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  Tricia was appalled. These well-intentioned comments struck her as “inappropriate,” given the context of her father’s political demise. She found herself in no mood for pleasant memories or funeral-like condolences.3

  Beyond the White House, political leaders—past and future—were celebrating the demise of the president. Nixon’s resignation, Senator Hubert Humphrey told reporters, represented “a personal tragedy for the president and a new hope for the nation.” Nixon’s opponent in the 1972 election, George McGovern, told reporters that what “was wrong with Watergate was not just that the president’s associates got caught, but what they did.”

  And a Senate lawyer who had been investigating Watergate expressed her shock at what she had heard on the Watergate tapes. “He justified and rationalized what he had previously said in order to deny or minimize his involvement in ongoing White House efforts to defy the laws and the Constitution,” lawyer Hillary Clinton claimed to her friends.

  Now the time had come for Nixon to say his farewell to his staff. As the ceremony itself began, the two daughters and their two husbands joined Pat Nixon and stood behind the president. He struggled to fight back tears as he spoke: “It’s only a beginning, always. The young must know it. The old must know it. It must always sustain us because the greatness comes not when things go always good for you, but the greatness comes and you are really tested when you take some knocks, some disappointments, when sadness comes, because only if you have been in the deepest valley can you ever know how magnificent it is to be on the highest mountain. . . .”

  Nixon also talked at length about his mother, calling her a “saint.” But he could not bring himself to mention the other women in his life. With his wife and two daughters standing there, the president feared that talking about them would be too much. “I wasn’t about to mention her or Tricia or Julie and have them break down in front of all the people in the country,” he would later explain to a friend.4

  In fact, the Nixon women had been holding Nixon up during the last few days. Pat, especially, had always been strong. She had always had to be that way. Born Thelma Catherine Ryan, her father nicknamed her “Pat” because she had been born on the day before St. Patrick’s Day. Throughout her life, she had grown accustomed to traveling down a hard road. As a child, she lost first her mother and then her father to illness. As a result, she grew up in a hurry. A stoic façade would cover her the rest of her life. But beyond it, she could be warm and loving with her family. She had been a rock of strength for her husband during those last few days. She remained defiant to the end, not wanting her her husband to resign.

  “Dick has done so much for the country,” she said to a friend, asking, “Why is this happening?”

  With the brief farewell ceremony over, the Nixons left the East Room and made their way down the stairs and through the hallway to the Diplomatic Reception Room. The Fords awaited them there. Handshakes and good wishes ensued.

  “Drop us a line if you get the chance,” Ford told Nixon awkwardly. “Let us know how you are doing.” Then the Nixons exited the door to the South Lawn where Marine One waited.5

  Ed and Tricia boarded the helicopter while David and Julie stayed behind and stood by President and Mrs. Ford on the South Lawn. As he reached the top of the stairs to the helicopter, Nixon defiantly raised his arms in his trademark “V for Victory” salute. Then he turned and entered the helicopter.

  Nixon says farewell to Vice President Gerald Ford before he boards Marine One. Ford would soon be faced with a monumental choice about Nixon’s legal fate. (Oliver F. Atkins)

  On board, the family looked for the name cards designating their assigned seats. As the helicopter rose and hovered over the White House, a housekeeper in the Lincoln Bedroom window waved a farewell with a white handkerchief.

  There was an attempt at small talk. Ed tried to lift Nixon’s spirits by saying that he had left at the height of his career with “the nation at peace and the economy strong.” Nixon said nothing. Then Ed spoke of the future. The “reconciliation period would take ten years,” he said. Nixon agreed.6

  At Andrews Air Force Base, the presidential party exited the helicopter and boarded Air Force One for the last time. At noon during the flight, some of the passengers aboard the plane gathered to watch a televised broadcast of Gerald Ford as he was sworn in to office. Nixon remained ensconced in the back cabin. Those who watched the ceremony were given headphones to hear the audio more clearly. Ford made no mention of his predecessor, a fact not lost on the Nixon party. “A shallow, selfish speech from a little man,” Tricia privately fumed. As the plane flew over Missouri and Ford became the thirty-eighth president of the United States, its call signal changed from Air Force One to SAM 27000.

  Nixon defiantly makes his trademark V for Victory sign as he boards Marine One to leave the White House after his resignation. On the helicopter, Nixon’s son-in-law told him it might take ten years for the public to accept him again. (Oliver F. Atkins)

  Later in the flight, Nixon emerged and attempted to lighten the mood. “I think I’d like a martini,” the now-former president announced. The crew did its part to maintain a presidential ambience. A fancy lunch was served: prime rib accompanied by potatoes and tossed salad and topped off with cheesecake.7

  No one did more to encourage the passengers than Nixon. “Is everybody enjoying the trip?” he asked as he made his way down the aisle. No one answered.

  Pilot Ralph Albertazzie emerged from the cockpit to speak to the ex-president.

  “Ralph,” Nixon said to his longtime pilot, “you know that before we went to China, I told you that when we got back, I’d make you a general. I really meant to do that. But like so many other things I meant to do. . . .” Nixon couldn’t finish the thought. Even in making small talk, he couldn’t help but stumble against the fact that he no longer served as president.

  Nixon soon composed himself and continued his greetings. When he came upon staffers Frank Gannon and Diane Sawyer, he said to Gannon, “I see you remembered to bring along the good-looking girls.”8

  As the plane began its descent into Southern California, the passengers prepared to land. As the plane got closer to the ground, Tricia looked out the window and noticed that a mass of people had assembled at El Toro Marine Corps Air Station. She could make out American flags and homemade signs. The passengers grew excited at the prospect of a welcoming crowd.

  “Down there is the first spontaneous demonstration for Richard Nixon that was never planned,” Frank Gannon joked.9

  Nixon wondered if he should say something to the crowd. Ed and Tricia told him he should. After the plane landed on Runway 43, it taxied to a stop. Now the crowd of about five thousand people could be seen as they cheered and sang “God Bless America.”

  The scene moved Nixon. Again he asked if he should say something. “Yes,” Tricia answered, saying, “it would mean a good deal to them.” She knew it would mean even more to him.10

  As Nixon stepped onto the jetway, he thrust his arms out one more time in the familiar “V for Victory” sign. The crowd roared its approval. He then made his way to a bouquet of microphones set up on the tarmac just in front of the crowd.

  “With all the time that I have which could be useful,” he said, “I’m going to continue to work for opportunity and understanding among the people in America. I am going to continue—we are all going to continue—to be proud of the fact that we, too, are Californians and we’re home again.” The crowd cheered its approval.11

  Then, as he had so many times before, he turned and began walking to the helicopter that would take him to La Casa Pacifica. Only this time Marine One would not be waiting for him; it would be a small Marine Huey.

  “Oh, no,” Tricia sighed when she saw the helicopter representing the loss of presidential power.

  “This is best,” Ed responded, adding, “let the change be gradual.”12

  Before boarding the helicopter, the former president took one last picture with
Albertazzie.

  “I’m sorry it’s ending this way,” the president said emotion, creeping into his voice.

  “I am, too, Mr. President,” the pilot responded.13

  When the helicopter landed a few minutes later in San Clemente, the Nixon family was surprised at how good the grounds at La Casa Pacifica looked. The overgrowth that Tricia had seen in July had been tended to by neighbors. Motivated by sympathy for their neighbor, local residents had worked on the yard so that Richard Nixon would at least see a beautiful lawn and garden when he arrived. Tears filled Nixon’s eyes as he walked onto the patio and heard the gentle cascade of water from the pyramid-shaped fountain with a statue of Cupid at the top. He was home.

  Later that night, the family gathered in the living room before dinner. This was the largest room in the house and it included Nixon’s baby grand piano and a Spanish-tiled fireplace. Exhausted and emotional, Nixon slumped on the couch, again spoke of his mother, and again referred to her as a saint. He also spoke of his policy goals that would remain unfinished and how he had tried to create peace in the world. And once more he spoke of disappointing his family.

  “I hope I haven’t let you down,” he said. Then he turned away and began crying.

  Chapter Three

  The Pardon

  “Tell me what prison is like.”

  Resigning the presidency proved to be the beginning of Nixon’s troubles—not the end. Within days of his arrival in San Clemente, the former president began to see the size and scope of what he was facing. Lawsuits began to be filed by political opponents and concerned citizens who felt that the former president should be held accountable for Watergate. Reporters surrounded his home and the prospect of a criminal trial loomed over him.

  Nixon responded to the chaos by seeking refuge in an organized routine. Thanks to a two hundred thousand dollar transition fund, he could pay a staff with government money for a few months. Colonel Jack Brennan, a tough marine who connected well with Nixon, now effectively served as his chief of staff. But as is often the case when someone is recovering from shock, an element of denial permeated the air. The post-presidency staff meetings bordered on the surreal.

  “I’ve called you here to discuss an important topic,” he said at one such meeting, “and that is, what are we going to do about the economy this year?”1

  He made time for visitors. Long an introvert, Nixon seemed to be willing—and even eager—to see old friends. They were typically shocked by his appearance and demeanor. His always slender frame now appeared even thinner. Dark bags hung under his eyes. He slumped in his chair. One who saw him early in his exile was Egil “Bud” Krogh Jr., who had served time in jail for his role as a member of the Plumbers, a group of political operatives who had broken the law while attempting to find and punish Nixon staffers who leaked information to the media. In their meeting, the former president got right to the point.

  “Tell me what prison is like,” Nixon pressed Krogh. After Krogh talked about his experience in jail, the conversation turned to the burglary of Daniel Ellsberg’s psychiatrist’s office. Nixon shocked Krogh by asking if he as president had known about the break-in. Krugh told him no.

  “Do you think I should plead guilty?” Nixon persisted.

  “Do you feel guilty?” Krogh responded.

  “No, I don’t,” he answered. “I just don’t.”

  “Then you can’t, you can’t do that,” Krogh told him.2

  Nixon spent most of his days inside a prefabricated office building next to La Casa Pacifica. Each morning around seven o’clock, he would get into a golf cart and ride the few yards to the office. Invariably dressed in a dark suit and tie, he would meet with staff, make phone calls, and talk about his future with guests and aides.

  He was aging: the dark hair was seasoned by a tinge of gray, the ski-jump nose looked more pronounced, and the loose jowls looked even looser. His voice often broke and his eyes sometimes moistened as he spoke.3

  Visitors encouraged him to occupy his mind with a project. Ron Ziegler, who had been his press aide, urged him to get busy writing his memoirs. But before he could begin that process, emissaries from the White House contacted him to discuss his legal fate. President Gerald Ford was more and more convinced that a pardon might save the country from years of Watergate turmoil.

  Back in Washington at a meeting in the Oval Office, Ford contemplated the implications of a pardon. The president, Ford's transition team head Phil Buchen, White House Chief of Staff Al Haig, and Robert Hartman, who had been Ford’s chief of staff as vice president, discussed Ford’s options. The presence of both Haig and Hartman demonstrated the inner conflict that plagued the Ford White House from the beginning. To ensure continuity, Ford had kept Haig on after Nixon left. But because he wanted his own team, he had promoted Hartman to the role of counselor to the president. The two men saw things very differently, and many in the White House suspected that Haig was still loyal to Nixon.

  But even if his staff wasn’t getting along, Ford very much looked and acted like a president just days into the job. A fit and trim man, he still looked like the former football star that he had been in his younger days at the University of Michigan. Dressed in a dark suit and puffing on his pipe, he talked over his options with his senior staffers.

  Just a few days earlier, President Ford had spoken to the country for the first time as its chief executive. In the same speech that the Nixon family watched him deliver from Air Force One as they traveled to California, the new president tried to reassure the country. Ford had long been widely respected on the Hill; indeed, his character was one of the virtues that made him the perfect replacement when Spiro Agnew left the vice presidency in shame. Yet few in America had ever heard Ford speak until that fateful day in August 1974.

  He did not disappoint. What some in the Nixon family found offensive, millions of Americans found reassuring.

  “Our Constitution works,” he told the country. “Our great Republic is a government of laws and not of men. Here the people rule.” But the speech’s most powerful and memorable moment came when he directly addressed Watergate: “Our long national nightmare is over.”

  The speech had been a success. The country seemed eager to give the new president a chance and even more eager to be done with Watergate. Now as Ford sat behind the Wilson Desk that Nixon had used in the Oval Office, he thought of his promise to the country that Watergate was over. That promise meant he would have to deal head-on with the issue of Nixon’s criminal liability.

  Ford thought through all the reasons for why pardoning Nixon would make sense. It would save the country the drama of watching a former president go through a criminal trial. It would keep Watergate from dragging on for months, if not years. And it would get the inevitable pardon—which any president would almost certainly feel constrained to confer on the ex-president if he were convicted and about to be sent to prison—done and out of the way. In short, it would mark the true end of the long national nightmare.

  To the simple man from Grand Rapids, it was a simple question. “If eventually, why not now?” he asked the men in the Oval Office. No one disputed his logic. But Buchen tried to stall. The head of the president’s transition team may have been anticipating the backlash Ford would feel from the country.

  “Is this the right time?” he asked.

  Ford remained unconvinced. “Will there ever be a right time?”

  Haig excused himself to make a phone call. In his absence, Hartman made one last attempt to stop the pardon. And he tried to use Ford’s own words to convince him.

  A few days earlier, Ford, while addressing reporters at the White House, had been asked by Helen Thomas of United Press International (UPI) if he would pardon Nixon. Hartman had the transcript with him and quoted it back to the president, saying that “until any legal process has been undertaken, I think it is unwise and untimely for me to make any commitment.”

  Ford pushed back. “You didn’t read the part about my not ruling it o
ut,” he said defiantly. “I refused to make a commitment one way or the other.” Like countless politicians before him and since, Ford hid behind his own mixed message.

  “That isn’t what I heard or what most people heard,” Hartman persisted. He told Ford that if he pardoned Nixon now he would experience “a firestorm of protest that will make the Saturday Night Massacre seem mild.” (The counselor to the president was referring to the events of October 20, 1973, when Nixon had accepted the resignations of two successive attorney generals who refused to dismiss special prosecutor Archibald Cox at the president’s behest before Robert Bork fired him.)

  The president didn’t disagree with that assessment, but he was still unpersuaded. In fact, he seemed impatient with Hartman. He told his old aide and friend that he wasn’t going to let majority opinion tell him what was the right thing to do.

  Hartman was devastated. He left the Oval Office knowing that Ford was headed toward a pardon. Now the only question was how to execute it in a way that the country might accept. And Hartman, a master wordsmith, did not relish the prospect of finding the words to explain the decision to the country.

  Meanwhile, to handle the task of the actual pardon, the president met with Benton Becker, a young lawyer on his staff who was handling the Nixon papers and tapes. With Haig joining them, Ford told Becker that he wanted him to travel to California to meet with Nixon. He authorized the lawyer to discuss a pardon, but he wanted him to tell the former president that contrition was the price.

  “You’ll never get it,” interjected Haig, who had maintained communication with Nixon in exile.

  But Ford held his ground. He insisted that Becker push for the apology. “Be very firm out there,” he said, “and tell me what you see.” Becker agreed and soon made plans to travel to San Clemente.4