in the television era; he knew how hard it was for an introverted person to come across as warm and engaging on television.

  “He’s able,” he said of Dole, “but his personality is abrasive as hell.” Then, correctly anticipating what would become years of Dole's gaffes on multiple presidential campaigns, Nixon warned, “he’s going to cause a helluva lot of problems with the press. They better get somebody good to handle him, someone who can control him, limit his appearances to select audiences, or this guy’s going to alienate a helluva lot of people.”26

  After the convention, when Gulley came from the White House for his usual briefing, Nixon said directly, “We know who our guy is. Now let’s get to work.”

  Nixon believed the race was still winnable for Ford. But there was work to be done. Public opinion polls showed the president trailing the Democratic nominee, Georgia governor Jimmy Carter, by double digits. But Nixon told Gulley not to worry about the polls; the race would tighten as it got cl
oser to November.

  Nixon also told Gulley that he would send advice through Gulley and that he wanted it delivered directly to Richard “Dick” Cheney, who served as Ford’s chief of staff. The former president’s advice was predictably pragmatic, shrewd, and brutally honest.

  “Don’t worry about what you say about Nixon,” he wrote in one piece of advice. “Murder me. I understand.”

  The gist of Nixon’s strategy was to make the election a referendum on Carter, not on Ford. This was long before political strategists professionalized the art of the incumbent attacking his opponent rather than defending his own record. In 1976, the conventional wisdom was that an election should be focused on the incumbent.

  Nixon, ahead of his time, urged Ford to go on the offensive and make the election about Carter.

  “Carter scares the hell out of me,” he told Gulley. “Scare the hell out of the American people about Carter’s foreign policies. Bear down on it. He’ll come close to making us a number two power.”27

  The Ford team, for its part, seemed eager to take the advice, if not to give credit to the source. Ford and his surrogates—most notable vice presidential candidate Bob Dole—went after Carter. And with each new poll that emerged that fall, the gap between the candidates narrowed, until it was too close to call heading into Election Day.

  In the end, Carter won a narrow victory. Pundits were quick to point to Ford’s pardon of Nixon as factor that had made the difference. Even Nixon agreed, to a certain extent. He expressed his sadness over Ford’s fate to his daughter Julie, telling her that he bore “a great sense of responsibility for Ford’s loss.”

  The Nixon political era had officially ended. A new Democratic administration would take over in January. And what would become of the remnants of the Republican Party? No one knew for sure. But Nixon had demonstrated in the advice and counsel he offered privately during the 1976 election that he still had one of the sharpest political minds around. Now, without a direct line to the White House anymore, Nixon would have to be resourceful about when and where he should offer his advice, and to whom. But if nothing else, he had proven to himself that he still had something to offer to the party and the country.