Blind Ambition: The End of the Story Read Free Page B

Later I wondered if Bob’s tan level was an indicator for the President as to when they should travel to the warm climates he also loved. Whenever Haldeman’s tan began to fade, off they would go.
    He asked me into his office. Comfortable and well equipped, it was out of a catalogue for contemporary office furniture. The entire office complex adjacent to the President’s house was new and expensive, and it looked it. Money had been no concern; the expenses had been safely buried in inconspicuous budgets.
    The pleasantries quickly disposed of, Haldeman asked me to be seated and opened up a file which contained my resume, the FBI field investigation that had been run on me before I went to Justice, and some notes.
    “I thought it would be useful for us to talk about your coming to the White House. Ehrlichman has recommended you to be his successor as counsel to the President, but you would not work directly for Ehrlichman. You would be reporting to me. So I thought we should talk. Of course,” he said after a brief pause, “the President will make the final decision, but I believe he will follow my recommendation. I guess I know about your background, education, and all that crap,” he said, scanning my resume, “unless there is something you’d like to add to what you’ve got on your resume?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Well, tell me what you do for Mitchell over at the Justice Department.”
    I described my responsibilities, but it was clear that he was not listening to what I was saying but to how I was saying it. Haldeman, it seemed, lived by Polonius’ advice to his son: “apparel oft proclaims the man.” I watched as he checked me out and saw a reflection of his own taste in clothes. I was wearing black wing-tip shoes; he was wearing brown wing-tips. He had on a white button-down collar shirt; mine was blue. My suit was as conservative as his. Later I discovered that he and I shopped at the same men’s store in Washington.
    “Do you think you can handle the job of counsel to the President?” Haldeman asked.
    “Well, Bob, I am not really sure I know what the counsel does.”
    He described the job. The counsel would not be involved in program or policy development. Those functions belonged to John D. Ehrlichman’s newly created Domestic Council or Henry A. Kissinger’s National Security Council (for foreign affairs). The counsel’s office would be responsible for keeping the White House informed about domestic disorders and antiwar demonstrations, investigating possible conflicts of interest for the White House staff and Presidential appointees, handling all matters relating to Presidential clemency, and generally assisting the staff with legal problems. Or, as Haldeman said with a smirk, “Doing whatever you goddam lawyers do for those who need you.”
    “I think I can handle the job,” I answered, though I was not at all sure. I didn’t understand his description. The job sounded vague and scary. If you made a mistake at the White House, you’d be finished.
    Mistakes at that level would be whoppers.
    While I was worrying about my future survival, Haldeman asked a most curious question: “Do you believe that you can be loyal to Richard Nixon and work for the White House rather than for John Mitchell?”
    “I’m sure I can, yes,” I answered. But I was thinking, how strange, Mitchell has a close relationship with the President. Haldeman’s question reflected the same mutual suspicion I had heard in Mitchell’s advice. I thought I was savvy about political skirmishing, but I did not understand how one could be disloyal to Nixon if one were loyal to John Mitchell, whose fidelity to the President was, I thought, unquestioned.
    At last Haldeman asked me if I really wanted the job. Following my inner game plan, I said I was not yet absolutely sure, I would like to think it over, at least overnight. He seemed surprised, but said we could talk in the morning. I thought my hesitation was having the proper