The story charged that a young man named Donald Segretti had recruited fifty operatives for an undercover campaign that involved “following members of Democratic candidates’ families; forging letters and distributing them under candidates’ letterheads; leaking false and manufactured items to the press; throwing campaign schedules into disarray; seizing confidential campaign files and investigating the lives of dozens of Democratic campaign workers.”
Donald Segretti had been a college friend of my Appointments Secretary Dwight Chapin and of Gordon Strachan, an aide to Haldeman. Chapin and Strachan had hired Segretti to become what they called “a Republican Dick Tuck.” Tuck was a Democrat whose name had become synonymous with ingenious gags aimed at Republican candidates; he was the master of what were then called “dirty tricks”: planting embarrassing signs in campaign crowds, changing schedules in order to create confusion, and generally spreading disruption. Segretti, like Tuck, was supposed to use his imagination and his sense of humor to cause minor disarray among the opposition.
Chapin read the Post’s story with incredulity. He had not kept tabs on Segretti’s activity, but the sinister implications of the Post’s account were nothing like what he had authorized. Segretti expressed outrage.
As I saw it then, by printing this story less than a month before the election, the Post was accusing Segretti of spying and sabotage for the same kind of thing that had been dubbed creative mischief when Tuck had done it. Furthermore, it was grossly untrue and unfair to link Segretti to the Watergate break-in.
A few days later reporters from the Post phoned the White House to warn that they were about to run a new story that would charge that Chapin and Hunt were Segretti’s contacts and directed his activities. This would tie Chapin by implication into the Watergate break-in stories. The reporters also said that they were going to charge that Chapin and Hunt had briefed Segretti on what the grand jury would ask about his activities. Both these charges were untrue, and Chapin issued a statement denying them.
The story that was actually published on the front page of the Post on October 15 had been subtly changed from the one the reporters had described to us over the phone. They did not, however, inform Chapin that any changes were going to be made or give him an opportunity to modify the wording of his denial accordingly. The story as run did not accuse Chapin of briefing Segretti on the grand jury, and weakened the alleged connection with Hunt. The story now began: “President Nixon’s Appointments Secretary and an ex-White House aide indicted in the Watergate bugging case both served as ‘contacts’ in a spying and sabotage operation against the Democrats.”
Of course the problem was that there was no way of separating facts from fiction in this kind of story three weeks before a presidential election. The most damaging parts were completely false; but it was true that Chapin had hired Segretti to cause disarray in the Democrats’ campaigns. And there were other political hazards involved in trying to set the story straight. Haldeman had given Chapin approval to have Segretti paid by my lawyer and campaign aide, Herb Kalmbach. Thus there was the danger of focusing the story more strongly on the White House. Ziegler denied that Chapin directed any campaign of spying and sabotage, denounced the “hearsay, innuendo, and guilt by association,” and then doggedly refused to comment on the specifics. The White House press corps was furious.
The diary note I dictated that night conveys the way I felt about these charges against Chapin stemming from his Segretti contacts.
Diary
The big story on Chapin broke today and it was certainly guilt by association, hearsay, etc. McCarthyism at its very worst. In any event, as I told Haldeman, we could not be knocked off balance by these stories because they were going to be stepped up in tempo this week.
Haldeman indicated that Chapin felt he was expendable. I said under no circumstances would we move in that direction because it was not fair since the press were simply using a double standard on all of this. It is rather ironical that they excused the Dick Tuck and other operations as being just good clean fun, but where we are doing it, it is grim and vicious espionage and sabotage of the worst type.
A few days later I added a further observation.
Diary
I passed on to Haldeman my midnight thought to the effect that the latest attack on Chapin et al. was the “last burp of the Eastern establishment.”
As the news reports about Segretti and the Watergate affair continued, McGovern announced that he knew he was being sabotaged, and on October 19 he called my administration a “cutthroat crew . . . a corrupt regime.” On October 24 he charged—falsely—that the Republicans wiretapped the phones of Democratic presidential candidates in the primaries and “had us followed and members of our families followed all the time.” In the meantime Teddy Kennedy decided that this was the sort of thing he should investigate personally. He announced that his Senate Subcommittee on Administrative Practices would begin a probe of Segretti and questionable campaign tactics.
On the morning of October 25, the Washington Post ran a large front-page picture of Bob Haldeman under the headline: Testimony Ties Top Nixon Aide to Secret Fund. The story said that Haldeman was one of five men authorized to approve payments from a secret cash fund at the CRP. It claimed that the fund had been “uncovered during the FBI Watergate bugging investigation. It financed an apparently unprecedented spying and sabotage campaign.” The story stated that Haldeman had been one of those who had approved expenditures of hundreds of thousands of dollars for these activities. The reporters said that Hugh Sloan, the CRP’s treasurer, had given testimony to this effect before the grand jury and that Haldeman had been questioned about it by the FBI.
It was true that there was a cash fund at the CRP set aside for intelligence-gathering and other campaign projects that had to be handled discreetly. And Haldeman, acting in my name, theoretically could presumably approve money from any fund connected with my campaign. But he had not directed the payments from the CRP fund, nor had he been interviewed by the FBI. Nor had Hugh Sloan given the testimony described in the story.
Diary
We got the news with regard to the Post story on Haldeman. It obviously disturbs him but he is a strong man and took it very, very well. He says that the story was inaccurate insofar as the Hugh Sloan testimony was concerned, but in any event the Post is going to continue to nibble away. Haldeman spoke rather darkly of the fact that there was a clique in the White House that were out to get him. I trust he is not getting a persecution complex.
I called Haldeman after I got back to the Residence and tried to reassure him by saying that I was relaxed about it, that I knew we were going to have to take some heat in the next two weeks, but that we would sail through and not be knocked off balance.
It is interesting to note that Ben Bradlee of the Post says that this administration is committed to the destruction of the press. This of course is total nonsense and he knows it. I think what he fears is what’s going to happen to the Washington Post news sources after the election—and we have every right, in fact every responsibility, to see to it that people who would give us a fair shake get a break over others who are going to give us the knife.
Considering that McGovern was supposed to be the peace candidate, his supporters resorted to surprisingly violent and destructive attacks against my campaign and even against my supporters. At one of my appearances in San Francisco there occurred what one observer called a “state of siege”: the hotel was ringed by helmeted police in riot gear while groups of demonstrators stopped traffic and threw rocks. This demonstration was promoted by leaflets distributed from the McGovern headquarters in nearby Berkeley. In Los Angeles, McGovern’s Southern California campaign coordinator admitted to approving the use of telephone banks at their headquarters to promote a massive demonstration against me there; leaflets advertising this effort were handed out at approximately fifty McGovern headquarters. The Ervin Committee was later told that a McGovern spokesman had falsely represented to the pre
ss that this effort had not been authorized. In Morgantown, West Virginia, demonstrators tried to shout down a speech by Tricia. In Columbus, Ohio, guests attending a Republican fund raiser at which Ted Agnew spoke were spat upon and subjected to shouts and obscenities. In Washington, D.C., the Democrats for Nixon headquarters was stormed by nearly a hundred people who tore down posters, destroyed campaign material, damaged office equipment, and stole office supplies. When the violators departed, they left McGovern campaign leaflets behind.
Far more serious was the use of outright violence aimed at my campaign. CRP headquarters in Phoenix and Austin were completely destroyed by arsonists. Our headquarters in Dayton, Ohio, was broken into twice and equipment and records damaged; the second time, McGovern slogans were painted on the walls and windows. In Minnesota one of our headquarters buildings was broken into, and materials and literature were destroyed and motor oil dumped over boxes containing mailing literature. At the Alameda County headquarters in California, a bomb exploded, causing extensive damage.
It became routine to find scurrilous literature handed out in advance of appearances. One pamphlet passed out by McGovern campaign workers in Los Angeles neighborhoods with heavy Jewish populations included the line: “Nixon brings the ovens to the people rather than the people to the ovens.”
After the campaign it was revealed that, for all its sanctimony, the McGovern high command was not above considering organized spying of its own. At the highest levels of their campaign it was proposed that a paid operative be planted aboard Ted Agnew’s campaign airplane to spy on Agnew and report his activities to the McGovern camp. According to Senate Watergate Committee records, one of those responsible for this plan claimed that the same thing had been done successfully against my campaign in 1968.
There was also a break-in at the office of Dr. John Lungren, my personal physician in Long Beach, California. No money or drugs were taken, but my medical files were removed from a locked closet and left strewn about the floor of the office.
Diary
Haldeman and Ehrlichman talked about it during the day. Colson was ecstatic and wanted to get it out right away. Ehrlichman, however, probably had the better judgment and said that it might lead to the conclusion either that we had set it up, or it really didn’t amount to anything at all. The most important thing, as I told Haldeman, was to conduct an investigation—to report the situation so that there would be no indication of cover-up in the event that the people that broke in had something.
The demonstrators and arsonists detracted heavily from the spirit of this last campaign. More frustrating to me, however, was the double standard that permitted massive and frequently distorted coverage of Watergate while virtually ignoring the many serious violations of law and ethics committed against us. In light of what I saw being done against us in this campaign, the righteous moralizing about Segretti’s activities rang hollow.
The last political rally of my career as a candidate took place at Ontario, California, a few miles and twenty-six years from where the first one had taken place in Pomona. We arrived at night, after a two-day final campaign swing through Illinois, Oklahoma, Rhode Island, North Carolina, and New Mexico. The night before we left Washington, Tricia had come into the Lincoln Sitting Room and said, “I want this week to be a real last hurrah.”
The overflow crowd at the Ontario airport seemed to sense the emotional and symbolic meaning of the moment for me. I told them how I had been all across the nation during the past few weeks. I said, “I want to tell you something about this country. . . . There was a time, and it was not too long ago, when if you traveled through the country, you would see it deeply divided—the West against the East, the North against the South, the cities against the farms, and so forth. But let me tell you, wherever you go across America, this nation is getting together.”
I talked about our goals and then turned back to California and talked about how good the people of California had been to us, sharing our victories and standing by us in our defeats.
“This, of course, not only is the last rally of this campaign that I will speak to,” I said in conclusion, “it is the last time I will speak to a rally as a candidate in my whole life, and I want to say to all of you here who worked on this, to all of you who took the time to come, thank you very much for making it probably the best rally that we have ever had.”
On election eve, November 6, 1972, I dictated various recollections of my day in San Clemente.
Diary
Today I went down to the Red Beach, walked two miles, went in the water for about twenty minutes. The tide was out further than I have ever seen it—a real ebb tide. Whether this is a good sign or a bad sign only time will tell.
When I went further down the beach—I decided to first go just to the half-mile mark and then went on to the peace sign [which someone had carved in the red sandstone cliff], which is about three-quarters of a mile. Interestingly enough, the peace sign had been worn down by the weather. It was very dim. It looked like a man with a frown on his face. This may be an indication that those who have held up this sign finally have had their comeuppance and they are really in for some heavy depression.
Rose joined Pat and me for dinner that evening. On the East Coast millions had already watched a brief election eve address that I had recorded on videotape earlier in the day. I said that I would not insult anyone’s intelligence by rehashing the issues and making a last-minute plea for votes. I said that this election was probably the clearest choice between the candidates for President ever presented to the American people in the twentieth century.
My diary for election eve concluded on a rather subdued and analytical note.
Diary
Well, this wraps it up for the first four years, because as I have often thought over this past year I really only had until November 7 to be President because if I lost the election on November 7—tomorrow—then the presidency would be in someone else’s hands.
We are not going to lose it, of course, lacking a miracle beyond which nothing has been seen up to this point. When I think of the ups and downs through the years, and particularly in this last year, I must say that someone must have been walking with us. The Peking trip, the Moscow trip, the May 8 decision, and then the way we have handled the campaign—must deserve some grudging respect from even our critics. The only sour note of the whole thing, of course, is Watergate and Segretti. This was really stupidity on the part of a number of people.
We flew back to Washington on Election Day. When we arrived at the White House at 6 P.M., we were greeted by a cheering staff. In my room I found an envelope propped up on my pillow. It contained a handwritten letter from Henry Kissinger:
Election Day 1972
Dear Mr. President—
It seems appropriate before the votes are counted to tell you what a privilege the last four years have been. I am confident of the outcome today. But it cannot affect the historic achievement—to take a divided nation, mired in war, losing its confidence, wracked by intellectuals without conviction, and give it a new purpose and overcome its hesitations—will loom ever larger in history books. It has been an inspiration to see your fortitude in adversity and your willingness to walk alone. For this—as well as for the unfailing human kindness and consideration—I shall always be grateful.
With warm and respectful regards,
Henry
Our family had dinner together while waiting for the polls to close and for the first returns to come in. About an hour later the cap on one of my top front teeth snapped off. It had held firmly in place for twenty-five years, since the time it had been fitted in 1947.
I was to appear on television in a few hours, so we called my dentist, Dr. William Chase. He came to the White House, and after a half hour’s work he was able to give me a hastily crafted temporary cap. I was in considerable discomfort, and I knew that if I smiled too broadly the cap might fall off.
I returned to the Lincoln Sitting Room and continued putting down
notes for the remarks I would be making later. After a while I got up and put on a tape of Victory at Sea.
Ed and David brought me the first reports at 7:30. They were elated because it was already apparent that I was going to win by a landslide. Even if it was not really a surprise, the moment was still exciting for all of us.
Shortly after eight o’clock Haldeman began phoning over more detailed reports from the election-monitoring teams that had been set up in the West Wing offices. In state after state we were winning big. Texas, for example, was going to be ours by more than a million votes. But there was also bad news: we were not picking up enough congressional seats to provide the legislative support my own New Majority mandate would need. When all the results were in, Republicans gained 12 seats in the House, but lost two seats in the Senate. The new lineup of governors—31 Democrats to 19 Republicans—meant a loss of one state house for the Republican Party. I was concerned about our failure to do better in Congress, but I was at least certain that no Republican candidate had lost for lack of money. On examination I found that in many cases our candidates had been defeated by younger liberals who had labor support and labor money. I thought that this would be our challenge as a party before the 1974 off-year elections: to revamp and renew ourselves so as to get candidates who could successfully appeal to voters and wage winning campaigns.
At about 11:40 P.M. George McGovern conceded and sent me a telegram:
CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR VICTORY. I HOPE THAT IN THE NEXT FOUR YEARS YOU WILL LEAD US TO A TIME OF PEACE ABROAD AND JUSTICE AT HOME. YOU HAVE MY FULL SUPPORT IN SUCH EFFORTS. WITH BEST WISHES TO YOU AND YOUR GRACIOUS WIFE PAT. SINCERELY, GEORGE MCGOVERN.
Ed thought the message was gracious, but Tricia and Julie thought it cold and arch. I thought it was merely carefully worded. I expressed my reaction in my diary: “It was a tough experience for him and I am not as hard-nosed about it as some might be because with all the mistakes he made, he feels that he has done the best he can and he is being put upon.”
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