In My Time - Dick Cheney [34]
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ON NOVEMBER 7, 1972, Richard Nixon was reelected in one of the biggest victories in presidential history. Lynne and I stood near the front of the crowd that gathered to celebrate his victory in the ballroom of the Shoreham Hotel. People were excited—at least until the president took the stage. He was subdued, not at all like a man who had just been reelected to the presidency with forty-nine out of fifty states. It was almost as though he were anticipating the scandal and tragedy that would soon engulf his administration.
Over the last several months in the White House and during the campaign, Rumsfeld had become increasingly disenchanted with the president and his senior staff; and, at least on the part of the senior staff, I think the feeling had been reciprocated. If they saw him as a non–team player, he saw them as out of touch and riding for a fall. He turned down the domestic positions they offered him, including head of the Republican Party, and accepted an appointment as ambassador to NATO, which was headquartered in Belgium.
Rumsfeld asked me if I would like to go to Brussels with him, but it didn’t seem right for me and my family, and I had another opportunity. A group of friends, Alan Woods, Bruce Bradley, Tony Brush, and Paul Ripp, had set up an investment advisory business in Washington. Alan was getting ready to leave, and I was asked to join the firm as a partner. At Bradley Woods we gave political and policy advice to clients, which were mostly big banks, insurance companies, and mutual funds. We deciphered legislation and explained how it might impact portfolios and investment strategies. Having been a behind-the-scenes man for so long, I found that I actually enjoyed getting up in front of groups and talking about what I knew and thought and answering questions.
I quickly got used to relatively normal working days, having weekends off, and moving beyond a government salary. Lynne and I bought our first house, a three-bedroom in Bethesda, Maryland, with a fenced-in yard for the kids and the dog.
LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, I was first surprised and then appalled as the details of the Watergate scandal reached critical mass in the spring of 1973. I had known some of the people involved. I had attended meetings with them and eaten lunch with them at the round staff table in the White House Mess.
I had very few direct dealings with Haldeman or Ehrlichman on a daily basis when I was working for Rumsfeld. But one incident was perhaps emblematic of the attitude that led to some of the problems. In February 1970, Rumsfeld took a few days to go skiing with his family in Colorado. When an urgent meeting was scheduled in Washington, we decided that I would ride out on the military plane that was going to pick him up, so that I could bring all the necessary documents and briefings and we could work together on the flight back to D.C. Then I got a call asking if I would mind leaving early enough to make a detour to deliver an important package to Ehrlichman, who was skiing in Sun Valley, Idaho.
A White House car picked me up at home and brought me to the West Wing, where the package—a securely taped manila envelope—was waiting. We continued on to Andrews Air Force Base, where I boarded a small government jet. When we landed in Idaho, a car sped out on the tarmac. Two armed MPs emerged and boarded the plane. One introduced himself as the courier who would deliver the package to Ehrlichman. I handed it to him and figured that my assignment was now completed.
“Sir, do you know what the contents are?” he asked. I told him that I didn’t know. He asked if I minded whether he opened it, and I told him to go ahead if he thought it was important. He slit the tape, opened the flap, and removed copies of the most recent issues of Time, Newsweek,