investigation toward itself closer. The White House was prepared to let Jack lose his job, on this one anyway.
I tried a different tack. “Look, Gleason’s lawyer is a good friend, but he’s not likely to do something like this on my say-so. I don’t have a lot of ammunition.”
Ehrlichman answered, though I was looking at Haldeman. “John, that’s the sort of dilemma a counsel to the President gets his inspirations for.” He shifted in his chair, he had finished what he had to say.
I drove up to Capitol Hill, went to Vice-President Agnew’s sparsely furnished office in the New Senate Office Building, and sent word to the committee’s hearing room for Edward P. Taptich, Gleason’s lawyer. Without using Haldeman’s or Ehrlichman’s name, I told him what I wanted. It was an unpleasant conversation. He went to the committee room to confer with Gleason. When he returned with Gleason’s answer I called Haldeman, and Ehrlichman came on the phone also. Sitting in Agnew’s chair talking, I knew they might have fired me if they had known Taptich was in the room with me. He nodded as I repeated his arguments.
“Bob,” I said, “it’s a pretty firm no. My lawyer friend does not feel he would be properly advising his client to tell him to take the Fifth, and Gleason doesn’t want to take the heat unless he has to.”
“Goddammit, he has to,” Haldeman said. “He doesn’t know…”
“And, besides, Bob,” I was anxious to get to some good news, “my friend Ed thinks there’s no problem. He’s going to object to any question they ask about anything except Gleason’s work for ITT in San Diego, the convention stuff. He’ll say that anything else is not germane to the Kleindienst confirmation hearings. That will probably happen on some warm-up question before anything troublesome gets introduced.”
“What happens,” Ehrlichman pressed, “if he loses the objection?”
“Well, I don’t think that will happen, because of Brother Eastland’s sense of fairness. But if it does, Ed will make a speech about how he refuses to let his client be subjected to a hearing that has no boundaries and goes fishing into the man’s political background. And if that doesn’t work, he’ll ask for a recess on account of his laryngitis, and we’ll call you.”
“This is too important to go in praying,” said Ehrlichman. “I think maybe you should have a word with Gleason yourself.”
“I can’t call him out of the hearing room, John,” I said. “He’s sitting down there now, about to go on. Look, I think we’ve got a ninety-five percent chance of getting by, which will leave us a hell of a lot better off than taking the Fifth. We won’t lose too much anyway by trying it the way Ed’s got it planned. Besides, I’m sure they’re not going to budge. They think it’s their hot seat.”
“Okay, John,” Haldeman said. “I hope you’re smiling when I see you next.”
Taptich went to the hearings and I waited. He objected when Senator Kennedy asked Gleason what job he had received when the Nixon Administration took office. Eastland sustained the objection. When Senator John V. Tunney, another committee member, got wind of my presence in the building and asked about my conversations with Gleason, Taptich objected, and was again sustained after a long argument. He was home free. Two years later, when Town House came to light, Gleason and another White House aide pleaded guilty to Campaign Act violations and received suspended sentences while Herbert Kalmbach went to jail for selling ambassadorships. The prosecutors sat on a possible indictment against Bob Haldeman.
I had survived my first minor role on the front lines of a cover-up and had risen in the confidence of Haldeman and Ehrlichman. Looking back, I wonder that I failed to see the signs of worse to come. At the time, I was relieved to have passed. The ITT scandal at last melted to the back pages of the papers, and Kleindienst was confirmed. When the
I tried a different tack. “Look, Gleason’s lawyer is a good friend, but he’s not likely to do something like this on my say-so. I don’t have a lot of ammunition.”
Ehrlichman answered, though I was looking at Haldeman. “John, that’s the sort of dilemma a counsel to the President gets his inspirations for.” He shifted in his chair, he had finished what he had to say.
I drove up to Capitol Hill, went to Vice-President Agnew’s sparsely furnished office in the New Senate Office Building, and sent word to the committee’s hearing room for Edward P. Taptich, Gleason’s lawyer. Without using Haldeman’s or Ehrlichman’s name, I told him what I wanted. It was an unpleasant conversation. He went to the committee room to confer with Gleason. When he returned with Gleason’s answer I called Haldeman, and Ehrlichman came on the phone also. Sitting in Agnew’s chair talking, I knew they might have fired me if they had known Taptich was in the room with me. He nodded as I repeated his arguments.
“Bob,” I said, “it’s a pretty firm no. My lawyer friend does not feel he would be properly advising his client to tell him to take the Fifth, and Gleason doesn’t want to take the heat unless he has to.”
“Goddammit, he has to,” Haldeman said. “He doesn’t know…”
“And, besides, Bob,” I was anxious to get to some good news, “my friend Ed thinks there’s no problem. He’s going to object to any question they ask about anything except Gleason’s work for ITT in San Diego, the convention stuff. He’ll say that anything else is not germane to the Kleindienst confirmation hearings. That will probably happen on some warm-up question before anything troublesome gets introduced.”
“What happens,” Ehrlichman pressed, “if he loses the objection?”
“Well, I don’t think that will happen, because of Brother Eastland’s sense of fairness. But if it does, Ed will make a speech about how he refuses to let his client be subjected to a hearing that has no boundaries and goes fishing into the man’s political background. And if that doesn’t work, he’ll ask for a recess on account of his laryngitis, and we’ll call you.”
“This is too important to go in praying,” said Ehrlichman. “I think maybe you should have a word with Gleason yourself.”
“I can’t call him out of the hearing room, John,” I said. “He’s sitting down there now, about to go on. Look, I think we’ve got a ninety-five percent chance of getting by, which will leave us a hell of a lot better off than taking the Fifth. We won’t lose too much anyway by trying it the way Ed’s got it planned. Besides, I’m sure they’re not going to budge. They think it’s their hot seat.”
“Okay, John,” Haldeman said. “I hope you’re smiling when I see you next.”
Taptich went to the hearings and I waited. He objected when Senator Kennedy asked Gleason what job he had received when the Nixon Administration took office. Eastland sustained the objection. When Senator John V. Tunney, another committee member, got wind of my presence in the building and asked about my conversations with Gleason, Taptich objected, and was again sustained after a long argument. He was home free. Two years later, when Town House came to light, Gleason and another White House aide pleaded guilty to Campaign Act violations and received suspended sentences while Herbert Kalmbach went to jail for selling ambassadorships. The prosecutors sat on a possible indictment against Bob Haldeman.
I had survived my first minor role on the front lines of a cover-up and had risen in the confidence of Haldeman and Ehrlichman. Looking back, I wonder that I failed to see the signs of worse to come. At the time, I was relieved to have passed. The ITT scandal at last melted to the back pages of the papers, and Kleindienst was confirmed. When the
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