memory and a Portuguese man-of-war’s touch. Often those who were ticklers made calls for the sake of making calls, to impress Haldeman with their efficiency. Their machine never forgot or tired. Once a staff man was nailed with responsibility for the slightest project, the tickler would keep pestering until it was fed something: a status report, a piece of paper, a bit of information to chew on. No one could ignore the tickler, because no one could afford to ignore Haldeman. It reached everywhere. Even Mitchell and Kissinger were subject to it. Each call was recorded meticulously on the tickler scorecard, on which reputations were made and broken in Haldeman’s eyes. The tickler did not easily show mercy. Thus, when I received a confidential action memorandum from Haldeman on January 18, 1971, and told Higby that the January 26, 1971 due date was too soon for the complex and extremely delicate assignment, I was refused an extension. At the time, I did not know I was handling a matter of intense interest to the President, but years later this assignment would help me understand the chain of events that destroyed the Nixon Presidency.
It began on January 14, 1971, when the President went all the way to the University of Nebraska to be assured a friendly reception, free of antiwar radicals and heckling students. As television commentators did not fail to point out, the President was neither welcome nor respected at institutions of higher learning. New campus protests had just broken out against stepped-up air operations in Cambodia and Laos, and Senator Muskie, who led the Democrats in the public opinion polls, was getting extensive press coverage on his trip through the Middle East and Moscow. The President, his prospects for reelection slipping, wanted to be seen as a courageous and admired leader. But as Air Force One flew toward the Nebraska heartland he was thinking about more than his speech and his reception. He reached for his IBM dictating machine.
“This is for Haldeman,” he said. “It would seem that the time is approaching when Larry O’Brien is held accountable for his retainer with Hughes. Bebe [Rebozo] has some information on this, although it is, of course, not solid. But there is no question that one of Hughes’s people did have O’Brien on a very heavy retainer for ‘services rendered’ in the past. Perhaps Colson should check on this.”
Rose Mary Woods, the President’s secretary, typed the message and passed it directly to Haldeman. Back in Washington the next day, Haldeman discussed the assignment with the President. Haldeman suggested that I, rather than Colson, pursue it, and the President agreed. “Let’s try Dean,” Haldeman noted on the bottom of the President’s memo, and three days later I received a Haldeman authored directive to investigate the relationship between billionaire industrialist Howard Hughes and Democratic National Committee Chairman Lawrence F. O’Brien.
Following my pattern, I talked it over with Jack Caulfield, who knew a lot of gossip about the Hughes empire. He told me it was embroiled in an internal war, with two billion dollars at stake, private eyes swarming, nerve-jangling power plays going on, and Mafia figures lurking in the wings. I found myself as cowed as any newspaper reader by the Hughes legend. The American dream in neon lights. He had built the last financial empire that was solely in the control of one owner, made movies in Hollywood, seduced a string of starlets beginning with Jean Harlow, and set world flying records. He had not been seen in public since 1957, pulling the strings of his one-man empire as a total recluse. He was more secret than the CIA and perhaps more powerful than the President. And he was feared in the Nixon White House, where some believed that the “Hughes loan” scandal had cost Richard Nixon the 1960 election to John F. Kennedy. 1 * The implications of the assignment were clear. If Larry O’Brien was in fact on the
It began on January 14, 1971, when the President went all the way to the University of Nebraska to be assured a friendly reception, free of antiwar radicals and heckling students. As television commentators did not fail to point out, the President was neither welcome nor respected at institutions of higher learning. New campus protests had just broken out against stepped-up air operations in Cambodia and Laos, and Senator Muskie, who led the Democrats in the public opinion polls, was getting extensive press coverage on his trip through the Middle East and Moscow. The President, his prospects for reelection slipping, wanted to be seen as a courageous and admired leader. But as Air Force One flew toward the Nebraska heartland he was thinking about more than his speech and his reception. He reached for his IBM dictating machine.
“This is for Haldeman,” he said. “It would seem that the time is approaching when Larry O’Brien is held accountable for his retainer with Hughes. Bebe [Rebozo] has some information on this, although it is, of course, not solid. But there is no question that one of Hughes’s people did have O’Brien on a very heavy retainer for ‘services rendered’ in the past. Perhaps Colson should check on this.”
Rose Mary Woods, the President’s secretary, typed the message and passed it directly to Haldeman. Back in Washington the next day, Haldeman discussed the assignment with the President. Haldeman suggested that I, rather than Colson, pursue it, and the President agreed. “Let’s try Dean,” Haldeman noted on the bottom of the President’s memo, and three days later I received a Haldeman authored directive to investigate the relationship between billionaire industrialist Howard Hughes and Democratic National Committee Chairman Lawrence F. O’Brien.
Following my pattern, I talked it over with Jack Caulfield, who knew a lot of gossip about the Hughes empire. He told me it was embroiled in an internal war, with two billion dollars at stake, private eyes swarming, nerve-jangling power plays going on, and Mafia figures lurking in the wings. I found myself as cowed as any newspaper reader by the Hughes legend. The American dream in neon lights. He had built the last financial empire that was solely in the control of one owner, made movies in Hollywood, seduced a string of starlets beginning with Jean Harlow, and set world flying records. He had not been seen in public since 1957, pulling the strings of his one-man empire as a total recluse. He was more secret than the CIA and perhaps more powerful than the President. And he was feared in the Nixon White House, where some believed that the “Hughes loan” scandal had cost Richard Nixon the 1960 election to John F. Kennedy. 1 * The implications of the assignment were clear. If Larry O’Brien was in fact on the
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