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In July of 1973, Nixon is hospitalized for a week with pneumonia. During his hospital stay, Alexander Butterfield, a White House aide, informs the Senate Watergate Committee about a secret White House recording system. Thousands of hours of Nixon’s potentially incriminating recorded conversations exist on tape, somewhere. If Nixon’s health is related to the stress of Watergate—and if, as some rumors claim, he is “drinking heavily”—Richardson is concerned about Agnew being next in line of succession. All the actors involved in Agnew’s investigation realize they have to move forward quickly.
Fortunately, Beall and his team recruit another important witness in Jerome Wolfe, an engineer who paid kickbacks to Agnew during his tenure as Baltimore County executive. Agnew taps Wolfe to head the State Roads Commission, the funnel through which all major road and bridge contracts must pass. Agnew advises Wolfe to “insulate” himself from suspicion by employing a bag man to deliver the kickback money. Wolfe’s bag man is “Bud” Hammerman, a prominent real estate developer. Their elaborate three-way deal includes secret safety deposit boxes and coded language to signal when cash is available and how much Agnew is requesting at any given time. Wolfe keeps detailed records of each transaction and turns the documents over to prosecutors, who then verify their authenticity.
In addition to witness testimony and documentary evidence, Richardson wants the witnesses to take lie detector tests. When they pass, Beall delivers a letter to Judah Best, Agnew’s attorney, requesting comprehensive financial records pertaining to the vice president’s “alleged crimes […] includ[ing] ‘extortion,’ ‘bribery,’ ‘conspiracy,’ and violations of tax law” (94).
In early August 1973, a representative of Chuck Colson, a former White House attorney, calls a “high-powered” New York law firm seeking representation for Agnew. Five days later, Best, along with New York attorneys Martin London and Jay Topkis, meet with Agnew. At the request of Nixon, Richardson attends the meeting and informs the vice president of the seriousness of the charges. Agnew calls the charges a “fabrication” and, questioning the objectivity of the Maryland prosecutor’s office, requests another prosecutor. While Richardson has faith in Beall, he also understands that Agnew will pursue a “scorched earth policy” (99) in his defense. To cover his bases, Richardson tasks Henry Petersen, assistant attorney in charge of the Criminal Division, to quickly get up to speed on the Agnew case, re-interview every witness, and generally assess the thoroughness of Beall and his team’s work.
Despite their attempts to keep the investigation secret, Wall Street Journal reporter Jerry Landauer finds out and calls Beall’s office for comment. No longer able to conduct their work secretly, Beall’s office scrambles to tighten security to prevent further leaks to the press. As the case begins to heat up, Agnew calls a press conference claiming the charges are “damned lies.” He vows not to obstruct the investigation and says he has Nixon’s full support. His attacks on the Baltimore attorney’s office pay off; thousands of letters of support pour in, beseeching Agnew to “give hell” to the media and the liberals. Republicans on Capitol Hill also offer support, suggesting Agnew is a victim of a nefarious conspiracy to take down both him and Nixon.
Weeks later, Time magazine publishes a story suggesting that an indictment is imminent. Agnew is irate and sends an angry letter to Richardson’s office demanding that he investigate the leaks and punish those responsible. Feeling pressure from both Agnew and Nixon, Richardson orders an internal investigation—using his own personnel as well as the FBI—to uncover the source of the leaks.
Skolnik, Baker, and Liebman all sign affidavits swearing they have not leaked information to the press, but their investigation has involved “a gazillion witnesses and all their defense lawyers and everyone those witnesses and their lawyers had talked to about the case” (111). Therefore, it is highly unlikely that the leak has come from inside the Justice Department. The three prosecutors understand that this focus on leaks is merely a diversion, and they are determined not to be distracted. What they do not know, however, is that Agnew is using the power of his office to covertly obstruct their investigation. They will never learn the true scope of Agnew’s efforts for decades.
In public, Agnew continues to assert that he will not interfere in the investigation, but behind the scenes, “he began taking action, almost immediately, to shut it down” (113). According to recorded conversations and meticulous notes taken by Nixon’s Chief of Staff H.R. Haldeman, Agnew plans to use Beall’s brother Glenn, a Republican senator from Maryland, to convince George not to question Wolfe, one of the most potentially damning witnesses against the vice president. While Haldeman refuses to cooperate with Agnew’s scheme, he nonetheless turns the matter over to John Ehrlichman who brings it to Nixon’s attention. Records show detailed discussions within the White House about how to handle the scandal, with Nixon even wondering, “Well, can we destroy him [Matz]?” (120). Ultimately, they decide that pressuring Glenn Beall to influence his brother is the best course of action. Since they campaigned for him three years prior, they reason, he owes them a favor.
After shuffling through a list of candidates to talk to Glenn Beall, Nixon’s new Chief-of-Staff, Alexander Haig, taps the chairman of the Republican National Committee, George H.W. Bush, for the job. Bush, who would go on to become the 41st president of the United States, willingly participates in the scheme, but it never comes back to haunt him politically. Agnew lobbies Senator Beall personally, but for all their efforts, the White House’s intimidation never reaches Skolnik, Baker, and Liebman. They are shielded by their boss who never once mentions the pressure campaign: “George Beall took the heat, all of it, and refused to stop” (132).
In the film All the President’s Men (1976), Deep Throat tells reporter Bob Woodward that the Watergate burglars and their co-conspirators “are not very bright guys.” The fact that Nixon’s White House taping system has left recorded evidence of his involvement in Watergate and of his attempts to obstruct the investigation of his vice president suggests an astonishing sloppiness and a brazen sense of entitlement. He and his staff seem to believe they can openly conspire to violate the law and suffer no consequences. Ironically, this feeling of insulation from the law proves to be their downfall. The constant influx of cash becomes akin to a drug for Agnew. It so clouds his judgment that he carelessly leaves a swath of witnesses across the entire state of Maryland—and in the White House—without considering that even one of them might turn state’s evidence. Several do, which puts Agnew into emergency damage control mode. For a fighter like Agnew, damage control means going on the offensive, attacking his accusers, casting doubt on their credibility, and ultimately trying to obstruct their investigation through intimidation. It is a classic diversionary tactic. Bill Clinton used it to disparage Monica Lewinsky when she accused him of sexual harassment, as did Supreme Court justice Clarence Thomas against his accuser, Anita Hill. Donald Trump’s “witch hunt” rhetoric and his attacks on the press and his accusers echo almost word-for-word those of Agnew. If the public perceives me as the victim, Agnew reasons, they will see the accusations as purely partisan and therefore untrue. The case that Beall and his team build against Agnew is a long chain with many links. If any one of those links breaks—for example, if a witness changes testimony or if Beall caves to his brother’s pressure—the whole chain falls apart. It is a testimony to the painstaking and meticulous work of the Maryland attorney’s office—as well as the unquestioning support they receive from Attorney General Elliot Richardson—that they are able to persevere through the enormous pressure and see their case through to the end.
One of the greatest ironies of this tale is that Nixon and Agnew rise to power on a platform of law and order. As civil rights protests in the cities become battlegrounds, spurred in part by excessive police responses, mostly white, suburban Americans see these scenes of violence on the evening news and assume the worst—that the violence will inevitably spill over into their front yards. Nixon’s law-and-order rhetoric is comforting and effective, and he is reelected in a landslide. Unfortunately, until the details of Watergate emerge—details that overshadow Agnew’s own crimes—the public assumes that Nixon is abiding by his own philosophy, but the level of hypocrisy on display has cast a long shadow over the office of the presidency and the public’s trust in it.



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