The Crime and the Coverup
On June 17, 1972, a group of burglars broke into the Democratic National Committee offices in the Watergate complex, but it took more than two years before the scandal forced Nixon from office.
Long before it was clear Nixon would fall, in November 1973, the historian and former Kennedy Aide Arthur Schlesinger laid out why Nixon's misdeeds were unique, and why they would eventually require his removal:
The presidency has been in crisis before; but the constitutional offense that led to the impeachment of Andrew Johnson was trivial compared to the charges now accumulating around the Nixon Administration. There are, indeed, constitutional offenses here [but] .... what is unique in the history of the presidency is the long list of potential criminal charges against the Nixon Administration.
The implications of that fact were stark. "For the first time in a century, Americans in the 1970s have to think hard about impeachment, which means that, because most of us flinch from the prospect, we begin to think hard about alternatives to impeachment," Schlesinger wrote, but concluded that all of the potential alternatives had even more fatal flaws. Though impeachment was ultimately avoided by Nixon's resignation, Schlesinger's point proved prescient.
f course, we might never have known about much of Watergate if not for whistleblowers who revealed the White House's behavior. But who was "Deep Throat," and was he a hero or a morally compromised striver, out to help himself? The secret informant who encouraged Washington Post reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein to dig into the burglary by tracing campaign cash was the subject of much speculation until Mark Felt, a former associate director of the FBI, revealed himself in 2005.
In 1992, James Mann showed that the FBI and the Nixon White House had been clashing since the president appointed an outsider to succeed long-time director J. Edgar Hoover. That, Mann wrote, is why an FBI insider would have seen fit to leak to Woodward. But who would that have been? While Mann mentioned Felt repeatedly—he was first on a list of possibilities—he didn't pin it on him definitively.
There has been considerable speculation that Deep Throat never existed, that he must have been either a complete fiction or a composite of several people. My memory of those early months of Watergate is otherwise: that there was a specific individual, from the FBI, and Woodward had special access to him.
In March 1974, a group known as the Watergate Seven were arraigned for their involvement in trying to undermine the Watergate investigation. Several—including three of Nixon's most senior aides, Chief of Staff Bob Haldeman, John Ehrlichman, and Attorney General John Mitchell—were tried, convicted, and sentenced to prison. The trials made a national hero of federal Judge John Sirica. Looking back on the trials with new archival evidence on the 39th anniversary of Nixon's resignation, in 2013, Geoff Shepard, who was a young attorney on the president's defense team, charged Sirica with ethical violations.
It is true that we failed spectacularly. Of course, I’m disappointed we weren’t more successful. But whether the defendants were innocent or guilty, I’ve always worried on a more basic level that the heightened emotions of the times denied them the due process of law envisioned by our Constitution.
Atlantic contributing editor Andrew Cohen replied, saying that while Sirica's meetings with prosecutors were unwise, they did little to taint the verdicts.
It may have been true, as Gerald Ford said at his inauguration, that the "long national nightmare" was over, but Nixon wasn't gone.
Just as the press had been sure in 1962 that they wouldn't have Nixon to kick around anymore, the American people imagined they were rid of the man when he left for California. Nixon, never a quitter, had other plans. In an excerpt from a new edition of her book on Watergate, former Atlantic Washington correspondent Elizabeth Drew reported earlier this year on Nixon's post-presidential plan:
Determined and methodical as usual, with the help of aides who had gone with him to San Clemente at government expense, Nixon made a plan. This secret plan, codenamed Wizard, was one to regain respectability. He would show ’em again. What would have crushed most people to Richard Nixon was another crisis to be overcome.
Incredibly, Drew notes, Nixon was largely successful: Through force of will, blackmail, and a certain something—not quite charm, this being Nixon—he ended his life as a respected foreign-policy mandarin, a wise old man and confidant of presidents.
That rehabilitation, limited as it was, might have been impossible without a pardon. The propriety of Gerald Ford's decision remains a subject of fierce disagreement today. But the question is not just whether Ford should have pardoned Nixon, but why he did so. The men were not close, as Seymour Hersh reported in 1983: "Nixon had reservations about Ford's abilities, Colson says; after Ford's confirmation, the President once described him to Colson as his 'insurance policy' against impeachment." In an finely detailed tick-tock of the pardon, starting from Ford's appointment to the vice-presidency, Hersh sought to determine what happened. His final judgment was harsh:
Richard Nixon, with his continued efforts to influence the White House through the good offices of Alexander Haig, demonstrated that his fall from power had taught him little. And Gerald Ford, by putting self-interest and political loyalty to a benefactor above his duty, did not give the American legal system a chance to work. The transfer of power in August of 1974 was not a triumph for democracy.
Harsher, and more colorful, was Hunter S. Thompson's obituary for Nixon, "He Was a Crook," which originally ran in Rolling Stone and was later republished in The Atlantic. (For more Thompson on Nixon, read his long interview with the magazine in 1997.) Thompson and Nixon had been linked for decades, perhaps most memorably in the incredible story of the two men chewing the fat about football during the 1968 campaign. The obituary is trademark Thompson: funny and irreverent and angry and touching and manic.
I have had my own bloody relationship with Nixon for many years, but I am not worried about it landing me in hell with him. I have already been there with that bastard, and I am a better person for it. Nixon had the unique ability to make his enemies seem honorable, and we developed a keen sense of fraternity. Some of my best friends have hated Nixon all their lives. My mother hates Nixon, my son hates Nixon, I hate Nixon, and this hatred has brought us together.
On one hand, Thompson wrote, "It was Richard Nixon who got me into politics, and now that he's gone, I feel lonely." On the other, "If the right people had been in charge of Nixon's funeral, his casket would have been launched into one of those open-sewage canals that empty into the ocean just south of Los Angeles."