Death of a Statesman

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"What did the president know, and when did he know it?"

Sen. Howard Baker
While questioning John Dean
June 28, 1973

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Howard Baker, who died today at the age of 88, might have been vice president. Or president.

When Gerald Ford won the 1976 Republican nomination, Baker reportedly was the front–runner to be Ford's running mate. But Ford chose one of Baker's colleagues in the Senate, Bob Dole, instead.

The Ford–Dole ticket went on to lose to the Carter–Mondale ticket. It also lost Baker's home state of Tennessee — but, even if one assumes that Baker's presence on the ticket would have given Tennessee to the Republicans (which is not much of a stretch, given that Tennessee had voted Republican in five of the previous six presidential elections and was close on Election Night 1976), that wouldn't have been enough to change the outcome of the national race.

By itself.

In hindsight, though, it is possible that Baker could have helped Ford win a few more Southern states — such as Mississippi (which remained too close to call until nearly 3 a.m. on Election Night), Louisiana (which gave a rather tepid 51% of its vote to fellow Southerner Jimmy Carter, who won every Southern state but Virginia that year) and North Carolina (which was even closer than Baker's home state) — and claim a narrow victory.

Baker was considered the "safe" choice for running mate, journalist Jules Witcover wrote, but, in the end, Ford opted for Dole for a number of reasons: Surveys suggested that Baker didn't have as much name recognition as most observers thought, and the public's perception of his performance during the Watergate hearings was "fuzzy," which dramatically lowered his potential value to the ticket.

Another factor, wrote Witcover, was that "Ford did not feel particularly comfortable with Baker."

If Ford had won that election, he would not have been eligible to run in 1980 because he had served more than half of his predecessor's term — and if Baker had been Ford's vice president, he probably would have sought the nomination.

He actually did seek the 1980 nomination, but he fared poorly in the Republican primaries, and Ronald Reagan eventually won the GOP nomination. It seems likely that, as the incumbent vice president, he would have been in a stronger position than he actually was — and might well have been the nominee.

At the very least, he probably would have done better than he did.

Baker might also have been a Supreme Court justice. Richard Nixon reportedly wanted to fill one of two vacancies with Baker — but Baker apparently took too long to tell Nixon whether he would accept, and Nixon offered it to William Rehnquist.

Baker finally did make it to the White House — as Ronald Reagan's chief of staff.

He had the kind of biography that even a skilled fiction writer couldn't make up. Baker was married twice, both times to women with prominent ties to the Republican Party. His first wife, Joy, was the daughter of longtime Senate Minority Leader Everett Dirksen. She died of cancer.

His second wife, Nancy Landon Kassebaum, was the daughter of 1936 Republican presidential nominee Alfred Landon. She survives him.

Howard Baker was the kind of man most people say they want in political office — a man of integrity. He was known as the "Great Conciliator" for his skill at brokering compromise agreements between seemingly irreconcilable groups while (usually) preserving civility.

He was also very personable, soft spoken, a political centrist. America always seems to have a shortage of genuine statesmen, but Baker was one of them. He always seemed motivated to unite, not divide.

I've heard it said that a reporter once told a Democrat senator that the reporter's informal survey indicated that more of the senator's Democratic colleagues would support Baker for president than anyone else.

It is hard to imagine anyone on either side of the political fence commanding that much support from the opposition party today.

Through the Looking Glass ... Again

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"History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme."

Mark Twain

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Forty years ago this summer, the Watergate scandal swallowed the presidency of Richard Nixon.

I was a boy when that happened, and I'll admit that I didn't understand all the issues involved, but there was one very simple fact that seemed obvious to me.

When Alexander Butterfield revealed the existence of the White House taping system in July 1973, it was obvious that there was a completely neutral eyewitness to the White House conversations about which lawmakers were asking — the tapes that had been made of those conversations.

Congressional investigators did not have to rely on flawed human memories. They could listen to the tapes, and those tapes could verify what was said and by whom. Anyone who had answered truthfully when asked about his involvement in the coverup would be exonerated. Anyone who had not answered those questions truthfully would be exposed as dishonest.

When the taping system's existence was revealed, I heard many of Nixon's defenders say that they wished he would release the tapes. They would prove he had been telling the truth, and the Watergate scandal would go away.

Well, that was the thinking, but Nixon steadfastly refused to release the tapes — and the longer he did, the more his support tended to erode. Then as now, perception was reality, and the growing perception was that Nixon had something to hide.

That perception turned out to be correct, but the American people, the vast majority of whom had voted for Nixon's re–election two years earlier, were hesitant to believe it. At the time — and still today — I believed that hesitance enabled Nixon to drag the scandal out a few more months.

If Nixon had been blessed with an engaging personality, like the present occupant of the White House, he might have been able to drag his feet long enough to finish his term. But Nixon's was a dark, brooding kind of personality, cold and prickly, not warm and fuzzy. He didn't inspire much loyalty — except from those who, for whatever reason, did his bidding (and paid for it).

Barack Obama, however, does have a warm and fuzzy personality. That is the real secret of his success. His ratings on that question about whether a president (or presidential candidate) cares about people like the respondent are always through the roof. That's what Obama's 2012 campaign was about, wasn't it? It was designed to persuade swing voters that Mitt Romney and the Republicans were elitist snobs who didn't care about ordinary folks — or, to be more precise, blacks, women, gays, immigrants, the poor.

Re–election campaigns tend to be about achievements, those that are finished and those that are works in progress. Well, that's the way they used to be.

While the fact that Obama made history as the first nonwhite president was a pleasant bonus, it wasn't the main reason why most people voted for him in 2008. He was elected mostly because of the terrible economy and the escalating jobs crisis, and Americans wanted to be out of two wars that were sucking up American lives and treasure at an alarming rate.

When times are bad, voters go for the other option.

In short, there were serious problems that needed to be resolved. Certain expectations came with the job, and voters decided, as they almost always do in such a situation, to go with the other party's nominee.

Economists later told America that the recession actually ended after about six months of Obama's presidency, and some kind of recovery should have taken place — but, if asked about it today, most Americans will say that they don't believe the recession ever ended — or, if it did, they don't believe there has been a recovery.

Obama couldn't run on his economic record. He had a more stable foreign policy record in September 2012 — and he may well have intended to run on that record — but then there was that attack on the embassy in Benghazi, and four Americans were killed, including the ambassador. He and Joe Biden continued to mention the fact that Osama bin Laden had been killed on his watch, but the race was close in the autumn of 2012.

Perhaps the Democrats felt the truth about Benghazi would undermine the case they had been making that Obama's foreign policy was succeeding. That is the argument the president's detractors have made, anyway.

That didn't work too well in 2012, but a lot has happened since then. Obama's second–term agenda hasn't been getting any traction — whether that is due, as the president contends, to obstructionism or his administration's own shortcomings, as in the rollout of Obamacare, is a subject for a different debate — and his party already is facing mounting problems in what always (from the perspective of history) figured to be a problematic sixth–year midterm election.

And now the release of emails from September 2012 have raised new and troubling questions about the administration's actions on the night of the attack — and how those actions may have been motivated by domestic political concerns.

House Republicans want to assemble a select committee to investigate, to ask the questions that the emails have raised, but their Democratic colleagues are not sure they will participate.

Seems to me that would be a lot like when Nixon refused to release the tapes.

My understanding is that the Democrats cannot be compelled to participate in the committee's hearings, but the Republicans still would hold them. Do the Democrats really want to let every assertion that is made go unchallenged? And in a midterm election year?

As I understand it, a select committee does not have the authority to charge anyone with anything, but, like the Senate Watergate Committee 40 years ago, it can call witnesses and issue subpoenas.

If no one is there to defend the administration, it will feed a perception that can only add to Democrats' electoral woes.

On the other hand, Republicans need to be careful. The wind is at their backs on this one, but they need to avoid appearing too political. If they make their argument about transparency and good, law–abiding government, it will help their cause.

As will Nixon's true legacy in all of this — the case of United States v. Nixon.

A Man's Home Is His Castle

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Sen. Herman Talmadge of Georgia

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There were many memorable moments during the Senate Watergate Committee's hearings in the summer of 1973. They call them "sound bites" today, which isn't a bad description since such quotes almost always bite someone.

If you talk to folks who remember the Watergate scandal, you'll get a lot of responses — but no clear consensus — to the question, "What was the most memorable moment (or sound bite) for you?"

That is kind of a difficult question for me to answer because my family spent most of that summer out of the country, and we missed seeing and hearing many of the iconic moments when they happened. We kept up with the news — as did most of the Americans we encountered — through foreign editions of the news weeklies (TIME and Newsweek) or, when my parents were especially eager to learn what was happening, through daily editions of the International Herald Tribune (which is published today — and, I suppose, was published 40 years ago — by the New York Times).

Over the years, I have seen video clips of most, if not all, of those moments — several times. And, although it is a tough choice, I have concluded that my personal favorite "sound bite" came 40 years ago today when Sen. Herman Talmadge of Georgia was questioning John Ehrlichman, a former aide to Richard Nixon.

It was the second of five days of testimony for Ehrlichman. On the first day, he had defended, on grounds of national security, the break–in at the office of Daniel Ellsberg's psychiatrist — which, in fact, was intended to gather information that could be used to discredit Ellsberg in the eyes of the public. Ellsberg was a former military analyst who played a key role in the release of the so–called Pentagon Papers, an insider's history of American involvement in Vietnam.

Several senators objected to the break–in, but, as I say, Ehrlichman defended it. The next day, Talmadge was clearly wrestling with issues that had been raised earlier.

"Now, if the president could authorize a covert break–in [of Ellsberg's psychiatrist's office] and you do not know exactly what that power would be limited," Talmdage said, "you do not think it could include murder or other crimes beyond covert break–ins, do you?"

"I do not know where the line is, senator," Ehrlichman replied.

"Where is the check on the chief executive's power as to where that power begins and ends, that is what I am trying to determine," Talmadge told him. "Do you remember when we were in law school we studied a famous principle of law that came from England, and also is well known in this country, that no matter how humble a man's cottage is that even the king of England cannot enter without his consent?"

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John Ehrlichman testifies in July 1973.

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"I'm afraid that has been considerably eroded over the years, has it not?" Ehrlichman asked with what could only be described as a snarky grin on his face.

That grin remained frozen as he listened to Talmadge's reply — and the thunderous ovation it received. Perhaps he knew the cameras were focused on him as Talmadge made his response.

"Down in my country we still think it's a pretty legitimate principle of law," Talmadge said as a wave of approving applause swept over the room.

All my life (which, I admit, was quite brief at that time), I had heard that "a man's home is his castle," but I never completely understood what it meant until I read this exchange in one of those periodicals I mentioned earlier.

It left quite an impression on me, formed the foundation of everything that I believe and hold dear as an adult.

A man must have some domain that is his and cannot be violated without his consent — unless a warrant is issued, and that requires pretty solid evidence that something illegal is going on.

That is freedom. No American citizen can be subjected to unreasonable searches and seizures. It is a privilege that cannot be found everywhere, but it goes with being an American. It is why so many people around the globe still want to become Americans — even when there are so many other people who would like to do us harm.

American citizenship is about more than a person's physical address. It is about being treated with common respect and dignity.

Even in America, though, there is not total freedom. There are rules we all must observe.

People like to believe they have unlimited freedom in America, but that is not, never has been true. With freedom comes responsibility.

When I am away from my home, I take it for granted that I will have to observe rules that are made by others. When the light is red, I have to stop and permit others to go past me, even if I am late for something. I must wait my turn for anything I want to buy — even if the people ahead of me showed no respect for the rules that restrict the number of items to be purchased in certain checkout lines. At work, I must follow whatever rules have been set by the boss — even if I think some or all of those rules are unfair and/or unreasonable.

But, when I am at home, I need only concern myself with my agenda. That can mean a lot of things, but mainly it means that I am in control of my particular patch of earth. It does not matter if I rent it or own it outright. It is my home.

I do have to be considerate of others. If I live in an apartment (which I do) and it is late at night, I can't play my stereo or my TV loud enough to keep people who are trying to sleep awake. But, as long as I do not intrude on other people's space — or break the law — I am free to do as I please in my own space.

A person cannot always explain or justify things he/she does in private, but it is someone's personal space, and justification is not necessary. Not even a king — or a president — may violate my personal space or demand justification of anything.

It was true in 1973, and it is still true today — even when surveillance is applied to things that didn't exist 40 years ago, like email and cellular phones.

Reasserting That the People Rule

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"We are beginning these hearings today in an atmosphere of the utmost gravity. The questions that have been raised in the wake of the June 17 break–in strike at the very undergirding of our democracy. If the many allegations made to this date are true, then the burglars who broke into the headquarters of the Democratic National Committee ... were in effect breaking into the home of every citizen of the United States. And if these allegations prove to be true, what they were seeking to steal was not the jewels, money or other property of American citizens but something much more valuable — their most precious heritage, the right to vote in a free election."

Sen. Sam Ervin
May 17, 1973

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Forty years ago today, the Senate Watergate Committee held its first session.

(I'm going to resist the temptation to compare what began four decades ago today to the scandals that have been erupting in Washington recently — even though there are many initial similarities. The scandals will only prove to be truly comparable if they play out like Watergate did.)

I doubt that very many Americans realized at the time where the road on which the committee had taken the nation would lead. Initially, President Nixon appeared to be insulated from the unsavory activities that had led to the Watergate break–in — just as Barack Obama today claims to have beeen unaware of what was done in his name. All the highest–ranking officials insisted that, even if they acknowledged their own culpability, the president was guiltless.

It would be more than a month before John Dean's testimony would directly challenge Nixon's stated version of events. It would be about two months before the existence of a taping system in the Oval Office — and, therefore, the existence of evidence that could confirm whether Dean's version or Nixon's was correct — became public knowledge.

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Those things happened during the Watergate Committee's work in the summer of 1973.

The hearings that summer were a genuine sensation. Years before cable TV, decades before the internet, people were bringing portable TVs to their workplaces to follow the testimony. Drivers were listening to the hearings on their car radios.

On a retrospective on Watergate I watched once, I heard Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee say that, at the height of the hearings, he could walk from his newsroom to the street, where he could get a taxi and take it anywhere in the city, and he could get out and walk along any street and never miss a beat in the coverage, so pervasive was the coverage by the media of the day.

But that was later.

On this day in 1973, I couldn't say how many Americans were watching. In my hometown, school had not yet dismissed for the summer — as I recall, the dismissal of school came in late May — so I would have been in school on the day the hearings began. My mother was at home in those days, but I have no memory of coming in from school that afternoon and finding her watching the TV. Perhaps she was, but I was a child and the weather was probably nice, and I probably did what I usually did after school on nice days at that time in my life.

I probably played baseball with the neighborhood kids until our parents called us in for dinner or until the sun went down.

Which means I probably made a beeline for my room, put on my rattiest clothes and went back outside to take advantage of what remained of daylight.

I have no memory of the opening statement by the chairman of the committee, Sen. Sam Ervin of North Carolina.

But, as I read it now, four decades after the fact, I am struck by the timelessness of the message — Ervin's assertion that "the right to vote in a free election" is more valuable than jewels or money or property.

Over time, fame and fortune have become part of the American dream, but the original American dream was to have a land where power resides with the people. Individual affluence has nothing to do with that.

It just doesn't get any more basic than that. It has always been at the heart of America, from the earliest days when America was little more than an idea right up to modern times, that the people rule here — and they wield their power through the ballot box.

That isn't always good news for incumbent officeholders — but America isn't about them.