“All right.”
After a few moments, Nixon picked up his phone again. “Mr. MacGregor, please,” he said. Clark MacGregor, a Republican former member of Congress from Minnesota, was one of Nixon’s liaisons to Capitol Hill.
“Mr. MacGregor is at Mrs. Chennault’s reception. Did you want me to reach him?”
“Yeah,” Nixon said.
“That was a great vote,” Nixon said once MacGregor got on the line. The president was referring to a key Senate vote that evening on a defense bill. MacGregor agreed. “This is a darn good development,” he said.
“Give my best to Anna Chennault,” Nixon said. “Is she there?”
“Yes, she’s right here,” MacGregor replied. “You want to . . .”
“I’ll talk to her, yeah.”
MacGregor handed the phone to Chennault.
“Mr. President?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, we are raising money for the air force. You know, we do need some defense.”
“That’s great.”
“That’s so very kind of you to say hello to me.”
“Well, you’ve been a great friend.”
Chennault promised to “keep on fighting.”
“Well, you’re a great lady,” Nixon said. “We appreciate it.”
Nixon hung up. Chennault handed the phone to MacGregor and rejoined her guests. Dorothy McCardle was covering Anna’s party for the Washington Post. According to McCardle’s story in the Post the following day, President Nixon “personally telephoned Mrs. Chennault during the party to congratulate her on her ‘hard work’ for the Air Force.”
“Anna Chennault has beauty, lots of political clout and umpteen million dollars,” an anonymous source told the Los Angeles Times. “But charm? No. Besides, she over-invites and under-feeds.” Washington Post columnist Barbara Howar wrote: “Anna Chennault is like a woman with a small bosom, but at least she’s holding it out there.”
“If the war in Vietnam were to end tomorrow,” said one anonymous critic, “Anna Chennault would be finished socially in Washington. Mainly, she runs a salon for the Vietnam hawks.”
MARTHA MITCHELL MADE THE COVER OF LIFE MAGAZINE’S October 2, 1970, issue. “She still relishes her role as a public figure,” Life wrote. “But she is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.”
Largely as a result of her own doing, Martha was under siege. The telephones rang constantly in her Watergate East apartment. When she went out to shop, she drew crowds of supporters—as well as detractors. Her outspokenness turned off many Nixon aides and made their wives wince. She had no close friends in Washington. The Mitchells began to withdraw from the Washington social circuit. Their normal routine was to stay home—and drink heavily. John could hold his liquor; Martha could not. When John retired for the evening, Martha would “get on the phone, a lonely, frustrated woman who would pour out her soul to a secretary or a wire-service reporter or virtually anyone who would listen to her.”
One night at dinner in Anna Chennault’s penthouse, Martha became drunk and threatened to toss her shoe across the table at John.
“Just you try,” he said.
“Martha reached down, pulled one spike-heeled, sling-back shoe off her foot, and hurled it at Mitchell who, either from frequent practice or excellent reflexes, neatly ducked the flying object,” Chennault wrote.
“It’s time to go home,” John Mitchell said.
“I don’t want to go home,” Martha protested.
She reluctantly grabbed her purse and the Mitchells said good night.
THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS OF WATERGATE EAST grew frustrated with the deterioration of day-to-day operations and fired the building manager. His replacement soon discovered the building’s records were “vastly inadequate.” Deliveries and repairs to apartments could not be made because the staff did not know which residents lived in which apartments. No records documented who was authorized to use which parking spaces in the underground garage. The association’s finances were also in disarray. The board discovered “inherited annual operating budget deficiencies” and a debt of $370,000 that had accumulated over the past several years.
In November 1971, the Watergate East board voted to impose a 10 percent increase in co-op assessments and an additional “special assessment” of $370,000 to retire the debt. Residents were outraged. Many questioned the board’s decision to retire this debt over two years, rather than over a longer period, and petitioned the president of the co-op board to call a general membership meeting, at which residents voted to direct the co-op board to explore refinancing the original mortgage for the land, still held by John Hancock Mutual Life Insurance, and stabilize the co-op’s finances—while at the same time reducing future “special assessment” surcharges.
At the next Watergate East annual membership meeting, the board of directors presented a plan for refinancing the mortgage with John Hancock. Residents overwhelmingly supported the plan, but because the board did not have ballots identifying owners’ voting shares, based on the relative size of each apartment, a formal vote was not possible. Instead, residents instructed the board of directors to issue a referendum within two weeks that, if passed by 75 percent of the voting shares, would empower the board to move forward with the refinancing.
The board also engaged the architectural and engineering firm of Nelson, Dollar and Blitz to conduct a structural, mechanical and electrical analysis of the building to identify and confirm all construction defects and project the costs to repair them. The board recommended this independent, professional assessment rather than continuing to rely simply on owners’ complaints—“a practice followed for the past six years,” board president Robert M. Caldwell informed the residents, “which failed to identify and correct deficiencies by either the Developer or owners.”
ON JANUARY 7, 1972, PRESIDENT NIXON DECLARED HIS INTENTION to seek a second term. In mid-February, Maurice Stans resigned as Nixon’s secretary of commerce to chair the finance committee of the Committee for the Re-Election of the President (also known as the Committee to Re-elect the President), the same role he had in 1968. He had resisted a return to campaign fund-raising because he enjoyed being secretary of commerce, but Nixon attorney Herbert Kalmbach recruited him aggressively—even suggesting an appointment in Nixon’s second term to head the World Bank. When word leaked out, Robert McNamara, a Watergate neighbor and the incumbent president of the World Bank, was quickly reelected to another five-year term—a full year ahead of schedule.
John Mitchell resigned as attorney general on March 1 to chair Nixon’s campaign. Martha had fought the move for weeks. She thought it was a demotion for her husband—a loss of cabinet rank, along with its perks and social invitations. “They can’t do this,” she ranted. “What will our friends think? We gave up everything to come here to help Mr. President and the country; now they want to cut us off. I won’t stand for it!” When he finally stepped down, Martha was so upset, her secretaries had to come stay with her in the apartment.
According to one of John’s former aides at the justice department, neither First Lady Pat Nixon nor Adele Rogers, wife of the secretary of state, could stand Martha Mitchell. As Martha predicted, once John Mitchell left the cabinet, “Pat and Adele cut them off of every list.”
Within days of John Mitchell’s departure from the justice department, the White House telephone was removed from their Watergate apartment.
WILLIAM D. LEE RENTED AN APARTMENT IN WATERGATE WEST for approximately six months before purchasing it—“as is”—at a $10,000 discount. Lee, an electrical engineer, submitted an extensive list of “latent defects,” many of which related to the electrical and air-conditioning systems. His list was ignored. This would turn out to be a mistake. Lee was a deputy assistant secretary for the U.S. Department of Commerce and executive director of the President’s Commission on Consumer Affairs, and therefore knowledgeable about and professionally committed to the emerging field of consumer protection. He was also president of the Waterg
ate West co-op board.
In 1969, the first summer at Watergate West, the building’s cooling system malfunctioned. Engineers working for the developers assured residents the problem was temporary and could be easily corrected, no later than the fall of 1969. The next winter, Watergate West experienced problems with its heating system, and the board retained an engineer to investigate and document his findings. According to the owners, Giuseppe Cecchi dismissed the engineer as inexperienced and hired another consultant, who prepared a report stating there was nothing seriously wrong with the Watergate West heating system, and that all it needed was “corrective work,” which was already under way. Cecchi assured residents the developers would “do everything reasonably required” to solve the problems with the heating and cooling system, and “stand behind their product.”
According to the board of Watergate West, the “corrections” performed by the developers proved to be “temporary and basically ineffective.” Cecchi claimed all the defects had been fixed.
The board then retained new engineers, who prepared a detailed report of problems, which was shared with Cecchi in December 1971. Around this time, Watergate West also terminated the management contract with Riverview Realty, just as Watergate East had done. With a new building manager in tow, Lee and his fellow board members inspected Watergate West from top to bottom, including the mechanical room. They met with Cecchi’s engineers to review problems with the heating and cooling system in early January 1972. Those conversations went nowhere as well. Lee and the board made an offer to Cecchi: Open up the utility column in the building. If an investigation disclosed that no repairs were needed, all repair costs would afterward be paid by the co-op board. But if defects were visible, then the developers would pay all the costs of repair. At this point, according to the owners, Cecchi terminated negotiations. Decades later, Cecchi could not recall the specifics of the dispute.
The board opened up the utility column anyway, and discovered the entire heating, cooling and ventilating system needed to be replaced. Within days, the Watergate West owners association and ninety-six individual residents—including Edith and Lee Burchinal, who had received a golden key to their new apartment the day the building opened—filed a $1.5 million lawsuit against Watergate Improvement Associates, the sponsor of the development; Watergate Construction Corp., the general contractor; Riverview Realty Corporation, the exclusive sales representative for the complex; Milton Fischer; Maurice P. Foley, Inc., the electrical contractor; Cotton & Harris, the engineers; and The Whalen Company, the manufacturer of parts of the heating and cooling system. Two weeks later, additional defendants were named, including the Washington Gas Light Company, which managed the on-site heating and cooling plant; the Tappan Company; and General Electric Company’s appliance division. (On November 18, 1972, two weeks after the election, Watergate West residents Geneva and Alan Cranston and Ruth and Abe Ribicoff joined the suit as plaintiffs.)
According to the suit, Watergate West was advertised as “the ultimate in luxury in cooperative living,” but was plagued with a variety of defects, including:
Inadequate air-conditioning in 70 percent of the apartments;
Water damage in 40 percent of the apartments;
Defective kitchen appliances in 45 percent of the apartments; and
Plumbing deficiencies in 22 percent of the units.
Each of the residents who signed on to the suit contended their apartments were “defective in the heating, cooling and ventilating systems” and “the kitchen appliances and the plumbing fixtures were not of the high standard promised.” The lawsuit claimed repairs would exceed $60,000 per apartment, an astonishing sum—in many cases, exceeding the purchase price of the apartments themselves—based on an estimate prepared by Fred J. Maynard, an employee of the George A. Fuller Company, which was engaged in repair work throughout Watergate West.
Developers had tried to correct the problem of water damage during rainstorms, but the problems continued, the residents charged. “Our position is that if there is something wrong and it’s our responsibility, we’ll take care of it,” said Cecchi, but he said the residents’ claims were unsubstantiated. “Our consulting engineers met with their consulting engineers,” he told a reporter for the Washington Post. “They weren’t able to document anything. They couldn’t even show us in which apartments were the defects. In a deluxe cooperative, everybody thinks he’s entitled to everything, so the complaints are always there. But we have taken care of the complaints.” If the problems with the building were so bad, Cecchi asked, why did Watergate values keep rising?
Three weeks later, the developers fired back. They charged the Watergate West lawsuit was an attempt to cause “malicious embarrassment” and interfere with sales at the new Watergate at Landmark complex they planned to build in Arlington, Virginia, across the Potomac River. The developers sought $4 million in damages. They also contended the owners’ complaints were “grossly exaggerated.” There was “some” water damage, the developers acknowledged, but said it had been corrected or, if it existed, was beyond their control and therefore they were not liable for any damages.
IN MARCH 1970, ROBERT S. STRAUSS WAS ELECTED TREASURER of the Democratic National Committee and began dealing with a flood of creditors. “I would be less than candid,” Strauss wrote one creditor, “if I did not say to you that the Committee has absolutely no funds on hand for debt payment right now.” The DNC’s total debt in 1970 was $9.5 million, including $7 million from the Humphrey primary and general campaigns, and $1 million of the late senator Robert F. Kennedy’s primary campaign debt.
As the Democrats headed into the 1972 election, they fell behind on their rent at the Watergate Office Building.
Giuseppe Cecchi was Italian by birth, but he considered himself “fully Americanized” and wanted to send the DNC an eviction notice. “Are you crazy?” a colleague asked him. “McGovern may be the next president of the United States. You don’t want to do that.”
According to the Harris Survey released March 2, 1972, Nixon’s approval rating had risen to 55 percent. In late April, the Harris Survey gave Nixon a strong lead over his Democratic rivals, by margins of 6 to 18 percentage points if Alabama governor George Wallace entered the race.
Cecchi was overruled by Rome. The DNC could stay, and any past-due rent could be collected after the election.
No eviction proceedings were begun.
On June 8, 1972, Strauss and Larry O’Brien established the Democratic National Committee Telethon Trust to retire all outstanding debts of the DNC and distribute any excess funds to the committee and to state party committees. The telethon netted just $2 million. Strauss was able to pay some bills. He asked other creditors to accept 25 cents on the dollar. A check for $2,500 was eventually sent to Watergate Improvements out of the telethon account on July 18, 1973.
ON MONDAY, MAY 22, SIX MEN ARRIVED IN WASHINGTON from Miami: Bernard Barker, Eugenio Martinez, Felipe de Diego, Frank Sturgis, Virgilio Gonzalez and Reinaldo Pico. They checked into the Manger Hamilton Hotel at 14th and K Streets. Four days later, on the afternoon of Friday, May 26—the start of the Memorial Day weekend—the men transferred to the Watergate Hotel under rooms reserved by Ameritas, a Miami-based corporation. Dorothy Hunt, wife of E. Howard Hunt, Jr., identified herself as a secretary with the firm and spoke directly with the Watergate Hotel staff to plan a “small banquet” in the Continental Room in the basement of the Watergate Office Building. The room was equipped with a bar, but lacked a working kitchen. Events in the Continental Room were catered by the staff of the Watergate Hotel. According to hotel records, cocktails would be served at eight, followed by a dinner of filet mignon. The reservation was for ten guests, at a charge of $14.95 per person, plus taxes and gratuity.
According to the plan, when the dinner meeting ended, hotel staff would clear the table and the bogus Ameritas “executives” would watch a film Hunt had rented for the occasion. The screening gave the meeting “an air of authenticity.”
It also gave the men a reason to remain in the Watergate Office Building as they waited for the last staffer to leave the offices of the Democratic National Committee on the sixth floor.
The FBI later interviewed Franco Rovere, the waiter who took care of the Ameritas party. He told agents “the main topic of conversation in the room was night clubs in the Miami area and women.” When he checked in on the group around ten-thirty to ask if they needed anything more, he was told he was not needed and he returned to the Watergate Hotel.
According to Hunt’s account of the evening, while the movie was under way and the room was dark, six men left the Continental Room, exiting through a door that led to an internal hallway to wait for word from James McCord and Alfred Baldwin, monitoring the office building from a room across the street at the Howard Johnson Motor Lodge, that the DNC was unoccupied. Virgilio Gonzalez and Howard Hunt stayed behind in the Continental Room.
At eleven, the lights were still on at the DNC. The six men in the corridor outside the Continental Room aborted their mission and returned to the Watergate Hotel.
Between 1:00 and 2:00 A.M., Frank Wills, the Government Security Services guard, locked the front door of the Continental Room. He wrote in his logbook:
CONTINEAL ROAM OPEN
HAVING MEETING CONT
ROOM CLOSE AT 2:10 AM
Hunt and Gonzalez, however, were still hiding inside the Continental Room’s closet. When nature called, Hunt, fearful he might be discovered were he to seek out a proper restroom, urinated in an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Red. They emerged at six the next morning and returned to the Watergate Hotel.
The next night—at twelve-thirty on Sunday, May 28—seven men in business suits signed the visitors log in the lobby of the Watergate Office Building. They used aliases—one man signed in as “John Smith”—and gave their destination as the Federal Reserve Board, which had offices on the eighth floor. Frank Wills, the security guard on duty, sent them up in the elevator to the eighth floor. The men walked down the stairwell to the sixth floor and entered the lobby outside the entrance to the DNC office. Gonzalez tried and failed to pick the lock to the DNC door. McCord called Gordon Liddy, who came over from his room in the Watergate Hotel to take a look. Liddy feared the lock might have been damaged enough to show DNC officials that a break-in had been attempted, which would prompt them to notify the police. Liddy signed into the visitors log downstairs at 2:55, using an alias, and listed the Federal Reserve Board as his destination. He inspected the lock and was satisfied the damage was minimal. He returned to the lobby, signed out and returned to the Watergate Hotel.
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