TIME: Almanac of the 20th Century

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<text> <title> (1970) Watergate Hearings </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1970s Highlights </history> <link 07761> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> Watergate Hearings </hdr> <body> [Televised hearings-the best daytime drama in years-began before North Carolina Senator Sam Ervin's select committee.] (May 28, 1973) The brisk young Nixon men. The brusquely efficient cop. The precise and credible-sounding veteran of the CIA and FBI. All contented with their anonymity only a year ago, they now slipped one by one into a central seat facing seven U.S. Senators ranged along a green-felt-covered table. They braced as the red signal lights of the television cameras blinked on--and then they became instant principals in a fateful national drama in which the political survival of the President is at stake. The Watergate story was now being dramatized under the klieg lights of the crowded Senate Caucus Room and thrust into the living rooms of America. Figuratively, the testimony represented at least half a dozen sticks of dynamite that could blow the scandal sky-high. The fuses were lit, and the first reached flash point as Convicted Wiretapper James W. McCord Jr. directly accused Richard Nixon of participating in attempts to conceal the involvement of his closest political associates in the sordid and still-spreading affair. Coolly composed, the former Government agent spun out a tale of Washington intrigue sprinkled with specific details of secret meetings on a scenic outlook over the Potomac, paybooth telephone calls from a stranger, an implied threat against his life. (July 9, 1973) Now the grave charges against the President had passed a point of no return. Carried with chilling reality into millions of American homes and spread massively on the official record of a solemn Senate inquiry, the torrential testimony of John W. Dean III fell short of proof in a court of law. But the impact was devastating. As President, Richard Nixon was grievously, if not mortally wounded. Dean contended that the Watergate wiretapping operation was known in the White House by Chief of Staff Haldeman before the June 17 arrests--and since Haldeman regularly reported fully to the President, Dean "assumed" Nixon could have known. But, as early as Sept. 15, Dean charged, the President clearly indicated his awareness that a cover-up was under way. Then and later, Dean claimed, the President talked directly to him about Executive clemency and hush money for the wiretappers, as well as about ways to prevent the potential damage of Justice Department investigations, Democratic Party civil suits and congressional hearings. If Dean's claims are true--and his supporting details as well as some of his circumstantial documents were impressive--that would make Nixon's May 22 denials outright lies or at least render the presidential statements once again "inoperative." Dean's dismaying description of the climate of fear existing within the Nixon White House is almost as alarming as the affair that it spawned. With little regard for the law and under repeated proddings by the President himself, Dean contended, the Nixon staff used or contemplated using almost any available tactic to undermine political opponents, punish press critics, subdue antiwar protesters and gather political intelligence, including lists of "enemies." (July 30, 1973) The revelation last week that Nixon had ordered the automatic and covert recording of all of his office talks and most of his telephone conversations since the spring of 1971 cast a startling new light on the astonishing affair. A case against the President that had seemed destined to rest ambiguously on the often credible but thus far wholly uncorroborated testimony of Nixon's fired counsel, John W. Dean III, now might have a clear-cut resolution. By all accounts, the sudden and dramatic injection of the controversy over the Nixon tapes came about almost accidentally. A routine private staff questioning of Alexander P. Butterfield, a former aide to Haldeman and now administrator of the Federal Aviation Administration, was scheduled for Friday, July 13--and the staff "just lucked out." Nothing of interest had been learned when, at the very end, Junior Staff Counsel Sanders tossed out a throwaway question. Noting that Dean had testified that on one occasion he thought the President was taping a conversation with him, Sanders asked whether "conversations in the President's office are recorded." "Oh God," replied Butterfield, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that." Then he revealed that Nixon had ordered the Secret Service to install recording devices that would pick up any conversations in his Oval Office and his working quarters in the Executive Office Building. (August 6, 1973) Easily the most defiant and least contrite of all the Watergate witnesses thus far, Ehrlichman's mastery of the situation was impressive, his debating skill sharp, his language fascinating, his face an all-too-expressive reflection of his inner disdain and contempt for his questioners. When the nomination of the hapless L. Patrick Gray as FBI director was doomed, Ehrlichman did not urge its withdrawal, but suggested coldly: "We ought to let him hang there. Let him twist slowly, slowly in the wind." Throughout the questioning, Ehrlichman stuck stoutly to his denial of every illegal or improper act. That did not mean he refuted them convincingly. To believe Ehrlichman in every instance meant the Senators would have to disregard contrary testimony given either publicly or privately by an array of other witnesses. They include John Dean, Jeb Stuart Magruder, Herbert Kalmbach, John Mitchell, Hugh Sloan, Patrick Gray, Richard Helms, Lieut. General Vernon Walters, General Robert E. Cushman and David Young. If Ehrlichman spoke the truth, all these men had lied. (August 13, 1973) A counterattack was under way in the hearings as the White House presented its most effective defender so far: a polite, low-keyed and occasionally apologetic H.R. Haldeman. The much feared former White House chief of staff, so often described as the President's dour and whipcracking office guardian, answered questions with a seeming directness, patience and on occasion with an engaging grin. The performance was in contrast to the defiant, cleverly evasive witness who had preceded him: John Ehrlichman. For a man whose mastery of detail terrified any subordinate who overlooked the most minute assignment, Haldeman had a shaky memory. He treated many of the charges against him as though they were too insignificant to be remembered. Among them: Was it true, as John Dean, the President's fired counsel, testified, that Dean had reported to him about Convicted Wiretapper G. Gordon Liddy's bizarre political espionage plans as early as February 1972? Haldeman: "I don't have a recollection." After the arrests at the Watergate, was it true, as Strachan testified, that Haldeman ordered him to "clean the files"? "I don't recall the conversation." Did Strachan, again as he testified, report to Haldeman that he had destroyed Watergate-related files? "No, sir, I don't recall a report from him." (August 20, 1973) Just as the President seemed about to be given some respite, a new scandal exploded. Vice President Agnew, who had hitherto escaped the taint of Watergate, was officially informed that he was under investigation for allegedly taking kickbacks from contractors. With a mixture of shock and disbelief, many Americans wondered: "Who else? What next?" Throughout the months of the Watergate hearings, Spiro T. Agnew had been keeping a low profile. His object: to keep himself apart from the White House scandals until he could emerge as the unscathed, untarnished presidential candidate of 1976. Or even, perhaps, as the constitutionally designated successor to a departed President Nixon. Last week, he had to announce to a stunned public: "I am under investigation for possible violation of the criminal statutes." Specifically, the inquiry centers on allegations by Maryland contractors and others that Agnew collected payoffs during his terms as Baltimore County executive (1962-66), as Maryland Governor (1967-68), and even as Vice President. He faces possible charges of extortion, bribery, tax evasion and conspiracy. [Agnew wriggled and squirmed on the hook but could not escape conviction, resignation and disgrace.] (October 22, 1973) A Vice President who had piously proclaimed the need for stiff morality and stern judges was revealed as a grafter; he abruptly resigned in deserved disgrace, copping a plea to stay out of jail. Within 56 hours the President nominated House Republican Leader Gerald Ford to replace Spiro T. Agnew. In choosing the amiable House workhorse, Nixon for once did the easy and popular thing. </body> </article> </text>