All the President's Men

“The Five men arrested at 2:30 A.M. had been dressed in business suits and all had worn Playtex rubber surgical gloves. Police had seized a walkie-talkie, 40 rolls of unexposed film, two 35-millimeter cameras, lock picks, pen-sized tear-gas guns, and bugging devices that apparently were capable of picking up both telephone and room conversations. ‘One of the men had $814, one $800, one $215, one $234, one $230,’ Lewis had dictated. ‘Most of It was In $100 bills, in sequence.’” 

The five men arrested during the break-in are not run-of-the-mill petty criminals. The preparation evident in their equipment suggests a professional level of planning, and the other materials indicate that the break-in was part of some intelligence-gathering operation. Most interesting is the large quantity of $100 bills. These are not average criminals but rather hired thugs. 

“‘She [the White House librarian] denies that the conversation [with Bernstein about research into Ted Kennedy] took place. She said she referred you to the press office both times.’ Hunt, [Ken Clawson] said, had never received any White House assignment dealing with Senator Kenney. ‘He could have been doing research on his own,’ said Clawson. ‘You know, he wrote forty-five books.’ Howard Hunt wrote spy novels.”

This conversation reveals two important things. First, it is obvious from an early point in the investigation that Howard Hunt is working on significant and unsavory opposition research against top Democratic candidates. Second, Hunt fancies himself to be a kind of spy. Much of his behavior can be explained by this infatuation with Cold War-era spy novels.

“‘It’s good information, that’s all I can tell you about it,’ the man said […] ‘The money is the key to this thing.’”

This is perhaps the single most important piece of advice given to Woodward and Bernstein during their investigation of the initial Watergate break-in. It will go on to shape the entirety of their investigation, from their conversations with Hugh Sloan about CRP’s misdealing all the way up to the White House’s attempt to cover up the cover-up. Understanding the flow of money from donors, through Maurice Stans and CRP, into the pockets of agents of the White House is vital to understanding the Watergate affair.

“The last page of copy was passed to Sussman just at the deadline. Sussman set his pen and pipe down on the desk and turned to Woodward. ‘We’ve never had a story like this,’ he said. ‘Just never.’” 

The Watergate story was unprecedented in the modern era. No other political scandal went as deeply as Watergate, was as well documented, or captured so much national attention. Each story that Woodward and Bernstein publish is totally unprecedented, and despite the Post’s significant experience reporting on American politics, experience does very little to guide the newsroom through the challenges of investigating the break-in.

“Hundreds of thousands of Dollars in unaccounted cash,’ the [Government Accountability Office] man said one day. ‘A slush fund of cash,’ he said the next. ‘A rat’s nest behind the surface of computerized financial reporting,’ the third.”

CRP’s accounting system was designed inherently to conceal illicit activities behind confusing ledgers and new technologies. To a cursory inspection, CRP appeared to run a tight organization with precise accounting, but the more someone dug into payments and recipients, the more unusual things became. Even worse was the hive of illicit donations and hidden accounts through which CRP channeled hundreds of thousands of dollars.

“Shortly before April 7, the effective date of the new campaign finance law, and the last day anonymous contributions could be legally accepted, Stans had gone on a final fund-raising swing across the Southwest. If Democrats were reluctant to contribute to the campaign of a Republican presidential candidate, Stans assured them their anonymity could be absolutely ensured, if necessary by moving their contributions through a Mexican middleman whose bank records were not subject to subpoena by U.S. Investigators. The protection would also allow CRP to receive donations from corporations […] from business executives and labor leaders having difficulties with government regulatory agencies; and from special interest groups […] To guarantee anonymity, the ‘gifts,’ whether checks, security notes or stock certificates, would be taken across the border to Mexico, converted to cash in Mexico City […] and only then sent on to Washington. The only record would be jealously guarded in Washington by Stans, kept simply to make sure the contributor would not be forgotten in his time of need.” 

The Watergate scandal was financed by Maurice Stan’s illicit campaign contributions. This shuttle fundraising was key to creating CRP’s slush fund from which the salaries of both Hunt and Segretti’s teams were paid. It was done in a manner that was designed, and sold to donors, as anonymous, untraceable, and secure via foreign bank transfers. It is a clear example of money laundering. Sloan’s narrative here suggests that the campaign donations were tied to a quid pro quo scheme in which wealthy Democrats could donate to the campaign to purchase access to the President later. This kind of scheme, if not outright illegal itself, would be highly damaging to the President if it came out, and its connection to the Watergate break-in makes it dark indeed.

“Since June 17, CRP had seemed inviolate, as impenetrable as a super-secret national-security bureaucracy. Visitors were met at the door by a uniformed guard, cleared for access by press or security staffs, escorted to their appointments and led back out. The committee’s telephone roster of campaign officials […] was considered a classified document. A Washington Post researcher who obtained a copy from a friend at the committee was told, ‘You realize, I’ll lose my job if they find out.’”

CRP tried to protect itself from investigation by maintaining an ironclad wall of silence. To protect those at the top, CRP targeted its employees and threatened them with legal and extralegal actions if they were seen talking to reporters. Documents were either kept under lock-and-key or were destroyed outright in the days after the break-in. Each statement for every story published by Woodward and Bernstein is a short, direct denial of any claims advanced.

“About five o’clock, the woman telephoned Bernstein. She sounded almost hysterical. ‘I’m in a phone booth. When I got back from lunch, [with Bernstein] I got called into somebody’s office and confronted with the fact that I had been seen talking to a Post reporter. They wanted to know everything. It was high up; that’s all you have to know. I told you they were following me. Please don’t call me again or come to see me.’”

Woodward and Bernstein’s investigations are dangerous, not just to them but to their sources as well. In several cases, people are followed home or to lunches and meetings, and when stories are published inquisitions are held in the CRP office. Nobody is trusted, and CRP is willing to go to extreme lengths to protect its secrets.

“The man’s [Deep Throat] position in the Executive Branch was extremely sensitive. He had never told Woodward anything that was incorrect. It was also he who had advised Woodward on June 19 that Howard Hunt was definitely involved in Watergate. […] The White House, he said at the last meeting, regarded the stakes in Watergate as much higher than anyone outside perceived.” 

In many ways, Deep Throat is the key to the Watergate break-in. He was a high-ranking FBI official who knew exactly what kind of pressure the White House was placing on the investigation in order to end it. While Deep Throat has to be careful not to poison the well of information he is sharing with Woodward, his clues and confirmations prove to be one of the most vital pillars of the investigation.

“Gradually, an unwritten rule was evolving: unless two sources confirmed a charge involving activity likely to be considered criminal, the specific allegation was not used in the paper.”

The reporters and editors at the Washington Post all come to realize that they are investigating a totally unprecedented story. There is a constant three-way tension between the need to produce more information, the desire to protect the newspaper’s credibility, and the financial need to publish near daily. As the editorial team rewrites the rules of reporting, they seek to protect the paper in the process.

“The next morning, the New York Times did not mention the secret-fund stories. At the White House, Ron Ziegler was not asked about them. The networks carried neither of the stories, and most papers didn’t either. On Capitol Hill, the Republican leader of the Senate, Hugh Scott of Pennsylvania, told an informal morning press conference that the Watergate case was not of concern to the average voter.”

Even after several important stories have been published on the Watergate break-in and its connections to CRP, few other institutions take notice. Many in the media avoid what seems to be a political landmine. Meanwhile Administration officials and supporters attempt to downplay and dismiss the impact of the scandal. At several points, reporting on Watergate seems to be a lonely task for Woodward and Bernstein.

“They started to explain their plan to Bradlee and noticed that he was doodling on a sheet of paper on his desk—a sign that he was becoming a trifle impatient. He interrupted with a wave of his hand, then got to the point. ‘Listen, fellas, are you certain on Mitchell… Can you write it now?’ They hesitated, then said they could. The reporters understood Bradlee’s philosophy: a daily newspaper can’t wait for the definitive account of events. Bradlee stood up. ‘Well then, let’s do it.’”

Woodward and Bernstein would not have been able to remain on the Watergate stories without the unfailing support of the Post’s editorial team members, who are often just as convinced as the reporters of the importance of the story. However, the editors team also carries a different set of priorities. They are more concerned with the paper’s sales, as well as the reputation and credibility of the paper. Often Bradlee interrupts Woodward and Bernstein and asks them to cut straight to the heart of a story. What can they prove to be true? What is fit for publication? Everything else is fat to be trimmed.

“There would be as much money as needed. I was promised the pie in the sky by and by. Expenses plus salary. I’d be working for him [Segretti].”

Alex Shipley tells Woodward and Bernstein a key piece of information here, one that can be applied to virtually every activity the two investigate. Every activity set up by CRP and the White House, from high-level burglaries down to letter stuffing, was backed up by a near unlimited supply of cash. Every person involved in Nixon’s dirty tricks program was promised a large payout, control over a budget, and the opportunity to turn a tidy profit by participating in the scheme. The only way to conceal such a substantial amount of payments was to use CRP’s slush fund and money laundering apparatus to avoid oversight.

“When I am the Candidate, I run the Campaign.”

Richard Nixon promised that during his campaigns he would be the final authority and bear total responsibility for the conduct of his representatives. In effect he was saying that, no matter what, he was totally in charge of what happened. After the Watergate scandal breaks, Nixon first tries to blame CRP officials by saying they acted on their own initiative. Then when it is suggested that the White House was involved, Nixon blames his advisors. Ironically, Nixon’s original statement was true. He was indeed running the campaign and was responsible for both the initial espionage program and the cover-up.

“Marilyn, I have a wife and family and a dog and a cat.”

Ken Clawson’s transformation from upstanding journalist to White House stooge highlights the corrupting effect of the White House. Veteran reporter Marilyn Berger tells Woodward and Bernstein that Clawson, a former Post reporter who quit to join the White House, came over to her apartment for drinks and bragged that he forged the Canuck letter. Clawson defends the letter, revealing the importance he places on loyalty to the President above all else. When Woodward and Bernstein write a story based on the conversation and call Clawson for comment, he seems more concerned about covering up his attempt to cheat on his wife than in denying the claim that he torpedoed a Democratic campaign.

“Shumway called back an hour later, saying: ‘Now, are you ready? We’ve got a statement: “The Post story is not only fiction but a collection of absurdities.”’ Woodward waited. ‘That’s it,’ Shumway said.”

CRP’s denials are often short and flat. They offer the reporters little to analyze, no language to pick apart. However, because CRP’s denials are so rigid, so absolute, when the well-sourced articles about CRP’s activities come out, it is they who looked absurd. The denial of so many confirmed stories will ultimately undermine the position of many leading CRP officials and spokesmen.

“And the Washington Post’s credibility has today sunk lower than that of George McGovern. Using Innuendo, third-person hearsay, unsubstantiated charges, anonymous sources and huge scare headlines, the Post has maliciously sought to give the appearance of a direct connection between the White House and Watergate—a charge which the Post knows and half a dozen investigations have found to be false.”

A common tactic by the White House is to suggest that the Post’s reporting is politically motivated. The Post, it argues, is a tool of the Democratic Party and is actively working to see candidate George McGovern elected in November 1972. This is an attempt to discredit and politicize the Post’s reporting, to suggest that it was rushed, that parts of it were falsified, and that Republicans in particular should be suspicious of the stories they read. Even after the election, White House officials try to argue that the reports were the product of retribution for McGovern’s loss. These attacks are especially pernicious because they try to deny the stories not through fact, honesty, and evidence, but by playing on tribalism and partisan identification.

“Haldeman was held in awe throughout the administration. At the mention of his name, Cabinet officials would become silent and fearful. The few who would talk knowledgeably about him said they might lose their jobs if he ever found out. Tough… pragmatic… ruthless… devoted only to Richard Nixon… would stop at nothing… The descriptions were often similar and many quoted Haldeman’s celebrated self-description: ‘I’m the President’s son-of-a-bitch.’ But Haldeman was far more complicated than such descriptions indicated.”

H. R. Haldeman is the biggest figure directly implicated in Woodward and Bernstein’s reporting. He was the powerful gatekeeper to the Oval Office, and his sole job was protecting Richard Nixon. As the authors tell it, Haldeman strikes fear into the hearts of many in Washington. For much of the scandal, the combination of this power and fear insults Haldeman from bad publicity. Woodward and Bernstein’s greatest failure in their investigation is the decision to publish stories involving Haldeman without gathering all the best possible evidence first.

“‘I’d like to help you, I really would,’ said the lawyer. ‘But I just can’t say anything.’ Bernstein thought for a moment and told the many they understood why he couldn’t say anything. So they would do it another way: Bernstein would count to 10. If there was any reason for the reporters to hold back on the story, the lawyer should hang up before 10. If he was on the line after 10, it would mean the story was okay. ‘Hang up, right?’ … He got to 10. Okay, Bernstein said, and thanked him effusively. ‘You’ve got the story straight now?’ the lawyer asked.”

Woodward and Bernstein often have to rely on games and wordplay to get information from reluctant sources. Many potential sources are afraid of being branded a leaker. Others feel a strong obligation, legal or moral, to respect agreements about non-disclosure. Woodward and Bernstein quickly learn that if they lessen the impact of disclosure, if they make it possible for a source to say-without-saying, people will often become more forthcoming. This quote is an example of one such game, in which the lawyer is asked to stay on the line to the count of 10 if they believe the information being published is correct. In this case, the game is too complicated; the lawyer misunderstands the rules and confirms a piece of information when he wants to deny it.

“Judge Sirica asked about ‘these $100 bills that were floating around like coupons.’ Barker replied that he didn’t know where they had come from. The others nodded. ‘I got the money in the mail in a blank envelop,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ replied Sirica, ‘I don’t believe you.’

In this quote Bernard Barker perjures himself during the Watergate trial when he lies about the origins of the funds he has been paid. He knows that his boss, Howard Hunt, works for CRP and that the funds originated from high up within the President’s inner circle, but Barker also knows that if he lies he stands to get a big chunk of the $1 million bribe that Hunt obtained from the White House. The problem is, despite the decision to cover up the extent of the crimes committed, neither Barker nor Hunt nor anyone else is able to create a lie clever enough to shift blame. Rather, the burglar’s non-answers are so thin, so obviously an attempt to conceal information, that they demand an answer.

“Time magazine published the first detailed account of the Nixon Administration’s zealous campaign to trace news leaks by tapping the telephones of news reporters and government officials. According to the Times account, the phones of half a dozen reporters and twice as many White House and government aides had been tapped by the FBI for reasons of domestic ‘security.’ The taps were begun in 1969, under a reluctant J. Edgar Hoover […] Hoover, said Time, had permitted his agents to install the taps only after John Mitchell authorized each tap in writing. In 1971, when the administration tried to force Hoover to retire, Time said, the old bulldog-faced director had successfully resisted by threatening to reveal the details of the wiretapping campaign.”

The wiretapping campaign was a core pillar of Nixon’s espionage program. It began almost immediately after Nixon was inaugurated in 1969 and lasted, in modified fashion, through much of the President’s second term. Hoover, who was insulated by a position-for-life, refused to directly support Nixon’s illegal program and instead forced his boss, the attorney general, to order the taps himself. As a result, Mitchell was forced to become involved from an early stage in the program. After Hoover died, Patrick Gray took charge of the FBI. His more pliant attitude towards the taps allowed the Nixon administration to turn the wiretapping and espionage program on autopilot and allowed Mitchell to expand the program from direct White House control to the more distant CRP. Still, many tracks would ultimately connect the dots from Mitchell and CRP to the Justice Department and the White House.

“That tied the knot. The secret fund had brought the reporters full circle—first the bugging, and now the cover up.”

After the initial break-in, Woodward and Bernstein’s first major break is discovering the existence of an off-the-books account from which many of the burglars were paid. From there sources take the reports though a number of different but related issues. After the election of 1972, Woodward and Bernstein hit a wall in terms of reporting, one they struggled to overcome. By returning to the CRP slush fund, the two are able to expand the scope of that account beyond the burglars, beyond Segretti’s dirty tricks group, to nearly every illicit activity the White House conducted. The slush fund leads back into the Oval Office itself.

“There can be no whitewash at the White House […] Two wrongs do not make a right […] I love America […] God bless America and God bless each and every one of you.”

The “Whitewash” speech, along with Nixon’s later “I am not a crook” speech, are his two most famous speeches on the Watergate affair. The Whitewash speech was the earlier of the two and was the first time Nixon publicly acknowledged that officials within the White House had been involved in the break-in and cover up. In the speech, Nixon tries to dodge responsibility. He blames overeager advisors who betrayed Nixon as much as they betrayed the American people. Nixon tries to tie himself to the American people, to paint himself as a co-victim. The last line of his speech is a further attempt to wrap himself in the least controversial parts of American life: God, the people, and the flag. Accusations leveled against him would be like attacking American itself. The speech from first to last was a clever way of avoiding blame without accepting responsibility, to blame the conspirators as rogue government agents, and to suggest that Nixon had God and the common man on his side.