by Bob Woodward
Thieu finally went along and the Paris peace treaty was signed January 27, 1973, but the war did not end until April 1975 when the United States evacuated all its forces.
21
* * *
Watergate and Vietnam will be Nixon’s chief legacies. There was, however, another side to Nixon. Why does he retain a small, though diminishing number of admirers? The answer, I think, is his mind. It was remarkable in many ways. He had the gift, misused so unfortunately in Watergate and Vietnam, of a strategic mind—the capacity to lay out general principles, and also the small and large steps needed to achieve a big goal. He faltered tragically in his chief legacies. But he was capable of determining where he wanted to be in a year or two and taking the actions to get there.
The Butterfield files contain some memos and dictations from Nixon that illustrate this. Extreme critics of Nixon tend to discount this side but it existed. He knew how to mobilize others, especially when it was in his political interest. This applies, most dramatically, to 1972 when he was campaigning for reelection. His maneuvers were often tinged with duplicity and ardent self-promotion. They also show his single-mindedness and his capacity to wring the maximum political advantage out of a situation. He possessed the capacity to plot. It helps explain how he rose to the presidency, and once in the White House achieved some genuine successes in foreign and domestic policy. He also knew how to appeal to the ego of others, and to use humor.
On April 8, 1972, Nixon dictated a four-page memo to John Ehrlichman, then his chief domestic adviser. With the reelection campaign in full swing, Nixon knew that the main job was no longer governing but selling his case for reelection.
“Over the past week-end I have had some opportunity to evaluate the activities we will be engaging in for the next seven months before the election. I have concluded that, at this point, your assignment should be substantially changed in substance while remaining the same insofar as title and format are concerned. In essence I want you to become the man in charge of selling our domestic programs and answering attacks on them, rather than the man in charge of developing these programs, and riding herd on them within the Administration to see that everybody follows the line in executing them.”
Ehrlichman was to become the campaign manager for Nixon’s domestic programs but Nixon didn’t want to say so since “title and format” would not change.
“You have handled the development of the programs with superb organizational ability and substantively have seen to it that they have come out along the lines of my own thinking.”
It may not be possible for a presidential aide to receive greater praise.
“This task, however, is now completed and what remains to be done—modification, implementation, etc.—can be done by others, whom I will mention in a moment in this memorandum. They may not be able to do the job you have been doing quite as well as you are doing it, but that will not matter much. What is important is that you will be released to do something that they either cannot do at all or which you can do far better—selling the programs personally and through directing others.”
Nixon suggested that Ehrlichman get George Shultz, then the director of the Office of Management and Budget (OMB), to bring to life “the management side of OMB which has been somewhat dormant.” He suggested that Ehrlichman stay out of “conflicts” between cabinet officers so he could focus on selling.
“In any event, the players who will take your old assignments will be a matter for you to decide,” Nixon continued. “I am simply suggesting the line of my thinking and will abide by any recommendations you make and any decisions you make.”
Nixon was expressing total trust.
The issues to address included busing, taxes, drug abuse and the high cost of living, he said. “As I run down these items, I know that the automatic reaction of the White House staff will be—why doesn’t the President go on television and make a fireside chat—or why doesn’t he engage in some kind of a gimmick which will spotlight the particular issue. I am perfectly willing to do anything or say anything that will help us get across our points in these areas.
“However, as I look back over the past three years, our great failing, particularly in the domestic area, has been that once the President shoots the big gun the infantry doesn’t follow in adequately to clean up and to hold the territory. . . . There are always the issues where the opposition is on the attack. The Administration’s closeness to big business, its support of the big man as against the little man, etc. . . .
“But we have to face the fact that in the domestic area, except for [Treasury Secretary John] Connally in these cases where he wants to go to bat, we do not have powerful enough spokesmen.” He cited the “failure” of Shultz and Health, Education and Welfare Secretary Elliot Richardson during a recent meeting on busing.
“You are the best all-around spokesman for the Administration’s domestic programs. You have an orderly mind, you are convincing, you are tough and you are very effective on television. I know that you have been reluctant to be a public spokesman for the reason that sensitivities of Cabinet officers might be irritated—bruised. . . . But from now until election we can’t be concerned about whether Cabinet officers have bruised feelings.”
This role as the front person was only half the job. “The other half is for you to organize the appearances by others just like you were running a campaign.”
Adopting the language of combat, Nixon said, “What we need is a commander who will organize and direct the troops to follow up once the President makes a statement or to counterattack when the enemy levels with an attack against us. This is the task I would like for you to undertake.”
He added, “In the foreign policy field, I pretty much have to do this job myself. The impossible relationship between [Secretary of State] Rogers and Kissinger is such that we find it very difficult of course to get followup of my foreign policy initiatives by Rogers unless he feels it is a pretty sure thing insofar as public approval is concerned. . . .
“I want you to do what I would do in the domestic front if I had the time to spend on that as well. . . .
“Much of the reason for our doing a poor job of selling them is that we don’t have a very good cast of characters. . . .
“Great ideas that are conceived and not sold are like babies that are stillborn. We need some deliveries within the next few months, even if they have to be cesarian. I will approve any programs you have to bring about those deliveries,” and he added with a touch of humor, “provided of course you recognize my total opposition to any abortions.” Signed, THE PRESIDENT.
• • •
After belittling Rogers, Shultz and the cabinet in general, Nixon then four months later to the day orchestrated one of the supreme presidential stroking sessions. It was a cabinet dinner at Camp David on August 8, 1972.
A tape of a discussion Nixon had with Butterfield the day before the dinner illustrates how he carefully calculated, and understood the importance of who was invited and who was excluded.
For 12 minutes Nixon conducted a person-by-person review of who to have and the importance of trying to eliminate senior White House people. That way, Nixon said, “the cabinet feels they’re getting special attention.” By reducing the list an invitation would become “a greater compliment to those who are there,” he said.
That afternoon he spent another 10 minutes calibrating the list with Butterfield.
“We ought to cut it more,” Nixon said. He wanted to drop several senior counselors and Ehrlichman. “You have Haldeman there, because he is basically a political man. Ehrlichman is not political.” This was a preposterous statement given that four months earlier he had ordered Ehrlichman to devote all his time to selling the administration’s domestic policies politically.
Ehrlichman stayed on the list, however, as did 16 others from the White House staff, including Butterfield, who took attendance. The dinner included 14 cabinet members and five from Nixon’s reelection committee.
> A 17-page transcript of Nixon’s after-dinner speech is among Butterfield’s papers. The president at first mentioned Clark MacGregor, the former Minnesota congressman and the current head of the Committee for the Re-election of the President, often abbreviated as CREEP.
“We are very proud of this campaign team, except for MacGregor, they are young and vigorous,” Nixon joked. Of Maury Stans, the chief fundraiser, Nixon said, “The lousiest job in campaigning is raising money, particularly after we have already sold the ambassadorships several times.” Laughter. “He is accused of things that all finance chairmen are accused of. He is not guilty of many of them.” Laughter.
He praised the wives, but said there was not enough room to invite them to the dinner at Camp David “even with this big facility which Laird says he has worked into the Vietnam budget.” Laughter again.
A recent public opinion poll showed that “only 15 percent of college youth say that they are Republicans.” Why is Treasury Secretary Connally’s Democrats for Nixon so important? he asked. “Because getting Democrats is the name of the game.” So talk about nonpartisan principles, he said.
“In campaigning for the United States Senate in California in 1950, in campaigning for the House of Representatives in 1946, I never once mentioned the word, ‘Republican.’ Never.
“But if you just go in and make that hard-hitting ‘Republicans are good and Democrats are a bunch of devils,’ it makes it so difficult for them to come over. So let them come over. Let them come over easy.”
He turned to his opponent. “A vote for McGovern is a vote to add 80 million people to the welfare rolls, that a vote for McGovern is a vote to add $140 billion to the budget.”
He summarized, “But attack. Always attack.”
“The war, a terribly difficult issue for us. We don’t have an easy answer. We have, however, a very outstanding record.
“This Administration—and I am not overstating it—we have really changed the post-war world. It will never be the same again.”
He said he had read some staff papers about what to do in the campaign and they recommended, “Don’t mention foreign policy because people already know about China and Russia.” He begged to differ.
“Forget it! Remind them of it! Hit it over and over again. That is where we are strong. That is where they are weak.” Raise the issue of competence, experience and the high caliber of his advisers.
“But the main thing for us to remember is to keep emphasis on the big game,” he said.
He praised all of them for their political experience. “What we have going for us is not only a candidate for President and Vice President but we have, from the Secretary of State [Rogers] right up and down the line in this cabinet, a group of politicians. For that reason we will beat the hell out of them.
“Well, they have four helicopters out there. These are the only ones that were not shot down in Vietnam. So you had better take a ride.” There was laughter. “We wish you well.”
• • •
Nixon also knew the importance of passing out compliments to his staff. On October 25, 1972, certain he was going to win reelection in two weeks, he wrote a personal note to Pat Buchanan, who was in charge of compiling the daily news summary. On the first page of that day’s summary, he penned in his own handwriting, “I am constantly amazed at the brilliant work done in . . . the News Summary. It is invaluable for all of us.” Signed RN.
22
* * *
Butterfield wanted out. Anticipating reelection, he heard Nixon tell Haldeman on several occasions that it would be, more than ever, a time for vengeance.
“Now, we’re going to get them, Bob,” Nixon said. “Now we’re going to nail those sons of bitches.” The atmosphere of retribution aimed at Democrats, the media, the antiwar movement and any perceived Nixon opponent was pervasive.
Butterfield was almost permanently distressed by his own acquiescence to Nixon’s request that they use a Secret Service agent as a planted spy in Kennedy’s security detail. He kept bringing it up in our discussions. “I was affected by how easily I said yes, sir. Couldn’t believe it, really, afterwards. But it was so natural to say, yes, sir.”
He added, “I had seen myself and heard myself get caught up in this thing and be anxious and ready to facilitate an abusive government.” Many times—though, he said, not at all times—he felt about the Nixon White House: “The whole thing was a cesspool.”
On the other hand, “It was such a good job, in so many ways. It was prestigious. I knew everybody.” He was treated like one of the most senior Nixon aides. For example, there is a picture of an elegant, intimate, black-tie eight-person dinner party hanging on a wall in Butterfield’s La Jolla penthouse condo. It was taken in 1971 at the Watergate apartment of then Attorney General John Mitchell and his wife, Martha. Treasury Secretary John Connally is seated between Martha Mitchell and Charlotte Butterfield. Butterfield is in the seat of honor on John Mitchell’s right. Mitchell knew the importance of Butterfield to the Nixon White House.
“I knew my job well,” Butterfield said. “I could do it.” He was at the center of part of the Nixon universe, with only a thin wall, 20 steps from his desk to Nixon’s in the Oval for more than three years. He was not in the endless Watergate meetings and was not aware of and did not participate in various conspiracies. “I wasn’t the guy working on the cover-up,” he said. Because of the hammerlock control exercised by Nixon and Haldeman on all matters, he was certain they were aware of the Watergate crimes and were covering them up.
• • •
On November 7, 1972, Nixon won a historic landslide, capturing 49 states and 61 percent of the vote. That day Butterfield and all appointees in the executive office of the president received a confidential, one-page memo from Haldeman requesting that in the next three days they list preferences for possible service in the next administration. “This should accompany your pro forma letter of resignation to become effective at the pleasure of the President.” He wasn’t being singled out. All White House staff and other presidentially appointed officials were asked to submit resignation letters. When this became public, Nixon was almost universally seen as ungrateful—thank you for your service, now please resign.
In his memoir, Kissinger calls the resignation-now demand “appalling . . . degrading . . . frenzied, almost maniacal . . . political butchery . . . wounding and humiliating . . . conveying in his hour of triumph an impression of such total vindictiveness and insensitivity to those who were basically well-disposed to him.”
Haldeman asked for “a basic book about your current assignment.”
Butterfield, like many, frequently felt underappreciated, as if no one understood the breadth of his vast responsibilities. He compiled a 16-page memo listing what he saw as his 26 primary duties.I
Item 26 was, “Attend to special classified and/or highly sensitive projects of particular interest to the president.”
Foremost of these was the secret taping system, which, of course, he did not list.
• • •
On November 10, Butterfield dictated a confidential response to Haldeman.
“Dear Bob: I know that you are confronted with a gigantic reorganization task, so despite the importance of this letter to me personally, and to my family, I will be as brief as possible.” He then went on, as was his habit, not being very brief at all.
“Hoping, of course, that you will read between the lines and understand many of the whys and wherefores. . . .
“First let me say in all sincerity that in no way will I ever be able to repay you for taking the chance you did with me and my abilities. You alone gave me the honor and opportunity of a life-time. . . . I must tell you that I will be forever grateful. . . .
“I will serve either of you in any capacity whatever.”
Butterfield later told me that offer to do anything was “probably not too sincere.”
He continued, “I seek a change. I am anxious to find something which will give me gre
ater challenge, greater responsibility, a somewhat higher salary, and more and better employment opportunities” after the second term.
He compared himself to Jack Valenti, President Johnson’s yes-man, cheerleader and odd-jobs attendant, and allowed some bitterness to show.
“I fear being ‘typed,’ especially in my current Valenti-like role. . . . But my guess is that he [Nixon] considers the good, fairly efficient, man-servant in the outer office akin to the village idiot—one without mind or opinion. Yet I have done many other things in my lifetime, more by far than most people, and proved to myself and others.”
He complained that he had been harnessed and limited. “Prospective employers, however, will have no idea of what I might be able to offer if I remain here on the White House Staff, so ‘contained.’
“This is not to say I want to be in the limelight. I am not built that way.” Because he was not a lawyer and had not been a businessman or “advertising executive” (like Haldeman), he said, “I must now, during this next 2–4 year period, surface sufficiently to make contact with the outside world.”
In order of preference, he would first like to be appointed secretary of the Air Force. Then he listed secretary of the Navy in deference to his father, a retired rear admiral, and then several undersecretary positions.
“This seems a helluva presumptuous note on which to close, but then you did ask.”
• • •
“That wasn’t the plan,” Haldeman told Butterfield after reading the memo. “The plan was that you would stay on,” adding, “The president now knows you very well” and noting that Butterfield had worked very closely and effectively with Nixon—not an easy task. “I would like to think about this a little bit,” Haldeman added, meaning he was going to consult Nixon.
“Bob tells me you really want to leave,” the president said to Butterfield a short time later after coming into Butterfield’s office and taking a seat near his desk.