The Watergate Girl by Jill Wine-Banks

Author:Jill Wine-Banks
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co.

12

TO INDICT OR NOT

A few days earlier, on December 6, 1973, Gerald Ford, the amiable House minority leader from Michigan, was sworn in as Nixon’s new vice president, replacing the disgraced Spiro Agnew, who had resigned in October in the face of bribery and kickback charges. In his speech after taking the oath of office, Ford enthusiastically pledged his full support and loyalty to Nixon, which Rick and I thought a big mistake—even before hearing the “cancer on the presidency” conversation. We felt that Ford ought to have distanced himself from the entire Watergate mess to protect his own political career.

Remarkably, soon after, Rick and I encountered the new vice president at the glitziest social event of the season, the gala fund-raiser for the National Symphony Orchestra at the Shoreham Hotel. We’d been invited, and we decided to go together. When we arrived, the party was well underway, with women in long gowns and men in white tie jammed to a standstill in the grand ballroom. As the Peter Duchin Orchestra swung into a lively rendition of Cole Porter’s “Anything Goes,” I scanned the crowd and spotted Ford.

“I dare you to ask him if he listened to the March 21 tape,” Rick said with a mischievous glint in his eye. I never backed down from one of Rick’s challenges, so despite my usual shyness, I pushed my way through the crowd of politicians, lawyers, foreign dignitaries, and White House functionaries. There was Rose Mary Woods in a glittering sequined gown, twirling across the parquet with her escort, PR man Robert Gray, as if Watergate wasn’t happening and she hadn’t just spent several grueling days on the witness stand. Elliot Richardson, seemingly recovered from the Saturday Night Massacre, talked to Senator Birch Bayh of Indiana, and the dashing Israeli defense minister, Moshe Dayan, his black eye patch giving him an International Man of Mystery air, conferred with his nation’s ambassador. They all seemed to know one another, and they laughed lightly as they sipped cocktails and discussed their work and holiday plans. Didn’t they realize the government was falling apart around them?

“Congratulations, Mr. Vice President,” I said when I’d reached Ford’s side.

He shook my hand and smiled broadly. Then he asked me to dance. As the orchestra played “Come Fly with Me,” Ford spun me around the ballroom. It felt surreal, as if I’d been dropped into someone else’s life. When the dance ended, I found Rick again. “Well, Jilly Bean, did you tell him to keep the fuck away from Nixon?” Rick asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

We were sure that if Ford knew what we knew, he wouldn’t have been so quick to defend the president. Of course, I would never have said any of this to the vice president’s face, dare or no dare. I considered answering yes, to kid the great kidder. In the end, though, I told Rick no.

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