Free The Strong Man: John Mitchell and the Secrets of Watergate by James Rosen Page B

donnas,” freeloaders and hangers-on, publicity seekers and “damn fool advance men.” “About a third of the people are in politics for the joy-popping,” Mitchell said in a 1988 interview. “It’s a great time to have free whiskey and women…[but] you have to be very careful. You don’t want some guy…more interested in the joy-popping than he is in the hard business.” Such characters he banished to “the Upper Volta entertainment committee.” Last but not least came the donors he saw “coming around later looking for a
quid pro quo
.” 22
    A group of pro-Nixon congressmen learned not to question Mitchell’s authority. At a luncheon in a private dining room in the Capitol building, in the spring of 1968, one lawmaker challenged Mitchell’s qualifications to run Nixon’s campaign. “You people know Dick Nixon perhaps better than I do,” Mitchell’s reply began, “and you think he can’t have a campaign manager. I’ve got news for you,” he continued.

    I’m his campaign manager, and I’m running the show…. When I tell Dick Nixon what to do, he listens. I’m in charge. So, if you have questions about the campaign, call me. But you won’t be able to reach me because I’ll be busy electing a president of the United States. I’ll get your message. But call
me
, don’t call
him
[Nixon], because
I’m
running this campaign.

    Mitchell calmly resumed eating his lunch. The congressmen sat in silence. 23
    Devising their strategy, Nixon and Mitchell recognized a paramount obstacle: the pervasive idea that Nixon, who had not won an election on his own since 1950, was a loser. The word haunted Nixon like no other, and to dispel its dark aura, he and Mitchell decided early on that the candidate simply had to run—and win—the GOP primaries. Strong victories would reestablish Nixon as a proven vote winner and defuse claims he was hiding behind a smokescreen of carefully crafted TV ads.
    At first, the plan went off perfectly. By May 7, Nixon had scored victories in New Hampshire, Wisconsin, and Indiana, soundly thrashing his undeclared opponent, Nelson Rockefeller. In Nebraska, Nixon fended off a challenger from his right flank—California governor Ronald Reagan—holding him to 22 percent of the vote. After winning in Oregon, where both Rockefeller and Reagan campaigned hard, Nixon and Mitchell knew they had the nomination sewn up. “The staff did it,” Nixon told the Associated Press. “Best campaign staff any candidate ever had.” 24

    On April 29, Mitchell had called a staff meeting in New York to announce the addition to the campaign of two men whose services he said would ensure “the best and most effective use of Richard Nixon’s time and energy.” 25 These two men were to play a decisive role in the history of the nation—and in unraveling the good life Mitchell enjoyed that day.
    Harry Robbins (Bob) Haldeman was new to the ’68 campaign, but not to the candidate. In the vast literature chronicling the Nixon presidency, most commonly noted of Haldeman’s background was his long service—twenty years—as an executive in the San Francisco, Los Angeles, and New York offices of the J. Walter Thompson advertising agency. Mistaking this management career in advertising for a creative one later enabled hostile reporters to cast Haldeman, inventor of the term “news cycle,” 26 as a leading villain in the creation of a corrupt Information Age presidency. By contrast, few have noted Haldeman’s intelligence, described as “near-genius” level, his World War II service record, his directorship of California’s Better Business Bureau, or his membership on the University of California board of regents and the Salvation Army board of directors. With his tanned, lantern-jawed good looks and trademark crew cut, Haldeman was the kind of hopelessly square, community-minded
uber
-citizen who made America what it was, or is popularly remembered as having been, in the fifties. 27
    Somewhere along