Killing Reagan Page 8

  Nixon strips off his pajamas, showers, and changes into the dark blue suit, white shirt, and maroon tie that Sanchez has laid out for him. He is just moments away from walking downstairs to the Oval Office and affixing his signature to a one-line document: “I hereby resign the Office of President of the United States.”

  * * *

  The scandal that would bring down a president begins over two years earlier, on June 17, 1972. Richard Nixon is seeking reelection. His first four years in office have been a triumph, marked by significant efforts to end the war in Vietnam and the historic moment when American astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon. Sixty-two percent of Americans approve of Nixon’s job performance. No matter whom the Democrats select to run against him, he should win the election handily.

  Yet the paranoid Nixon is not taking any chances. His reelection committee is undertaking a stealth campaign of political espionage to defeat the Democrats. This operation includes planting eavesdropping devices in the offices of the Democratic National Committee at the Watergate Hotel complex. On June 18, 1972, the Washington Post publishes a curious dispatch noting arrests made at the DNC’s offices:

  Five men, one of whom said he is a former employee of the Central Intelligence Agency, were arrested at 2:30 a.m. yesterday in what authorities described as an elaborate plot to bug the offices of the Democratic National Committee here.

  Three of the men were native-born Cubans and another was said to have trained Cuban exiles for guerrilla activity after the 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion.

  They were surprised at gunpoint by three plain-clothes officers of the metropolitan police department in a sixth floor office at the plush Watergate, 2600 Virginia Ave., NW, where the Democratic National Committee occupies the entire floor.

  There was no immediate explanation as to why the five suspects would want to bug the Democratic National Committee offices or whether or not they were working for any other individuals or organizations.

  But as the media would reveal over the course of the next 852 days, the Watergate burglars were ultimately working for one very specific individual: Richard Milhous Nixon.

  * * *

  More than three thousand miles away, California governor Ronald Reagan is well into his sixth year in office. Reagan has been extraordinarily successful, despite having survived a recall effort during his first term.3 Reagan has achieved much as California’s leader, cracking down on violent student protests against the Vietnam War, successfully raising taxes in order to balance the budget, and then issuing a tax rebate. In October 1971, Reagan traveled on one of his four trips to Asia as a special envoy of Richard Nixon to calm foreign heads of state who were nervous about the thawing of relations between the United States and China.

  Meantime, Nancy Reagan has also prospered as California’s First Lady. She has come to enjoy the trappings of power, such as private jet travel, an aide to carry her purse, and the surprise friendship of singer Frank Sinatra. Once an enemy, Sinatra has become a big supporter of Governor Reagan and a close personal confidant to Nancy.4

  Even though her husband has stated publicly that he will not seek a third term as governor, Nancy is not about to give up a life of perks and celebrity adulation. She is working behind the scenes to plan a presidential campaign. The time will come, Nancy believes, when her Ronnie will be ready for the big job.

  Her astrologers agree.

  * * *

  But no seer can save Richard Nixon. Nine months after their arrest, the Watergate burglars and the men who helped them plan the break-in of the DNC headquarters are being sentenced. They have all pleaded guilty and have maintained a code of silence as to their motives. All insist they acted without help. At this point, there is absolutely no evidence connecting Richard Nixon or the White House to the break-in.

  But John Sirica, the short-tempered, sixty-nine-year-old chief judge for the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia, is convinced there is more to the story. He stuns the burglars with sentences ranging from thirty-five to forty-five years in federal prison for charges of burglary, conspiracy, and wiretapping. The sentences, however, are provisional: if the defendants break their silence, prison time will be reduced to months instead of years.

  The man in charge of security for the Republican National Committee, James McCord, a former CIA officer, is the first to crack. “I would appreciate the opportunity to talk with you privately in chambers,” he informs Judge Sirica.

  * * *

  Five weeks later, on April 30, 1973, President Richard Nixon inhabits an old leather chair in the White House’s second-floor Lincoln Sitting Room. Although it is April, flames dance in the fireplace. Nixon enjoys the fire, and even orders it lit during the hot summer months so that he can sit alone and listen to records.

  But tonight the Lincoln Sitting Room is silent. Nixon broods and sips from a glass of twenty-year-old Ballantine scotch. Ever since McCord’s confession, Judge Sirica’s new grand jury investigation into the Watergate scandal has unveiled damning evidence linking the White House to the burglaries. McCord is naming names. Nixon is frantically working to distance himself from those names, even if it means firing men who have long been loyal to him. Just today, he accepted the resignations of three key members of his administration for their role in the Watergate fiasco and fired another.5

  The phone rings.

  “Governor Reagan on the line,” a White House operator tells Nixon.

  “Hello,” Nixon responds coldly. Nixon has a famously low tolerance for alcohol and gets drunk quickly. Tonight is no exception.

  “Mr. President?” says Reagan.

  “Hello, Ron. How are you?” Nixon replies in a booming voice.

  Reagan’s is a courtesy call, one Republican to another. But in truth, the two men are battling for control of their party. Nixon is threatened by Reagan’s popularity and his brand of staunch conservatism. He is vehemently opposed to the idea of Reagan succeeding him as president and has hand-picked former Texas governor John Connally as the man he will back for the Republican presidential nomination in 1976. Knowing this, Connally is preparing to switch over from the Democratic Party.

  “Just fine and how are you?” Reagan responds. His words ring hollow because both men know that Nixon is in trouble. Earlier this evening, Nixon went on national television and lied to the American public, telling the country that he had nothing to do with Watergate. Furthermore, Nixon insisted he would be relentless in finding who was responsible.

  “Couldn’t be better,” Richard Nixon says bitterly, then he immediately changes the subject. “You must have—the time is so far different. You’re about only seven o’clock, or eight o’clock there.”

  “Yes. Yes,” Reagan says.

  “How nice of you to call.” Again Nixon’s voice is tinged with sarcasm. In his drunken state, he has a hard time hiding his loathing for Reagan.

  “Well, I want you to know we watched,” Reagan tells Nixon. “And my heart was with you. I know what this must have been, and all these days and what you’ve been through, and I just wanted you to know that, uh, for whatever it’s worth, I’m still behind you. You can count on us. We’re still behind you out here, and I want you to know you’re in our prayers.”

  “How nice of you to say that,” Nixon answers. He is determined to change the subject again. “Well, let me tell you this. That we can be—each of us has a different religion, you know, but goddammit, Ron, we have got to build peace in the world and that’s what I’m working on. I want you to know I so appreciate your calling and give my love to Nancy. How—how’d you ever marry such a pretty girl? My God!”

  Nixon is being disingenuous. He has confided to his staff that “Nancy Reagan’s a bitch. A demanding one. And he listens to her.”

  Ronald Reagan knows none of this. “Well, I’m just lucky,” he says, chuckling.

  “You’re lucky. Well, I was lucky.”

  “Yes. Yes. You were.”

  “How nice of you to call. Yo
u, you thought it was the right speech though?”

  “I did. Very much so. Yes.”

  “Had to say it. Had to say it.”

  “Yeah. I know how difficult it was. And I know what it must be with the fellas having to do what they did. And they—”

  Nixon cuts him off. “That’s right. They had to get out.”

  “And I can understand—”

  Again, Nixon interrupts to change the subject. “Right? Where are you at now? Are you in Sacramento?”

  “No. Los Angeles.”

  “Ha, ha. Good for you to get out of that miserable city.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Right. Rod,” Nixon says, unintentionally mangling Reagan’s name. “Damn nice of you to call.”

  “Well—”

  “OK.”

  “This too shall pass,” Reagan says, trying to console the president.

  “Everything passes. Thank you.”

  “You bet. Give our best to Pat,” Reagan concludes.

  The line goes dead.

  * * *

  Throughout 1973, the evidence that Richard Nixon funded acts of political espionage and engaged in a cover-up continues to grow. A brand-new cloud of scandal settles over the White House when it is revealed that Vice President Spiro Agnew has been taking bribes while in office.6 In order to escape prosecution for conspiracy, extortion, and bribery, Agnew resigns on October 10, 1973.

  Richard Nixon is torn about a successor. He would like to nominate John Connally for vice president, but the lifelong Democrat switched political parties only five months ago. There is still animosity among Democrats about the defection, and Nixon feels that they will block Connally’s congressional confirmation.

  The second choice is Nelson Rockefeller, the liberal Republican governor of New York. Given their long-ago Treaty of Fifth Avenue, which led to a blending of their personal political views into a road map sending the Republican Party on a more moderate course, Nixon fears that this choice will alienate the conservative elements of the party.

  The third name on Nixon’s list is Ronald Reagan. He is extremely popular among Republicans, and, despite conservative philosophies that are far to the right of Nixon’s, Reagan has few enemies in Washington and should have little problem getting confirmed.

  Reagan has campaigned for Nixon during three elections. He has called to offer condolences at a time of hardship. Reagan and Nixon have exchanged correspondence for more than a decade. They should be friends.

  But because of envy on Nixon’s part, they are not.

  Nixon’s nomination for the vice presidency is an old friend: Congressman Gerald Rudolph Ford Jr. of Grand Rapids, Michigan, the minority leader in the House.

  Ronald Reagan will not be coming to Washington anytime soon.

  * * *

  All through the 1973 Christmas season, and into 1974, Richard Nixon battles to stay in office. As prosecutors circle ever closer, he denies them access to tape-recorded discussions he had about the Watergate situation. The prosecutors are forced to take the case all the way to the Supreme Court, which rules unanimously on July 24, 1974, that Nixon must turn over the recordings of sixty-four conversations related to Watergate that occurred in the Oval Office.7 It is a crushing defeat for the president, made all the worse three days later, when the House Judiciary Committee files three articles of impeachment against him. There is a chance that Richard Nixon will be not only forced out of office but also sent to prison.

  Every night throughout the crisis, comedian Johnny Carson performs a six-minute monologue of topical one-liners on The Tonight Show. Carson is “the most powerful single performer in television,” one critic says of the late-night talk show host, and it is true, as many in the media take their cues from him.

  Carson and other entertainers batter Richard Nixon, causing more and more Americans to believe that their president is indeed a crook. Cries for Richard Nixon to resign are relentless, and so is Johnny Carson: “Tonight’s monologue is dedicated to Richard Nixon. I’ve got a monologue that just won’t quit.”

  * * *

  Richard Nixon is not a quitter. But by August 7, 1974, it is clear that he has no other choice. He calls Secretary of State Henry Kissinger to explain his decision. The two men, who bonded over ending the Vietnam War, meet in the Lincoln Sitting Room, Nixon’s favorite room in the White House. Richard Nixon’s mental health has become an issue as the Watergate crisis has dragged on for more than two years. He has hinted at suicide. He drinks too much and often takes sleeping pills to allow himself at least a few hours of peace. But the pills don’t always work: Nixon has begun wandering the White House hallways late at night, engaging in loud verbal debates with the paintings of former presidents that hang on the walls.8

  But on this evening, Nixon is not in an argumentative mood. Instead, he is defeated and drunk. Kissinger enters the White House to find Nixon slumped in his favorite leather chair. The room is nearly dark. Even though Nixon is still technically the president, his powers are deeply diminished. The military Joint Chiefs of Staff no longer recognize his authority and actually refuse to take orders from him. Secretary of Defense James Schlesinger has even gone to the extreme of planning for the army’s Eighty-Second Airborne Division to remove Nixon from office forcibly, if it should become necessary.

  Suddenly, Nixon begins to cry. “Pray with me,” he says to Kissinger, pushing back his ottoman and sinking to his knees on the light gray carpet.

  Kissinger is startled and initially confused. He is Jewish and does not share Nixon’s Quaker faith. But above all, Henry Kissinger is an accommodating man and soon joins Nixon on the floor.

  Nixon continues to cry as he prays, then falls forward and presses his face into the carpet. “What have I done?” he laments, pounding the floor with his fists. “What has happened?”

  * * *

  Thirty-six hours later, Nixon signs his letter of resignation with a flourish. There is no precedent for his act. Per the Presidential Succession Act of 1792, Nixon addresses the letter to Henry Kissinger, his secretary of state and most trusted adviser.9

  Now there is nothing to do but leave the White House. Nixon stops first to say good-bye to his household staff in the West Hall. The cooks and maids form a single line, and Nixon stops to shake each hand. Then it is on to the East Room, where a large crowd of family and supporters waits to hear him deliver one last speech. The U.S. Marine Band plays the theme song from Oklahoma! as Nixon enters and steps to the podium, followed by “Hail to the Chief.” Nixon’s wife, Pat, stands to his left as he pulls out a pair of black-framed glasses and steps to the three microphones. His daughters, Julie and Tricia, also stand on the podium, next to their husbands. The women have all been crying. Nixon speaks for twenty minutes, fighting back tears at times, and concludes his remarks by reminding his audience, “Always give your best, never get discouraged, never be petty; always remember, others may hate you, but those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them, and then you destroy yourself.”

  George H. W. Bush, head of the Republican National Committee, stands in the audience, marveling at Nixon’s words. Later he will write in his journal, “The speech was vintage Nixon—a kick or two at the press—enormous strains. One couldn’t help but look at the family and the whole thing and think of his accomplishments and then think of the shame and wonder [what] kind of man is this really. No morality—kicking his friends in those tapes—all of them. Gratuitous abuse.”

  Across the country, Ronald Reagan watches Nixon’s resignation unfold on television. All three major networks are carrying the proceedings live. “It is a tragedy for America that we have come to this, but it does mean that the agony of many months has come to an end,” Reagan says in a statement to the press.

  As Nixon leaves the White House and steps into the Marine Corps helicopter that will fly him away from the presidency forever,10 Ronald Reagan is left to wonder if Gerald Ford will ask him to be the new vice president of the United States. Reagan tells reporters he
would consider such a request “a call to duty.”

  But that call never comes.

  10

  DALLAS, TEXAS

  AUGUST 9, 1974

  5:00 P.M.

  As Richard Nixon flies into self-imposed exile, his plane passes just a few hundred miles north of this sprawling Texas city. Below, in a furnished rental apartment, John Hinckley Jr. lies around, strumming his guitar. The spartan room is tidy, for Hinckley is a fanatic about cleanliness and personal hygiene, often washing his face with such vigor that his father fears “he’d take the skin off.”

  Hinckley is nineteen years old now, living in Dallas near his elder sister, Diane, while on summer break from college. He works in a local pizza joint called Gordo’s, where he sweeps floor and clears tables. Hinckley is already gaining the sixty pounds he will soon add to his five-foot-ten-inch build. His Paul McCartney–type haircut frames his face, bangs sweeping low across the tops of his eyebrows. When he smiles, Hinckley’s dull blue eyes come alive. Yet Hinckley rarely smiles; nor does he have any inclination to shed some of his expanding girth. He has little interest in physical fitness or presidential politics—or in anything, for that matter. While his elder brother, Scott, is being groomed to run their father’s oil company, and his sister is newly married and settling down, John has retreated into a world all his own. He speaks with a flat affect, and his gaze often lacks expression. His only solace comes through music.

  The truth is John Hinckley is at a loss to explain what is happening in his brain. He has some form of schizophrenia, a mental disorder that causes the mind to distort reality. A combination of inherited traits and environmental factors has altered his genetic makeup, beginning with subtle changes in his teenage years. If left untreated, his condition can tailspin into delusions and violent behavior that will become dangerous to him and those around him.