by Radley Balko
Before the 1968 presidential campaign kicked off, the thirty-one-year-old Santarelli had been the minority counsel on the House Judiciary Committee. In the summer of 1967, he and other House Republicans decided to put together a crime bill that would address (a critic might say exploit) public reaction to the rioting and high-profile shootings. “There was an increasing fear of crime,” Santarelli says. “And at the same time you had the rise of the civil rights movement, the riots, the Black Panthers, and this increase in drug use. I think the public started to pick up on the idea that these things were linked, because they were all happening simultaneously.” The Republicans put together a bill with a host of new anticrime, antidrug measures, including a provision to authorize wiretapping and another that weakened the Miranda warning. “Law enforcement is just like any other interest group,” Santarelli says. “They’re always after greater power. There was a sense that they needed to capitalize on these historic events. And I think there was a real willingness on the part of the public to give them whatever powers they sought.”56
There were two other controversial provisions in the original 1968 crime bill. The first would have dramatically changed the bail system—by effectively doing away with it completely. The burden would have been shifted to defendants to show that they didn’t pose a threat to the public or a flight risk. If they could do so, they’d be released. If they couldn’t, they’d be held until trial. Both supporters and detractors dubbed it “preventive detention,” a term that served both sides. For conservatives, it sounded like the sort of rigorous, lock-’em-up policy that would play well in the election. For liberals, “preventive detention” was the sort of term used in a police state. Santarelli stands by the initiative to this day and insists that it was portrayed unfairly. “This was about equity,” he insists. “The risk of flight and the seriousness of the crime are factors in who gets held before trial today, but the primary factor is money. If you can’t make bail, you stay in jail. That’s incredibly unfair. We wanted to take wealth out of the equation.”57
The other provision was the no-knock raid. Despite the fact that the 1964 Rockefeller law was barely used in New York, other states had since passed similar measures. The law-and-order right had run with the concept as a litmus-test tough-on-crime measure. “The exigent circumstances exceptions to [knock-and-announce] had been pretty well established by that time,” Santarelli says. “I didn’t intend for [no-knock] to be a political weapon, but it became one.”
The Republican crime bill passed relatively easily in the summer of 1968, with little opposition from Democrats. The no-knock raid and preventive detention measures didn’t make the bill’s final draft, but both ideas would return, and soon.
AT 6:01 PM ON APRIL 4, 1968, JUST AS MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. stepped out onto a balcony at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee, James Earl Ray fired a single .30-caliber bullet from the Remington rifle he’d perched in the bathroom window of a boardinghouse across the street. King was dead. Within hours, more than one hundred American cities broke out in rioting.
The riots reinforced in white middle-class America the sense that American cities had become zones of lawlessness. And again, it was black people causing all the violence.
In fact, it came at a time when much of that same white, middle-class America began to sense that its values and traditions were under attack from all sides. In his drug war history Smoke and Mirrors, journalist Dan Baum points out that black homicide arrests doubled between 1960 and 1967. At the same time, heroin deaths and overdoses were also on the rise. The hippie, antiwar, and counterculture movements were in full swing. All of this also coincided with the rise of the civil rights movement. Nixon’s Silent Majority began to see a link between drugs, crime, the counterculture, and race.
The movements had some common elements, but there was little evidence that drug use was causing the spike in violent crime. For example, while it was true that heroin junkies were more likely to commit crimes like burglary and theft to support their habit, it wasn’t true that drug use was causing the surge in violent crime. A 1971 study from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs—the government’s antidrug enforcement arm itself—found that illicit drug users were 35 percent less likely to be arrested and charged with homicide than non-drug-users, and less than half as likely to be charged with aggravated assault.58 The rise in pot-smoking among the counterculture was even less threatening, and less of a contributor to the crime rate.
But candidate Nixon and his politically savvy advisers seized on the growing assumption in middle America that all of these things were connected. When Robert Kennedy was assassinated in April 1968, the party used his death to push its crime bill, even though his assassination would prove to have been politically motivated, and Kennedy himself had been opposed to the more controversial parts of the law.59
Months later, at the 1968 Democratic National Convention (DNC), police in Chicago would instigate a riot, then indiscriminately beat liberal protesters. Some of the beatings were aired live by the networks covering the convention. Connecticut senator Abraham Ribicoff was nominating George McGovern to be the party’s candidate during one clash between police and protesters. Ribicoff strayed from the script in his nominating speech to proclaim, “With George McGovern we wouldn’t have Gestapo tactics on the streets of Chicago! With George McGovern, we wouldn’t have a National Guard!” Chicago mayor Richard Daley, who had called up more than twenty thousand police and National Guard troops for the convention, didn’t do much to distance himself from the Nazi smear. Lip readers later alleged he shouted up from the convention floor, “Fuck you, you Jew son of a bitch! You lousy motherfucker! Go home!”60
Nixon’s “ignored Americans” weren’t the least bit troubled by what they saw from Daley and the police. According to a Gallup poll taken a few weeks later, 56 percent of the country supported the crackdown, and just 31 percent were opposed.61 Polls would also show Nixon surging into a comfortable lead over the eventual Democratic nominee, Hubert Humphrey.62
In 1969 Newsweek commissioned its own Gallup poll for a cover story headlined, “The Troubled American: A Special Report on the White Majority.” Its findings: 85 percent of whites thought that black militants were getting off too easily; 65 percent thought that unemployed blacks were more likely to get government aid than unemployed whites; and 66 percent thought that the police needed to be given more power. Nearly half thought that the country had moved backward over the last ten years, and nearly 60 percent thought that things were only going to get worse.63
Crime, race, hippies, antiwar protesters—Nixon strategists needed a way to draw all of the concerns of his Silent Majority together. As Baum explains, they found their answer with drugs.
Nixon looked at “his people” and found them quaking with rage and fear: not at Vietnam, but at the . . . unholy amalgam of stoned hippies, braless women, homicidal Negroes, larcenous junkies, and treasonous priests. Nixon’s genius was in hammering these images together into a rhetorical sword. People steal, burn, and use drugs not because of “root causes” . . . but because they are bad people. They should be punished, not coddled. . . .
Another poll taken just weeks before the election showed the power of television: while a majority of Americans feared the country was headed toward “anarchy,” just 28 percent felt that crime had gone up in their own communities.64 Most Americans felt perfectly safe walking in their own neighborhoods, but assumed most of their fellow citizens didn’t feel the same way. As he slogged through the primaries in early 1968, Nixon was well aware of this. People don’t have to experience crime firsthand to feel threatened by it, he wrote to his old friend and mentor, Dwight Eisenhower. “I have found great audience response to this [law-and-order] theme in all parts of the country, including areas like New Hampshire where there is virtually no race problem and relatively little crime.”65
Shortly before the 1968 election, Nixon called illicit drugs “the modern curse of the youth, just like the plague
s and epidemics of former years. And they are decimating a generation of Americans.”66 He wouldn’t explicitly “declare war” on drugs for another few years. But his rhetoric was already slipping into combat fatigues.
THE LAW-AND-ORDER CAMPAIGN WORKED. NIXON WON THE 1968 election by a comfortable margin in the electoral college. (And when you factor in the votes for George Wallace, Humphrey lost the popular vote by a wide margin.) The Republicans also picked up five seats in the Senate and five in the House. In four years, crime had become the most important issue in the country.
The new administration wasted little time. The White House point man on crime would be Egil Krogh, a twenty-nine-year-old family friend of Nixon aide John Ehrlichman. Though just out of law school, Krogh would make crime policy for the entire country. In December 1968—before Nixon had yet been inaugurated—Krogh and Ehrlichman had a strategy session with Nebraska senator Roman Hruska, the ranking minority member on the Judiciary Committee. Hruska had an idea to assemble a crime bill just for the District of Columbia. Congress had jurisdiction over the city, making it an ideal spot to test out new ideas without worrying about encroaching on the traditional federalist approach to crime. DC at the time wasn’t any more dangerous than other large cities. But less than a year had gone by since the riots after the death of Martin Luther King, and there was at least the perception that the city was uniquely dangerous, especially for muggings and robberies. At the top of Hruska’s wish list for DC were the preventive detention and no-knock raid provisions that had been cut out of the crime bill passed six months earlier.67
Krogh took Hruska’s idea to John Mitchell, Nixon’s nominee for attorney general. Mitchell had run Nixon’s law-and-order-themed campaign, so it was natural for the president-elect to select his good friend to run the Justice Department. A former semipro hockey player, Mitchell had commanded a PT boat during World War II. (Coincidentally, his lieutenant was John F. Kennedy.) After the war he became a successful, self-made municipal bond lawyer. Mitchell was exposed to the power of law-and-order issues while serving as a bond counsel for the Rockefeller administration in New York. He and Nixon became friends when their law firms merged in 1967. John Mitchell would be the public face of Nixon’s crime policy.68
The new administration held two big strategy sessions on crime, one just before Nixon took office and another shortly after his inauguration. Also attending these meetings, in addition to Krogh, were Santarelli (soon to be an aide to Mitchell), GOP chief house counsel John Dean, Ehrlichman, and future senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan, then a domestic policy adviser. Nixon himself sat in on the initial meeting.69 The first order of business was to figure out which crimes to target. Mitchell made clear in both meetings that the crimes that seemed to most worry the public—armed robbery and burglary—weren’t the purview of the federal government. Moreover, there was no political benefit to tackling those crimes. Even if the administration’s policies worked, local law enforcement would get most of the credit.70
They decided that the high-profile target of the new administration’s promised anticrime effort would be drug control. Drug use, they thought, was the common denominator among the groups—low-income blacks, the counterculture, and the antiwar movement—against whom Nixon had unified “ignored America.” Because the drug trade crossed both state and international borders, there were also no federalism issues. So it was decided that the new Nixon administration would push for massive budget increases for agencies like BNDD and LEAA. They would ask for a thousand new police officers for DC—an idea that, oddly enough, came from Washington Post publisher Katharine Graham in a personal plea to Ehrlichman. And of course, they’d demand no-knock and preventive detention for federal drug agents, just as they would for police in Washington, DC.71
The Nixonites mulled a number of other constitutionally dubious drug war proposals in addition to the preventive detention and no-knock proposals. They wanted to authorize the use of “loose search warrants.” These would have allowed police to apply for a warrant for contraband, then search multiple properties to find it. The idea came precipitously close to a writ of assistance, but without the restrictions on nighttime service and knock-and-announce. Combined with the no-knock provision, it would have essentially authorized police to kick down the doors of entire neighborhoods with a single warrant.72 Loose warrants didn’t make the final crime bill, but the idea was really only about ten years ahead of its time. Starting in the 1980s, police would conduct raids of entire city blocks, housing complexes, and neighborhoods. The Nixon administration also wanted to strip away attorney-client privilege, as well as the privilege afforded to conversations with priests and doctors, and to expand wiretapping authority. They even came up with an early precursor to California’s eventual “three strikes and you’re out” law.73
No one had any idea if these policies would work, but in a way it didn’t matter. The strategy was as much about symbolism and making the right enemies as it was about effectiveness.74 There was much discussion over whether the policies sounded harsh enough or sounded too harsh. There was at least some discussion over whether they would actually work. But there was very little internal discussion about whether the policies were constitutional, whether they were susceptible to abuse, whether they would have unintended consequences, or what impact they might have on the communities they’d be enforced against.
On July 14, 1969, Nixon gave his first major address to Congress to outline his antidrug program. He declared drugs a “national threat.” He set the tone for a much more aggressive, confrontational federal drug fight. He described the “inhumanity” of drug pushers, laying groundwork for the sort of dehumanizing rhetoric that would be used for years to come to reduce drug users and drug dealers to an enemy to be destroyed. “Society has few judgments too severe, few penalties too harsh for the men who make their livelihood in the narcotics traffic,” he said. To that end, he proposed massive budget increases for BNDD and asked for money to hire scores of new federal narcotics officers. He called for the creation of “special forces” within the agency that “will have the capacity to reave quickly into any area in which intelligence indicates major criminal enterprises are engaged in the narcotics traffic.” Borrowing more military terminology, he asked that Congress make funding for the units available soon so that they could “fully deploy” by 1971.75
Since Nixon had campaigned and staked his reelection hopes on reducing crime, and since crime policy and police procedures were primarily local issues, he had a strong interest in seeing that the states adopted his plan. That was one reason for expanding the LEAA. Local police agencies were likely to be more receptive when they got free stuff in exchange for their cooperation. He also came up with a piece of model legislation based on his federal bills—no-knock, preventive detention, wiretapping, and so on—that state legislatures could pass to show they were allies in the national fight. He told Congress that he had instructed his Justice Department to host a number of drug policy conferences across the country, where federal and local narcotics officers could exchange information and tactics.76 Nixon also addressed the demand side with a number of rehabilitation and treatment programs. (The next year the administration would even fund a methadone program in Washington, DC, run by addiction specialist Robert DuPont.77)
In a few areas, Nixon could move immediately, without waiting for money or authorization from Congress. One such area was border enforcement. On September 21, 1969, the Nixon administration launched Operation Intercept, under the direction of G. Gordon Liddy. Every vehicle crossing into the United States was to be thoroughly searched by US Customs agents. The agents were told to search each car for a minimum of three minutes, including trunks, glove compartments, bags, and underneath seats.
For all practical purposes, the operation shut down the border. The resulting lines slowed trade to a crawl. It was an extreme, hostile policy, the sort normally implemented by countries in times of war. It proved so unpopular on both sides of the border that Nixon rolled
it back two weeks after it began. But the effort sent a signal to federal, state, and local law enforcement, in Customs and elsewhere, that marijuana was as serious a threat to US interests as spies, revolutionary infiltrators, and enemy combatants—the sorts of threats that would normally move the government to such an extreme crackdown at the border.
ON OCTOBER 3, 1969, SEVEN NARCOTICS AGENTS STORMED apartments B and D at 8031 Comstock Avenue in Whittier, California, in a predawn, no-knock raid. Two officers were from the California State Bureau of Narcotics, four were from the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, and the last was Det. Sgt. Frank Sweeney, a police officer from the tiny nearby town of Vernon. In apartment B, fifty-year-old Florence Mehan was asleep with her twelve-year-old daughter Susan.
“I saw three men,” Mehan told the Los Angeles Times. “One of them grabbed me by the arm. I screamed and I ran out. I thought they were going to attack me.” Susan said, “They just grabbed Mommy and said they had a search warrant to look for marijuana.”
The officers had raided the wrong apartment. Their search warrant was for apartments B and D at 8033 Comstock Avenue. Those apartments were both on the second floor.
Mehan’s other daughter, Linda, who was twenty-three, lived on the second floor—though not in either of the targeted apartments—along with her husband, twenty-two-year-old Heyward Dyer and their twenty-two-month-old son Francis. Heyward Dyer awoke to the screaming and commotion from the mistaken raid in his mother-in-law’s apartment, went downstairs to investigate, and was confronted by several police officer guns aimed in his direction.
The narcotics team eventually realized that they had raided the wrong apartment. They immediately left to raid apartments B and D on the second floor. In the meantime, Linda Dyer—seven months pregnant at the time—was also awakened by the noise. She went downstairs with Francis to check on her mother and sister. At some point she handed the baby to her husband.