TIME: Almanac 1990/1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso/time/caps/70s/70hearng

Text File | 1990-12-01 | 9KB | 178 lines

                _ab^                                                    `««Watergate Hearings

  [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.