May 14-27, 1974
It made sense, really. Get the easy win first. It even had the imprimatur of being the logical decision because of the looming resignation of George Shultz, and Shultz was perfectly happy to amend the resignation to June 1st and leave early. After three years of Richard Nixon, the University of Chicago professor was quite happy to show the District his back. The Senate confirmed Rocky as Treasury Secretary by an 86-14 vote, with only the hardline Dixiecrats (and Goldwater, because he and Rocky still detested each other ten years after the bruising 1964 Republican National Convention) voting no. The Democrats had tripped over themselves to give the still popular Rocky an expeditious confirmation process, though, delighted that a spender, not a slasher, had gone to Treasury. Al Haig’s promotion to Army Chief of Staff had been in jeopardy, but a call from General Abrams to the chair of the Armed Services Committee, John Stennis (who was not opposed to Haig per se, but thought he was getting a political promotion) sufficed to skip the committee hearings altogether and take his nomination right to a floor vote, albeit on a fairly close margin of 54-46.
On the near horizon, hearings were being scheduled for Paul Nitze to replace John Scali at the United Nations, and Bill Clements to be promoted to Secretary of Defense. Elliot Richardson had decided that he just didn’t want to return to government right now, and Connally wasted no time promoting his friend to the top spot. Those hearings would be sometime in the summer, since Clements was already a Senate-confirmed official and could serve in the role without much of an issue, in everyone’s judgment. Jack Valenti’s Commerce nomination would be taken up in mid-June, as would Charles Pillard’s at Labor. CIA…well, Bill Colby called in every chit he’d ever banked with national security officials. Connally seethed when his phone started lighting up with calls on the direct line from those in a position to have that particular phone number, all before he’d even uttered a word in public about wanting to replace Colby. He hadn’t even hinted at it. By the end of the first week, Connally ordered Colby to come to the Oval Office for a “come to Jesus” meeting. In the parlance of the President, this basically meant that Connally laid down the law with enough ferocity that all Colby could muster was “Jesus.” The soon-to-be former Director of Central Intelligence was told, in no uncertain terms, that if he did not go quietly that Connally would declassify the files from Project PHOENIX, which Colby had ran as chief of operations for Southeast Asia, and “hang your ass out to dry.” PHOENIX was, to put it bluntly, a terror campaign that mirrored the Viet Cong’s own campaign against village elders in South Vietnam. In the case of PHOENIX, that meant assassinating thousands of known or suspected Viet Cong operatives, leaders, and collaborators; those that were not murdered outright faced torture, kidnapping, and other brutal, ugly measures. Some of it was known already from congressional hearings in 1971 and questioning of Colby during his 1973 confirmation hearing, but the full story was something that no man would want on his epitaph. The Viet Cong collaborator that was hurled from a helicopter while in flight was a particularly awful example of the violence of PHOENIX.
Colby got the message. He announced his resignation as DCI on Monday afternoon. By Wednesday, the White House announced a nominee, the newly-minted director of Naval Intelligence, Rear Admiral (upper half) Bobby Ray Inman. It was a stunning decision for a man who’d only gotten his first star two years prior, but Inman was nothing if not a “comer,” a fast-moving, upwardly mobile officer with outstanding analytical abilities and twenty-plus years in intelligence work. He also had the distinction of being a political non-entity, which was considered by Barnes to be a benefit, although a fair amount of senators wondered if this was wise, given that the current deputy director, Lieutenant General Vernon Walters, outranked Inman. Barnes quickly organized a reshuffling—Walters would move to the National Security Agency as director and receive his fourth star, Inman would take leave from the military to serve in his role at CIA, and the existing NSA director, Air Force General Lew Allen, was slotted in at Air Force Systems Command, a command that often served as the stepping-stone to the USAF spot on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The current commander at AFSC, Samuel Phillips, took retirement and returned to NASA as a senior advisor to the director. They hadn’t seen anything like it in Washington since the war thirty years before. The bureaucracy took notice—John Connally did not play games.
That same week, Scali had resigned at the United Nations to come to the White House as communications director, replacing the beleaguered Ken Clawson, who’d never really been a good fit and had not recovered from his exposure as the author of the “Canuck Letter,” which had smeared Ed Muskie badly and caused a meltdown in Muskie’s 1972 presidential campaign. Scali was a professional communicator and the White House shop noticeably improved under him. His first action was to pull out his voluminous Rolodex and begin compiling names of those who’d make a good press secretary. Once he’d put together five candidates, he asked for background checks to be run on them so he didn’t go to his new boss with a request to appoint someone who’d ruffle feathers a little too hard. Scali trusted everyone he’d chosen, and his instincts were world-class, but it never hurt to be cautious once inside the corridor of power in the Western world, that of the White House’s West Wing. It took a few days, and the answers were the expected ones—he’d chosen clean men, and now had his pick of them.
The communications director was fortunate in that his first choice was one who, at the moment, was working less than a mile to the west of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. He picked up the phone and dialed the desk number. “Kalb.” “Hey, Bernie, John Scali here.” “John! Congratulations! I know it’s kind of a step up and down at the same time, but it still has to feel like a dream to work in the White House. What can I do for you?” “Well, Bernie, I need a press secretary, and I’m drafting you into the position. When can you start?” “John, that’s quite the honor, but I really enjoy my job, and it’s important, too. I’m sure you can find a lot of talented guys out there who can go up there and do this.” Scali took off his horn-rimmed glasses and started chewing on the stem a bit as he thought over his approach. “Bernie, you’re right, I could go find a lot of talented guys out there, but I don’t need just talent. I need integrity.” The line got quiet. Scali knew he’d scored a major point there. “This place has seen a lot of lies and deception and criminality. I’d like for people to trust their government again. You’re a trustworthy person, Bernie, you go on with Cronkite every night. You’re the sort of person who can help restore faith in our government, and right now, people need that faith. Now, come on, are you in?”
Bernard Kalb was not a cynical man. He retained a deep and abiding faith in America and the concept of patriotism. A friend was asking him to come work for the President of the United States, and irrespective of his personal politics, John Connally had not committed any crimes. The worst Kalb had ever heard about Connally was that he was a ruthless political operator, but that was hardly a description confined to the 38th President of the United States. The senior diplomatic correspondent for CBS News bent to the logic of the moment. “Okay, John, I’ll do it. But just know that if the administration does something immoral or unethical or illegal, I’ll resign that moment. I have to obey my conscience first.” Scali considered that for a minute. He’d handled it differently, stayed at his post even as it became clear that Nixon was in deep. He considered it a duty to the country because he was the face of America at the United Nations, and that position mattered. Being White House press secretary wasn’t the same, though, and he couldn’t hold that against Kalb. “Alright, Bernie, you’ve got a deal. End of the month?”
****
Ronald Reagan was still in California, conducting state budget negotiations as he waited for Congress to take up his nomination as Vice President. The Democrats were digging in their heels, smelling an opening. Bob Moretti had just lost the gubernatorial primary to Jerry Brown, finishing second, doomed by not being the popular ex-governor’s son and not holding a true statewide office, but he was still speaker of the state assembly and wielded a big club. Democrats also finally outnumbered Republicans in registered voters in the state, a psychological buoy against the tide of Reaganism. Reagan was halfway out the door, and while Moretti had worked well with Reagan for the past three years, one was headed up and one was headed down, and Moretti wasn’t going to go down without drawing metaphorical blood. Every cut, every tax break, the Democrats held firm and would not give in. The governor was not at all pleased by this or by the fact that his nomination hearings had been pushed until after Memorial Day by the Democrats in the House, as his was the only office requiring approval of both houses of Congress.
The general consensus amongst Reagan’s political advisers was that he was thoroughly boxed in. He didn’t want to go off to Washington with a big political loss that would hurt his credentials with the right and also make him look weak with the left. The Democrats smelled blood and were gearing up for a full-court press in the midterms. Worst of all, in a stunning twist, a federal grand jury had just indicted his lieutenant governor, Edwin Reinecke, for perjury. Reinecke had testified to the Senate Judiciary Committee regarding the ITT scandal and his discussions with former Attorney General John Mitchell, and the grand jury found some direct lies in his testimony when presented with additional evidence by Earl Silbert, U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia. Silbert had been the lead prosecutor in the Watergate burglary trial, and now he’d thrown a major wrench in the California succession.
“Reinecke needs to resign, it’s plain and simple. He’s going to screw this whole thing up if he doesn’t,” That was Michael Deaver, Reagan’s deputy chief of staff and almost another son to the Reagans. Nancy trusted him fully, and that was an ace card that very few could claim. Deaver knew that Reagan’s legacy would be ruined if he left the state in the hands of a soon-to-be convicted criminal. Evelle Younger, the state Attorney General (also a Republican) had already said that Reinecke could not be forced out until he was convicted and sentenced. “Mike, I think we all agree on that score, but he still thinks he can win, and he’s also running for the Governor’s chair. And, quite frankly, he’s winning the damn thing in the polls. It doesn’t seem to be having an effect on his poll numbers,” said Edwin Meese, Reagan’s chief of staff. Nofziger spoke up: “Why don’t we give Cap a call? He might have some insights we don’t.” Heads nodded. A secretary in the room, taking notes for Meese, set up the speakerphone on the conference table and dialed in the office line for the Secretary of HEW. “Secretary Weinberger’s office.” “Good afternoon, ma’am, this is Edwin Meese, chief of staff for Governor Reagan. Is the secretary available for a few minutes?” “I’ll check, Mr. Meese, please hold.” Interminable silence, then, the Reaganesque voice came out of the speaker. “Fellas, how nice of you to invite me to your party. How is everyone?” Chuckles. “Cap, we’re doing just great over here,” Nofziger said. “We wanted to get your advice on something.”
Now it was Weinberger’s turn to chuckle. “Let me guess, it’s that damn fool Reinecke that’s got you worried. Well, it should. From what I hear, Silbert’s got him dead to rights. He needs to know that, but I’m not exactly the person who should be telling him, either. Hatch Act requires me to stay out of it. I’ll tell you what, though. If I were the Governor, and I could get Reinecke out of the way, I’d appoint someone like John Harmer and resign. No one can say that Harmer isn’t a rock-ribbed conservative, and then it becomes his problem. The governor’s only got a few months left in office regardless of what happens here in DC, and he should just go. If somehow he lost the VP vote because of Dems, it’d give him a hell of an issue to run on—he could jump in against Cranston, because Richardson’s going to get creamed, or wait for Tunney in ’78. There’s opportunity out there.”
“Cap, that still doesn’t solve the issue of how the hell to get Reinecke out of office,” Deaver said. “None of this can happen until we can assure the Governor won’t be leaving office for a felon.” Nofziger brightened a bit here. “What if we get him to believe he won’t be?” Everyone’s head turned towards the rumpled, balding, unkempt political savant. “The governor is about to be the next vice-president of the United States. He can’t do that if his replacement will be facing federal charges. Who is in a position to influence this? Now, here’s the kicker. Reinecke only has to believe he’ll be kept safe by resigning. Once he’s gone, it won’t matter anymore, and Silbert can do what he wants with him.” Nofziger grinned. The man loved a good double-cross as much as any operator. The others in the room nodded. Weinberger, in Washington, said, “Okay, I think I know who to talk to.”
****
Memorial Day rose hot and muggy over the Potomac River, the harbinger of the miserable summer months that cursed this city since Pierre L’Enfant had laid it out as the nation’s capital. Many wished that he’d picked a place further inland, somewhere that wasn’t once swampland. As was customary for the President, there would be a wreath-laying ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, followed by an address. Connally had thought over what he wanted to say, and he decided to give his speech on the topic of integrating the Vietnam veterans back into society. He also decided to offer the draft dodgers an opportunity to clear their records: return to America, and in lieu of a prison sentence, be drafted into an Urban Restoration Team. The plan for these teams was to have them perform beautification tasks, getting rid of the trash and graffiti that plagued the cities, especially in New York. They’d live in barracks and dormitories, be fed and provided basic amenities, and in return they worked for free until their two-year sentence was over. The President considered it tough but fair. Justice backed the idea as a net savings, the uniforms were split, HUD loved it, and the Reaganauts were not thrilled at all by it. Barnes and Valenti told Connally he shouldn’t give a damn what Reagan thought, considering the help he was getting just to be able to be Vice-President.
Reinecke had just resigned the day before, going quietly in the night after he’d gotten a visit from a J. Evans Attwell, partner at Vinson & Elkins law firm in Houston. The attorney gave him assurances that if he resigned, his troubles would be resolved in a quiet fashion. He made it clear that he, as a recent law partner of the current President, was able to ensure this message had originated with higher powers. Reinecke bought it, and accepted, not knowing he was merely a sacrificial lamb for those with higher ambitions. (When the case went to trial months later, he’d sputter to his lawyer that he’d been promised his case would be resolved quietly, and this trial was not at all quiet. The lawyer would listen to Reinecke’s recounting of the conversation and point out all of the hedges that had been used by Attwell, the fact that he was not in any official capacity, and that quite simply, the former lieutenant governor of the state of California had been fleeced. Oh, and there was nothing he’d be able to do about it either, because none of it would be admissible.) With the embarrassment of Edwin Reinecke having been removed from office, Reagan announced via press release the same day his appointment of state senator John Harmer as lieutenant governor (the state constitution allowed for just such a thing) and his resignation as governor of California effective June 1, 1974. It was all tied up nice and neatly.
For the ceremony, Nellie Connally had chosen a somber dark navy pinstriped suit, crisp white shirt, and a royal blue tie for her husband to wear. Shoes shined to perfection by the White House domestic staff, a tie clip and a pair of cufflinks engraved with his initials completed the look. The First Lady would wear a dark grey dress and black heels for her first major public event. The Connallys took the elevator down to the ground level and walked out under the Truman Balcony to the waiting Presidential limousine, a 1970 Lincoln Continental that was kept in immaculate condition, armored with 6,000 pounds of reinforced steel plating and bulletproof glass, powered by a 7.5 litre V8 engine, two gun racks on the inside for submachine guns and automatic weapons in the trunk, and as a concession to politics, a sunroof that allowed the President to stand up and wave in it. It was known as the Beast, and it certainly resembled one. The ride was exceptionally smooth, its wheels constantly aligned, the shocks and struts reinforced and containing additional dampers to absorb vibration. To ensure protection remained consistent when the President traveled, it was driven into the back of a C-141 Lockheed Starlifter and flown ahead of the President so it would be ready upon arrival.
The drive to Arlington National Cemetery was short, the streets cleared for the President’s motorcade. Upon arrival, the Joint Chiefs were all present in full dress uniform to participate in the ceremonies, as they all lived at Fort Myer, the adjacent Army base dating back to the time of George Washington (Washington’s in-laws actually owned the land at that time, and it eventually ended up being owned by Robert E. Lee and his wife, who was Martha Washington’s great-granddaughter. The northwest part of his land was seized and became Fort Whipple, and in 1864, the rest of the land was seized, including the Lee Mansion, by the government in what was called a tax confiscation (Mrs. Lee supposedly having failed to pay $92.07 in property taxes, when in truth the federal government wanted to deny Robert E. Lee his home and refused to accept payment). They established Arlington Cemetery there by the end of the year. In 1882, George Washington Custis Lee, Robert’s son and heir, sued the government for illegal seizure of property. The Supreme Court agreed, and the land was returned to the Lee family, but given the newly renamed Fort Myer on one end and Arlington Cemetery on the other, he bowed to the logic of the moment and sold it back to the government for $150,000 ($725,000 in current 1974 dollars). During the 1900s, the fort had become the official housing for the service chiefs of staff, and under Kennedy, Quarters Six became the house for the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, which was a relatively new position. General Abrams, largely recovered from his lung surgery, was there as chairman; Al Haig just confirmed as Army Chief of Staff; Admiral Elmo Zumwalt as Chief of Naval Operations; General George Brown as Air Force Chief of Staff; and Marine Commandant Robert Cushman.
The four service chiefs lined up together on one side of the memorial marker in front of the tomb while General Abrams and President Connally brought the wreath forward and set it on its stand in front of the marker. The President then beckoned the First Lady forward, and together they knelt and prayed while approximately 3,000 people watched from the benches of the Memorial Amphitheatre behind them. The generals were touched by this measure of devotion from the former Navy lieutenant commander. Connally rose, saluted, and then turned towards the small podium set up for this address.
“Thank you all very much for attending this solemn ceremony today. As someone who served during the Second World War, I am keenly aware of the rewards and hazards of military service. Those whom we celebrate here today are those whose sacrifice was greatest, for it happened in total anonymity. It has been sixty years since the outbreak of the First World War, and we have buried three unknowns here with a fourth soon to be added from our latest conflict, that of the Vietnam War. It is this subject on which I wish to dedicate a few words today, in the hopes of healing the wounds that have been inflicted upon our nation by the deep divide that war has caused. Many of you here today are Christians, and therefore know very well the admonition of our Lord, Jesus Christ, when he delivered the Sermon on the Mount: “But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.” It was a call for forgiveness, a call for peace. It is in that spirit that I wish to propose a resolution to the divide in this land, one that will allow us to begin binding up our wounds.
A great many young men found ways to dodge the draft, going into hiding, burning draft cards, or fleeing to neighbors like Canada. To those who served in Vietnam, let alone those who served during past wars, it felt like a grave insult to everything they’d sacrificed for. However, if we are to move forward, we have to recognize that letting this animosity, this divide, linger on will poison our ability to heal ourselves and our nation. Therefore, I am announcing a proposal to those who avoided military service: a new national civilian service corps known as Urban Restoration Teams. Those who avoided conscription, and were not charged and tried because they left the country, can return to America so long as they serve two years in one of these teams, and in return there will be no charges filed and no punishment meted, as service on a URT will be counted in place of their conscription into the Armed Forces. For those who have been convicted and served their sentence, by serving a single year on a URT, we will expunge the convictions from your records, allowing you to regain access to federal programs that those with criminal records cannot currently access.
These Urban Restoration Teams will be working in our cities during the next two years as part of our dedication to reducing crime, decay, and poverty. I think many people currently living in places like New York City, Newark, and even parts of Washington would say they feel as if they live in a war zone. I want to change that. By having URTs come into these cities, cleaning up the graffiti, refurbishing schools, and tending to the parks, they can help us win our wars on crime, on drugs, and on poverty. We will open registration up to anyone who wishes to join, and it is my fervent hope that by working together, we can heal the wounds inflicted by the past ten years of the Vietnam War.
There has been a tendency to divide the cities from the suburbs and rural areas in political rhetoric, and I find that unhelpful. The large cities of America drive our economy even today. The banks and stock exchanges in New York, the film and television industry in Los Angeles, the aerospace industry in Seattle and Houston, the auto industry in Detroit, and the oil industry in Dallas, just to name a few. We cannot pretend that the farmers of the Midwest are alien beings, just as we cannot pretend that the factory worker in Chicago is a slacker, or that the engineer in Atlanta is superior to either of those folks. We only thrive when we work together. We will only heal when we can forgive each other and move forward in common purpose to make this nation great again.
Thank you all for attending today. May God bless you, the fine soldiers serving our nation, and indeed, may God bless the United States of America.”
Connally shook hands with the Chiefs, and then, with the Secret Service in tow, walked the half mile to the gravesite of John F. Kennedy. Two men, bound together by blood, bullets, and fate. One survived, one did not. Both ended up being President, a historical curiosity that many would likely wonder about in the years to come. Connally had a complicated relationship with Kennedy. It had started when Connally helped broadcast the word at the 1960 Democratic National Convention that Kennedy had Addison’s disease, something that enraged Bobby Kennedy. And yet, because Kennedy promised his Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara, full autonomy in selecting the service secretaries, Connally ended up being the pick for Secretary of the Navy, instead of JFK’s preferred choice, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Jr. When Connally left the Naval Department to go home and run for governor, and won it more convincingly than JFK had won the state in 1960, he became a necessary political partner for the then-President, setting off the chain of events that led to November 22, 1963.
Connally, eleven years later, was still haunted by that day. He could remember the shots, the punch felt in his chest when the bullet entered it, the mess on the back of his head that doctors did not realize for quite some time was the brain matter and flesh of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Coming so soon after the loss of his daughter Kathleen, Connally felt divine intervention had been involved and he was determined now, as President, to make it all count for something. Only Nellie truly knew the horror he still felt about that moment in Dallas, and so he was making this walk to his predecessor’s grave to try and bring it full circle, to be able to close the door on the shadow that had followed him since, to make amends with John’s soul and move forward. He would pray in front of the eternal flame, and then the limousine would meet him and the motorcade would head back to the White House. John B. Connally, President of the United States, was determined to not be like poor Jack Kennedy. He would author his own destiny.
On the near horizon, hearings were being scheduled for Paul Nitze to replace John Scali at the United Nations, and Bill Clements to be promoted to Secretary of Defense. Elliot Richardson had decided that he just didn’t want to return to government right now, and Connally wasted no time promoting his friend to the top spot. Those hearings would be sometime in the summer, since Clements was already a Senate-confirmed official and could serve in the role without much of an issue, in everyone’s judgment. Jack Valenti’s Commerce nomination would be taken up in mid-June, as would Charles Pillard’s at Labor. CIA…well, Bill Colby called in every chit he’d ever banked with national security officials. Connally seethed when his phone started lighting up with calls on the direct line from those in a position to have that particular phone number, all before he’d even uttered a word in public about wanting to replace Colby. He hadn’t even hinted at it. By the end of the first week, Connally ordered Colby to come to the Oval Office for a “come to Jesus” meeting. In the parlance of the President, this basically meant that Connally laid down the law with enough ferocity that all Colby could muster was “Jesus.” The soon-to-be former Director of Central Intelligence was told, in no uncertain terms, that if he did not go quietly that Connally would declassify the files from Project PHOENIX, which Colby had ran as chief of operations for Southeast Asia, and “hang your ass out to dry.” PHOENIX was, to put it bluntly, a terror campaign that mirrored the Viet Cong’s own campaign against village elders in South Vietnam. In the case of PHOENIX, that meant assassinating thousands of known or suspected Viet Cong operatives, leaders, and collaborators; those that were not murdered outright faced torture, kidnapping, and other brutal, ugly measures. Some of it was known already from congressional hearings in 1971 and questioning of Colby during his 1973 confirmation hearing, but the full story was something that no man would want on his epitaph. The Viet Cong collaborator that was hurled from a helicopter while in flight was a particularly awful example of the violence of PHOENIX.
Colby got the message. He announced his resignation as DCI on Monday afternoon. By Wednesday, the White House announced a nominee, the newly-minted director of Naval Intelligence, Rear Admiral (upper half) Bobby Ray Inman. It was a stunning decision for a man who’d only gotten his first star two years prior, but Inman was nothing if not a “comer,” a fast-moving, upwardly mobile officer with outstanding analytical abilities and twenty-plus years in intelligence work. He also had the distinction of being a political non-entity, which was considered by Barnes to be a benefit, although a fair amount of senators wondered if this was wise, given that the current deputy director, Lieutenant General Vernon Walters, outranked Inman. Barnes quickly organized a reshuffling—Walters would move to the National Security Agency as director and receive his fourth star, Inman would take leave from the military to serve in his role at CIA, and the existing NSA director, Air Force General Lew Allen, was slotted in at Air Force Systems Command, a command that often served as the stepping-stone to the USAF spot on the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The current commander at AFSC, Samuel Phillips, took retirement and returned to NASA as a senior advisor to the director. They hadn’t seen anything like it in Washington since the war thirty years before. The bureaucracy took notice—John Connally did not play games.
That same week, Scali had resigned at the United Nations to come to the White House as communications director, replacing the beleaguered Ken Clawson, who’d never really been a good fit and had not recovered from his exposure as the author of the “Canuck Letter,” which had smeared Ed Muskie badly and caused a meltdown in Muskie’s 1972 presidential campaign. Scali was a professional communicator and the White House shop noticeably improved under him. His first action was to pull out his voluminous Rolodex and begin compiling names of those who’d make a good press secretary. Once he’d put together five candidates, he asked for background checks to be run on them so he didn’t go to his new boss with a request to appoint someone who’d ruffle feathers a little too hard. Scali trusted everyone he’d chosen, and his instincts were world-class, but it never hurt to be cautious once inside the corridor of power in the Western world, that of the White House’s West Wing. It took a few days, and the answers were the expected ones—he’d chosen clean men, and now had his pick of them.
The communications director was fortunate in that his first choice was one who, at the moment, was working less than a mile to the west of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. He picked up the phone and dialed the desk number. “Kalb.” “Hey, Bernie, John Scali here.” “John! Congratulations! I know it’s kind of a step up and down at the same time, but it still has to feel like a dream to work in the White House. What can I do for you?” “Well, Bernie, I need a press secretary, and I’m drafting you into the position. When can you start?” “John, that’s quite the honor, but I really enjoy my job, and it’s important, too. I’m sure you can find a lot of talented guys out there who can go up there and do this.” Scali took off his horn-rimmed glasses and started chewing on the stem a bit as he thought over his approach. “Bernie, you’re right, I could go find a lot of talented guys out there, but I don’t need just talent. I need integrity.” The line got quiet. Scali knew he’d scored a major point there. “This place has seen a lot of lies and deception and criminality. I’d like for people to trust their government again. You’re a trustworthy person, Bernie, you go on with Cronkite every night. You’re the sort of person who can help restore faith in our government, and right now, people need that faith. Now, come on, are you in?”
Bernard Kalb was not a cynical man. He retained a deep and abiding faith in America and the concept of patriotism. A friend was asking him to come work for the President of the United States, and irrespective of his personal politics, John Connally had not committed any crimes. The worst Kalb had ever heard about Connally was that he was a ruthless political operator, but that was hardly a description confined to the 38th President of the United States. The senior diplomatic correspondent for CBS News bent to the logic of the moment. “Okay, John, I’ll do it. But just know that if the administration does something immoral or unethical or illegal, I’ll resign that moment. I have to obey my conscience first.” Scali considered that for a minute. He’d handled it differently, stayed at his post even as it became clear that Nixon was in deep. He considered it a duty to the country because he was the face of America at the United Nations, and that position mattered. Being White House press secretary wasn’t the same, though, and he couldn’t hold that against Kalb. “Alright, Bernie, you’ve got a deal. End of the month?”
****
Ronald Reagan was still in California, conducting state budget negotiations as he waited for Congress to take up his nomination as Vice President. The Democrats were digging in their heels, smelling an opening. Bob Moretti had just lost the gubernatorial primary to Jerry Brown, finishing second, doomed by not being the popular ex-governor’s son and not holding a true statewide office, but he was still speaker of the state assembly and wielded a big club. Democrats also finally outnumbered Republicans in registered voters in the state, a psychological buoy against the tide of Reaganism. Reagan was halfway out the door, and while Moretti had worked well with Reagan for the past three years, one was headed up and one was headed down, and Moretti wasn’t going to go down without drawing metaphorical blood. Every cut, every tax break, the Democrats held firm and would not give in. The governor was not at all pleased by this or by the fact that his nomination hearings had been pushed until after Memorial Day by the Democrats in the House, as his was the only office requiring approval of both houses of Congress.
The general consensus amongst Reagan’s political advisers was that he was thoroughly boxed in. He didn’t want to go off to Washington with a big political loss that would hurt his credentials with the right and also make him look weak with the left. The Democrats smelled blood and were gearing up for a full-court press in the midterms. Worst of all, in a stunning twist, a federal grand jury had just indicted his lieutenant governor, Edwin Reinecke, for perjury. Reinecke had testified to the Senate Judiciary Committee regarding the ITT scandal and his discussions with former Attorney General John Mitchell, and the grand jury found some direct lies in his testimony when presented with additional evidence by Earl Silbert, U.S. Attorney for the District of Columbia. Silbert had been the lead prosecutor in the Watergate burglary trial, and now he’d thrown a major wrench in the California succession.
“Reinecke needs to resign, it’s plain and simple. He’s going to screw this whole thing up if he doesn’t,” That was Michael Deaver, Reagan’s deputy chief of staff and almost another son to the Reagans. Nancy trusted him fully, and that was an ace card that very few could claim. Deaver knew that Reagan’s legacy would be ruined if he left the state in the hands of a soon-to-be convicted criminal. Evelle Younger, the state Attorney General (also a Republican) had already said that Reinecke could not be forced out until he was convicted and sentenced. “Mike, I think we all agree on that score, but he still thinks he can win, and he’s also running for the Governor’s chair. And, quite frankly, he’s winning the damn thing in the polls. It doesn’t seem to be having an effect on his poll numbers,” said Edwin Meese, Reagan’s chief of staff. Nofziger spoke up: “Why don’t we give Cap a call? He might have some insights we don’t.” Heads nodded. A secretary in the room, taking notes for Meese, set up the speakerphone on the conference table and dialed in the office line for the Secretary of HEW. “Secretary Weinberger’s office.” “Good afternoon, ma’am, this is Edwin Meese, chief of staff for Governor Reagan. Is the secretary available for a few minutes?” “I’ll check, Mr. Meese, please hold.” Interminable silence, then, the Reaganesque voice came out of the speaker. “Fellas, how nice of you to invite me to your party. How is everyone?” Chuckles. “Cap, we’re doing just great over here,” Nofziger said. “We wanted to get your advice on something.”
Now it was Weinberger’s turn to chuckle. “Let me guess, it’s that damn fool Reinecke that’s got you worried. Well, it should. From what I hear, Silbert’s got him dead to rights. He needs to know that, but I’m not exactly the person who should be telling him, either. Hatch Act requires me to stay out of it. I’ll tell you what, though. If I were the Governor, and I could get Reinecke out of the way, I’d appoint someone like John Harmer and resign. No one can say that Harmer isn’t a rock-ribbed conservative, and then it becomes his problem. The governor’s only got a few months left in office regardless of what happens here in DC, and he should just go. If somehow he lost the VP vote because of Dems, it’d give him a hell of an issue to run on—he could jump in against Cranston, because Richardson’s going to get creamed, or wait for Tunney in ’78. There’s opportunity out there.”
“Cap, that still doesn’t solve the issue of how the hell to get Reinecke out of office,” Deaver said. “None of this can happen until we can assure the Governor won’t be leaving office for a felon.” Nofziger brightened a bit here. “What if we get him to believe he won’t be?” Everyone’s head turned towards the rumpled, balding, unkempt political savant. “The governor is about to be the next vice-president of the United States. He can’t do that if his replacement will be facing federal charges. Who is in a position to influence this? Now, here’s the kicker. Reinecke only has to believe he’ll be kept safe by resigning. Once he’s gone, it won’t matter anymore, and Silbert can do what he wants with him.” Nofziger grinned. The man loved a good double-cross as much as any operator. The others in the room nodded. Weinberger, in Washington, said, “Okay, I think I know who to talk to.”
****
Memorial Day rose hot and muggy over the Potomac River, the harbinger of the miserable summer months that cursed this city since Pierre L’Enfant had laid it out as the nation’s capital. Many wished that he’d picked a place further inland, somewhere that wasn’t once swampland. As was customary for the President, there would be a wreath-laying ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, followed by an address. Connally had thought over what he wanted to say, and he decided to give his speech on the topic of integrating the Vietnam veterans back into society. He also decided to offer the draft dodgers an opportunity to clear their records: return to America, and in lieu of a prison sentence, be drafted into an Urban Restoration Team. The plan for these teams was to have them perform beautification tasks, getting rid of the trash and graffiti that plagued the cities, especially in New York. They’d live in barracks and dormitories, be fed and provided basic amenities, and in return they worked for free until their two-year sentence was over. The President considered it tough but fair. Justice backed the idea as a net savings, the uniforms were split, HUD loved it, and the Reaganauts were not thrilled at all by it. Barnes and Valenti told Connally he shouldn’t give a damn what Reagan thought, considering the help he was getting just to be able to be Vice-President.
Reinecke had just resigned the day before, going quietly in the night after he’d gotten a visit from a J. Evans Attwell, partner at Vinson & Elkins law firm in Houston. The attorney gave him assurances that if he resigned, his troubles would be resolved in a quiet fashion. He made it clear that he, as a recent law partner of the current President, was able to ensure this message had originated with higher powers. Reinecke bought it, and accepted, not knowing he was merely a sacrificial lamb for those with higher ambitions. (When the case went to trial months later, he’d sputter to his lawyer that he’d been promised his case would be resolved quietly, and this trial was not at all quiet. The lawyer would listen to Reinecke’s recounting of the conversation and point out all of the hedges that had been used by Attwell, the fact that he was not in any official capacity, and that quite simply, the former lieutenant governor of the state of California had been fleeced. Oh, and there was nothing he’d be able to do about it either, because none of it would be admissible.) With the embarrassment of Edwin Reinecke having been removed from office, Reagan announced via press release the same day his appointment of state senator John Harmer as lieutenant governor (the state constitution allowed for just such a thing) and his resignation as governor of California effective June 1, 1974. It was all tied up nice and neatly.
For the ceremony, Nellie Connally had chosen a somber dark navy pinstriped suit, crisp white shirt, and a royal blue tie for her husband to wear. Shoes shined to perfection by the White House domestic staff, a tie clip and a pair of cufflinks engraved with his initials completed the look. The First Lady would wear a dark grey dress and black heels for her first major public event. The Connallys took the elevator down to the ground level and walked out under the Truman Balcony to the waiting Presidential limousine, a 1970 Lincoln Continental that was kept in immaculate condition, armored with 6,000 pounds of reinforced steel plating and bulletproof glass, powered by a 7.5 litre V8 engine, two gun racks on the inside for submachine guns and automatic weapons in the trunk, and as a concession to politics, a sunroof that allowed the President to stand up and wave in it. It was known as the Beast, and it certainly resembled one. The ride was exceptionally smooth, its wheels constantly aligned, the shocks and struts reinforced and containing additional dampers to absorb vibration. To ensure protection remained consistent when the President traveled, it was driven into the back of a C-141 Lockheed Starlifter and flown ahead of the President so it would be ready upon arrival.
The drive to Arlington National Cemetery was short, the streets cleared for the President’s motorcade. Upon arrival, the Joint Chiefs were all present in full dress uniform to participate in the ceremonies, as they all lived at Fort Myer, the adjacent Army base dating back to the time of George Washington (Washington’s in-laws actually owned the land at that time, and it eventually ended up being owned by Robert E. Lee and his wife, who was Martha Washington’s great-granddaughter. The northwest part of his land was seized and became Fort Whipple, and in 1864, the rest of the land was seized, including the Lee Mansion, by the government in what was called a tax confiscation (Mrs. Lee supposedly having failed to pay $92.07 in property taxes, when in truth the federal government wanted to deny Robert E. Lee his home and refused to accept payment). They established Arlington Cemetery there by the end of the year. In 1882, George Washington Custis Lee, Robert’s son and heir, sued the government for illegal seizure of property. The Supreme Court agreed, and the land was returned to the Lee family, but given the newly renamed Fort Myer on one end and Arlington Cemetery on the other, he bowed to the logic of the moment and sold it back to the government for $150,000 ($725,000 in current 1974 dollars). During the 1900s, the fort had become the official housing for the service chiefs of staff, and under Kennedy, Quarters Six became the house for the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, which was a relatively new position. General Abrams, largely recovered from his lung surgery, was there as chairman; Al Haig just confirmed as Army Chief of Staff; Admiral Elmo Zumwalt as Chief of Naval Operations; General George Brown as Air Force Chief of Staff; and Marine Commandant Robert Cushman.
The four service chiefs lined up together on one side of the memorial marker in front of the tomb while General Abrams and President Connally brought the wreath forward and set it on its stand in front of the marker. The President then beckoned the First Lady forward, and together they knelt and prayed while approximately 3,000 people watched from the benches of the Memorial Amphitheatre behind them. The generals were touched by this measure of devotion from the former Navy lieutenant commander. Connally rose, saluted, and then turned towards the small podium set up for this address.
“Thank you all very much for attending this solemn ceremony today. As someone who served during the Second World War, I am keenly aware of the rewards and hazards of military service. Those whom we celebrate here today are those whose sacrifice was greatest, for it happened in total anonymity. It has been sixty years since the outbreak of the First World War, and we have buried three unknowns here with a fourth soon to be added from our latest conflict, that of the Vietnam War. It is this subject on which I wish to dedicate a few words today, in the hopes of healing the wounds that have been inflicted upon our nation by the deep divide that war has caused. Many of you here today are Christians, and therefore know very well the admonition of our Lord, Jesus Christ, when he delivered the Sermon on the Mount: “But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.” It was a call for forgiveness, a call for peace. It is in that spirit that I wish to propose a resolution to the divide in this land, one that will allow us to begin binding up our wounds.
A great many young men found ways to dodge the draft, going into hiding, burning draft cards, or fleeing to neighbors like Canada. To those who served in Vietnam, let alone those who served during past wars, it felt like a grave insult to everything they’d sacrificed for. However, if we are to move forward, we have to recognize that letting this animosity, this divide, linger on will poison our ability to heal ourselves and our nation. Therefore, I am announcing a proposal to those who avoided military service: a new national civilian service corps known as Urban Restoration Teams. Those who avoided conscription, and were not charged and tried because they left the country, can return to America so long as they serve two years in one of these teams, and in return there will be no charges filed and no punishment meted, as service on a URT will be counted in place of their conscription into the Armed Forces. For those who have been convicted and served their sentence, by serving a single year on a URT, we will expunge the convictions from your records, allowing you to regain access to federal programs that those with criminal records cannot currently access.
These Urban Restoration Teams will be working in our cities during the next two years as part of our dedication to reducing crime, decay, and poverty. I think many people currently living in places like New York City, Newark, and even parts of Washington would say they feel as if they live in a war zone. I want to change that. By having URTs come into these cities, cleaning up the graffiti, refurbishing schools, and tending to the parks, they can help us win our wars on crime, on drugs, and on poverty. We will open registration up to anyone who wishes to join, and it is my fervent hope that by working together, we can heal the wounds inflicted by the past ten years of the Vietnam War.
There has been a tendency to divide the cities from the suburbs and rural areas in political rhetoric, and I find that unhelpful. The large cities of America drive our economy even today. The banks and stock exchanges in New York, the film and television industry in Los Angeles, the aerospace industry in Seattle and Houston, the auto industry in Detroit, and the oil industry in Dallas, just to name a few. We cannot pretend that the farmers of the Midwest are alien beings, just as we cannot pretend that the factory worker in Chicago is a slacker, or that the engineer in Atlanta is superior to either of those folks. We only thrive when we work together. We will only heal when we can forgive each other and move forward in common purpose to make this nation great again.
Thank you all for attending today. May God bless you, the fine soldiers serving our nation, and indeed, may God bless the United States of America.”
Connally shook hands with the Chiefs, and then, with the Secret Service in tow, walked the half mile to the gravesite of John F. Kennedy. Two men, bound together by blood, bullets, and fate. One survived, one did not. Both ended up being President, a historical curiosity that many would likely wonder about in the years to come. Connally had a complicated relationship with Kennedy. It had started when Connally helped broadcast the word at the 1960 Democratic National Convention that Kennedy had Addison’s disease, something that enraged Bobby Kennedy. And yet, because Kennedy promised his Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara, full autonomy in selecting the service secretaries, Connally ended up being the pick for Secretary of the Navy, instead of JFK’s preferred choice, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Jr. When Connally left the Naval Department to go home and run for governor, and won it more convincingly than JFK had won the state in 1960, he became a necessary political partner for the then-President, setting off the chain of events that led to November 22, 1963.
Connally, eleven years later, was still haunted by that day. He could remember the shots, the punch felt in his chest when the bullet entered it, the mess on the back of his head that doctors did not realize for quite some time was the brain matter and flesh of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Coming so soon after the loss of his daughter Kathleen, Connally felt divine intervention had been involved and he was determined now, as President, to make it all count for something. Only Nellie truly knew the horror he still felt about that moment in Dallas, and so he was making this walk to his predecessor’s grave to try and bring it full circle, to be able to close the door on the shadow that had followed him since, to make amends with John’s soul and move forward. He would pray in front of the eternal flame, and then the limousine would meet him and the motorcade would head back to the White House. John B. Connally, President of the United States, was determined to not be like poor Jack Kennedy. He would author his own destiny.
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