Blind Ambition

by Dean, John W. ;

  “The question I’ve got to ask you is, what do you want to do? But before you answer I want to say this: As far as I’m concerned, you withdrew from the cover-up conspiracy when you came to see me.”

  “Charlie, it was my feeling that I should go down to see Silbert and Glanzer and lay the whole thing out for them.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because that’s the way to end it all.”

  “Have you thought about what that will do to the President?”

  “I’ll say I have. And that’s the best solution I’ve been able to come up with. I figure if I go down there and lay it out, and explain what I’ve done—”

  “I’m not telling you what to do yet,” Charlie interrupted. “Or what my advice is. I haven’t decided. I’m just trying to see if you know what you believe is the best thing to do. Listen, here’s what I want you to do. You have not been subpoenaed to appear before a grand jury. You’re just sitting around stewing in your juices right now. I want to find out what is really happening and where the hell we are. I’m going to call Silbert and Glanzer and go see them.”

  “Hold on, Charlie. If you go to see them, they’re going to have to report it to Petersen, who’s going to report it to Kleindienst, then to the President. He’s going to think I’m doing a number on him.”

  “Goddammit, first you tell me you want to run down to the prosecutors and be some kind of hero. You do that and there’s a damn good chance they’ll pull you right in front of the grand jury and indict your ass. That’s the way the ball game is played. You don’t have to run into machine guns to get your story out. I’ll talk to them and find out what they’re looking for. Let’s get this clear right here and now,” he said, standing over me and looking me square in the eyes. “If I’m going to represent you, we’re going to handle this case my way. You either trust me or you don’t. With a little luck and the right moves at the right time, I can keep you out of jail and save your license to practice law. Is that understood? Otherwise you might as well start looking for another lawyer.”

  I felt comfortable with Charlie’s tough manner and I agreed, provided he could assure me he would swear Glanzer and Silbert to secrecy. What I had done by going to Charlie was start a process I had not been able to start alone. Inertia had been overcome. Charlie began meeting with Silbert and Glanzer. His confidence and brashness amazed me. Any hour of the day or night seemed appropriate to Charlie, when he decided to do something.

  It was midnight one night when he called Glanzer at his home. He wanted to talk to Seymour privately. I started to protest the hour, but he held up his hand, continued dialing, spoke with Glanzer’s wife, and then with Seymour. “Seymour, you need to talk with me. You don’t know how badly you need to talk to me,” Charlie drawled with relish. There was a long silence as he listened. “Yeah, I know, you’ve got your problems in life and I’ve got mine, but I’m going to give you some more.” Silence. “You heard me. Now listen, Brother Glanzer, I’m about forty-five minutes from your house. Put some coffee on, because I’m coming over to see you.” Silence again. Charlie put his hand over the receiver and said to me, “Seymour can take more words to say less than any man I know, but I’m going over to see him.” When he finally ended the conversation, he said he would call me in the morning to tell me the results. “Is your phone bugged at your office?” he asked.

  “Maybe. I doubt it, though.”

  “Well, I’ll come see you just in case. I’ve never been to the White House anyway, and I want to see it.” This parting remark struck me as odd. Here I had just told him the awful mess that had happened at the White House, yet he was as awed by it as any American. I remembered that feeling, but it had long since gone.

  Haldeman called from San Clemente, where the Presidential party had been astir the last few days over a state visit by South Vietnam’s President Thieu. I was not at all happy to hear from him, especially in light of Charlie’s instruction to lessen contact with the other cover-up principals. I had my toes in the enemy camp.

  “Hi,” said Haldeman pleasantly. “Is the press giving you a breather? Things sound a little calmer back there.”

  “Well, yeah, they are. They haven’t surrounded the house since I got back from Camp David.”

  “That’s good. I guess with the Gray hearings toned down a little you ought to be able to lead a normal hectic life.”

  “I hope so,” I said. I forced a tiny laugh, but I was wary. Usually Haldeman was all business from the first word. This banter was out of character. He was either stroking me or warming up for something heavy.

  “We were talking out here,” he continued, “and we decided right now might be the time to put out some sort of statement. Have you finished up that Camp David report yet? We’d like to have it out here.”

  “Uh, no, Bob. I’m still working on it.” So this is the business, I thought. Haldeman is now the heavy on the Dean Report, in spite of what I’ve told him about the dangers. I could imagine Ehrlichman telling the President that Haldeman would have the best chance of prying it out of me. I scrambled for an excuse. “I’ve had a little trouble getting at it. Uh, but I’m working at it. And I’ll tell you what. Dick Moore has finished the section on Segretti. I’ve got it right here.”

  “That’s good, but when are you going to finish the Watergate part?”

  “Uh, as soon as I can. I’m going to work on it.”

  “Well, I want you to take that part you’ve got over to the Situation Room and have it ’dexed out to me right away. We want to explore the possibility of releasing it. But I want you to get on that Watergate report.”

  “Okay, Bob. It’s no picnic, but I’m working.” I felt my pulse begin to race as I lied. And I felt even worse because I had to tell Haldeman I had retained a lawyer; I couldn’t risk his finding it out from someone else. “Uh, listen, Bob,” I faltered, “I think I ought to tell you that since I’ve come back from Camp David I’ve talked to a lawyer. I’ve talked to him for myself, but I also think he can help me figure out what everybody else’s criminal liabilities are. You know, we just don’t have a good criminal lawyer around here.”

  “I understand,” said Haldeman.

  I felt relief that he hadn’t exploded. “I’ve got a guy named Charlie Shaffer. He’s one of the best. And I tell you, Bob, I think it’s the only thing to do. I think Shaffer can help us find out how good a case the prosecutors have against Mitchell and Magruder. He might help us with ways to get Mitchell to step forward. That’s the only possible way I can think of to end this thing cleanly.”

  “Yeah. I want to hear about that.”

  “And, you know, I can already see why John’s been checking around for outside criminal lawyers. They can keep us from making any more mistakes. I think John’s idea was right.” I was trying to make what I had done sound like a suggestion from Ehrlichman, who had, in fact, been gathering names of criminal lawyers; he didn’t want to rely on Henry Petersen, which was prudent of him. Ehrlichman had leaned on Petersen, and Henry had not forgotten Ehrlichman’s rebuking him for, among other things, calling Maury Stans before the grand jury.

  “Okay,” said Haldeman. “That sounds okay. Find out whatever you can, but stay on that report.”

  “Right.” I hung up and sat back. First step out of the box. I had been about as honest in revealing motives for wanting a lawyer as Bob had been with his motives for wanting the Dean Report. We were all protecting our flanks, and I was glad Haldeman and the others were out in San Clemente.

  Charlie arrived at my office soon after I had sent Moore’s report to the Situation Room. He was impressed. Before he reported on his meetings with Silbert and Glanzer, he walked around inspecting the pictures on the wall. He chuckled at the “Many thanks” inscription Mitchell had written for me on the picture of himself. “I’ll bet,” he mused. Finally he plunked down in front of my desk.

  “Everything’s okay,” Charlie announced. “Here’s the situation. Glanzer says they’re just trying to find out who a
uthorized the bugging and the break-in. They’ve reached the brilliant conclusion that someone above Liddy had to be involved. They’re tracking on Magruder and Mitchell, and also suspect Colson. Anyway, they’re not looking around for post-June-seventeenth activities. In fact, they couldn’t care less, from what I could gather.”

  This sounded encouraging. Maybe I was worrying unduly. “What now?” I asked.

  Charlie reported the prosecutors had informed him that I was a target of the grand-jury investigation of the break-in. “It’s McCord, John,” said Charlie, pacing in front of my desk. “McCord says you approved that bugging, along with Mitchell and Magruder. Now, I explained the rules of hearsay to those fellows. I told them McCord doesn’t know anything, and that what he thinks is wrong. I told them if they think their ass is in a sling for not cracking this case, they should just wait and see what I’ll do to them if they go after the wrong guy. I told them my man is a witness, not a defendant. But I still think they’re coming after you. You’re going to have to put the finger on Magruder and Mitchell.”

  “Yeah, I figured. I’m preparing myself for that. And, you know, Haldeman and Ehrlichman actually want me to sink Mitchell and Magruder.”

  “That’s good,” said Charlie. “They’re finally wising up.”

  “Maybe so. But I can still think of a lot of better ways to spend a day than testifying at that grand jury. What about the cover-up? You think they’ll get into that?”

  “They didn’t ask about it, and I’m sure as hell not going to go down there and tell them what they should be looking for,” Charlie said sternly. “I’m not going to volunteer anything to them. Not yet, anyway.”

  As he would on many subsequent occasions, Charlie began prowling about the room, firing questions at an imaginary Mitchell on an imaginary witness stand. He was playing prosecutor. “I could smoke this guy out. I’d love to cross-examine him and turn that old stone face into jelly,” Charlie said, rubbing his hands together.

  Charlie’s delight at the idea of skewering Mitchell was painful enough to me, but an increasingly troublesome thought began nagging me when I went home at night. Two days later, I raised it with Charlie. “I want to say something to you,” I said hesitantly, “and I hope you won’t take this the wrong way. But listen, a lot of goddam lawyers have done what I’m afraid you’re doing. You’re going to fall right into the cover-up trap if you don’t start thinking about the implications of this. You know, all these lawyers came into this thing with no worries, and then they started protecting their clients and protecting the President. And the first thing you know they slipped into the cover-up. I’m thinking of guys like Parkinson and Paul O’Brien and Mardian. And me too. We’ve got to be careful about that.”

  Charlie stopped pacing, folded his arms, and stared down at me. “Listen, son. You don’t have to worry about me!” he exploded. “I can take care of my own ass. I’m in charge of worrying about yours. Now, let me tell you what I’ve done, which may handle your concerns. I’ve made an arrangement for you to meet with the prosecutors. I’ve touched on the highlights of your testimony, but only you can really tell them what you know. These facts are damn complex, and they can best judge your credibility by hearing them directly from you. They know I’ll never spin them, so they’ve agreed to an arrangement whereby you can talk to them off the record. They won’t use anything you say against you, even if they should still prosecute you later. And they’ve agreed not to report these meetings to either Petersen or anybody else, because of your concern that it would get straight back to the White House. I think it’s a fair deal. These guys may change their minds about wanting to prosecute you after they hear your story. I don’t know, so don’t get encouraged, but I think it’s worth a try.” Charlie had gradually calmed down during his monologue. “Now,” he said intently, as if he had said all there was to say, “are you ready to go down there and lay out the facts?”

  “I think so, Charlie.” I gulped. He was putting it to me faster than I had expected. “But I don’t like it. You know damn well I can’t tell them about the break-in without nailing Haldeman, Ehrlichman, Mitchell, me and God knows who else on the cover-up. I don’t want to volunteer that stuff.”

  “You don’t know,” Charlie said condescendingly. “Maybe you can stay out of the cover-up. Frankly, I don’t give a damn. It’s your ass or theirs. Whose do you want to save?”

  “Mine, of course, but …”

  “Do you think they’re going to protect you when the shit hits the fan?”

  “No, but I know damn well they won’t if they think I stuck the knife in them when I didn’t have to.”

  “You have to, unless you want to keep lying and covering up. You want to do that?”

  “No.”

  “Are you ready to meet with the prosecutors?”

  “Yes. Only one thing, though. I think I should first tell Haldeman I’m going to do it.”

  “Why do you want to do that, for God’s sake?”

  “Because,” I replied irritably. “For one thing, I owe it to him. Not to Ehrlichman, but to Bob.”

  “Okay. That’s your choice. Do it if you want to.”

  The first “off the record” meeting was scheduled for Sunday, April 8. I procrastinated and waffled on what story I would offer Haldeman until the last minute, when I was already waiting for the prosecutors in Charlie’s office. Then I finally called him in San Clemente. “Bob, uh, the reason I called, uh, to talk to you, is that I think I’ve got to tell you that my lawyer thinks I should meet with the prosecutors myself. He’s had some meetings with them, and he really wants me to meet with them directly. They’re after Mitchell and Magruder, and they’re also after me.”

  “When does he want you to do that?” Haldeman asked immediately. He was edgy and tense.

  “Right away, uh, as soon as possible,” I said.

  There was silence on the line. I was praying silently that Haldeman wouldn’t order me not to.

  “Well, listen, John,” Haldeman said. “We’re on our way back. We’ll be in Washington this afternoon. In fact, I’m on my way to the plane right now. And I think we ought to talk about this when we get back.”

  “Well, Bob, I, I, you know, I can understand that,” I stammered, “but I may have to tell my lawyer what I’m going to do here. That’s why I’m calling this morning.”

  “I want to talk to you about talking to the prosecutors,” Haldeman said firmly. “Just remember that once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it’s going to be very tough to get it back in.”

  “I understand,” I said quietly, avoiding a direct answer. I feared he was zeroing in on what my message really was.

  “Look, John, I’ve go to go,” Haldeman said briskly. “You’ve caught me on the way to the plane. Be careful, okay? I’ll talk to you when we get back.”

  “Right.” I hung up with relief.

  The prosecutors arrived in the early afternoon. Earl Silbert, whom I had known for years, gave me a sincere and friendly greeting. He was my age, and cautiously ambitious. He wanted to be United States attorney in Washington. I had met Glanzer briefly in Henry Petersen’s office when we were discussing the CIA aspects of Watergate. I had never seen Don Campbell, the least experienced member of the team, who seemed to be mostly a spectator.

  Charlie reviewed the ground rules: no notes, nothing could be later used against me, no discussions of my dealings with the President. Considering the fact that I was a target of a grand-jury investigation, everyone was extremely cordial and relaxed. Charlie moved things along. “Well, let’s get on with it,” he said and turned to me. “Tell these gentlemen what happened and how the Watergate bugging was planned. They don’t understand that they’ve got the wrong man as a target for their investigation. Give them an education.”

  I took a deep breath and began telling the story from the beginning, moving quickly. I was blowing the whistle gently, using buzz words about “demonstration intelligence” and “campaign coordination,” trying not to make it s
ound as bad as I knew it was. Charlie stopped me.

  “Okay, that’s enough. Now listen,” he said to me, pacing the room. “This is not the Dean Report you’re giving these men, with all that self-serving bullshit.” He stopped in front of me, hands on hips, glowering at me. The prosecutors couldn’t yet understand his reference to the Dean Report, but they seemed to enjoy Charlie’s show of pushing me. I did not. “I want you to tell these guys the ugly realities of life,” Charlie thundered. “Don’t waste their time telling them what a nice guy you are, because they don’t feel that way about you. So unless you want them to indict you, lay it out. Understand?”

  He had embarrassed me, but I knew he was right. I started going into greater detail, giving a more realistic picture of what had occurred. The prosecutors listened in silence and showed no reaction. I assumed this was how prosecutors behaved. They broke in with only a few questions, one of which rocked me.

  “John, are you sure your account of that second meeting is the end of it?” Silbert interrupted. “Since this conversation is off the record, I’ll tell you why I’m trying to make sure. Liddy’s been talking to us privately. Now, nobody knows about that, but your story is going to have to square with his. You understand?”

  Jesus Christ, I thought. Liddy’s talking. I couldn’t believe it. He had been the rock of the cover-up. If he slipped off the mountain, it was all over. I started to blurt out what Liddy knew, but checked myself. I didn’t know how far he had broken. “What did he say, Earl?”

  “You know I can’t get into that, John,” Silbert said firmly. “His conversations are as privileged as yours.”

  Charlie rescued me. “Goddam, Earl, that’s great,” he declared. “I don’t care what Liddy says. If he tells the truth, you’ll know my man wasn’t in on this.” He turned to me. “You just keep on going with your story, John.” *