NEW YORK POST, FRIDAY, JULY 15, 1994

# ‘Three Tenors’ – but no lady

TOMORROW night's "Three Tenors" concert in Los Angeles is one of the biggest musical events ever, but it could have been even bigger. Like, three tenors – plus Barbra Streisand.

Rumor has it that Luciano Pavarotti wanted to include the divine Streisand in the Dodger Stadium event, but Placido Domingo and Jose Carreras nixed the idea.

Placido and Jose apparently feared the whole thing would become a promotional vehicle for Luciano and Barbra, who are said to be planning to do a record and video together.

Tomorrow night's tickets were moving a bit slowly in the early stages, so maybe Pavarotti thought they needed Streisand to goose the box office.

Whatever, Los Angeles is the only place to be this weekend.

Tonight at Chasen's, Ahmet Ertegun is throw-

ing a dinner party with 80 guests to honor his old chum Henry Kissinger. He had a hard time keeping to the numbers because so many people are in town for the concert and the World Cup final Sunday.

Kissinger, a soccer buff, hasn't decided whether he'll root for Italy or Brazil at the Pasadena Rose Bowl. Always the diplomat, he'll probably end up sitting on the fence (if there's a fence in his skybox).

The Ronald Reagans should be at the party, along with the George Bushes, who are houseguests of Jerry Weintraub. They'll set an extra place for Silvio Berlusconi, Italy's neophyte prime minister and a Kissinger chum, in the hope that he arrives on time.

The Al Gores are going to the concert and the game. The vice president will get to say a few words to the sellout crowd on behalf of the host nation.

He had been one of the men chosen to eulogize Nixon, a decision which had confounded the old loyalists: the bond between Henry Kissinger and the former president, whom he had served as national-security adviser and then secretary of state, had never been warm. Nixon had always been hypersensitive to Kissinger's ambition and his tendency to

take credit with journalists for triumphs that Nixon considered his singular territory. H. R. Haldeman had once told John Ehrlichman that their former boss had bugged his own office in order to be able to demonstrate, in Ehrlichman's words, "that the foreign-policy initiatives of his Presidency were in fact his own, not Henry's." The Nixon-Kissinger relationship, frail and edgy at all times, was particularly fraught at certain junctures: such as the week when *Time* selected both as Men of the Year, which enraged Nixon, or the day when Kissinger won what Nixon regarded as his Nobel Prize. They survived as colleagues in no small part because they were, for better or for worse, bound to each other, essentially each other's hostage.

The immediate interests that joined them were complicated by larger tensions: there had been Nixon's unfortunate anti-Semitism, amplified on occasion—some observers believed—for Kissinger's benefit as a little test among the boys. Nixon sometimes used the description "Jewboy" (a term ranking right up there with "kike" for most Jews) to describe his top foreign-policy expert. As for Kissinger, known for his treacherous mouth, he was often scornful of the man who had helped advance him, something Nixon was well aware of. After Nixon left office, a group of Canadian reporters overheard Kissinger calling the former president an odd, artificial man, one of his milder epithets. From the beginning of his

White House tour, Kissinger often portrayed Nixon to his staff as unstable, irrational, given to heavy drinking. "My drunken friend," he liked to call Nixon, or sarcastically "our peerless leader."

The consequences of their union were historic. Given their personalities, their respective insecurities, and the effect they would have on each other, it was as if there had been some dark sun on the day they came together. Nixon was paranoiac, brooding, pessimistic— a man who stored up grievance. Much of that grievance was directed at the power and snobbery of what he considered the Eastern Establishment. Kissinger was paranoiac, brilliant, devious, manipulative, and neurotically territorial; he was, at least outwardly, a product of the forces Nixon most despised: Harvard, the Rockefellers, the old boys. On occasion, even after leaving office, Nixon would speak bitterly of those institutions, which he believed represented the weakening fiber of America. He referred to their members as *Henry's crowd*, and he did this long after Kissinger himself had been largely separated from the Establishment by the incursion into Cambodia.

The telephone call that signified the decline of the Eastern Establishment, as an instrument of class propelled by certain traditions of loyalty and honor, came for Henry Kissinger in November 1968 at a meeting with his patron, Nelson Rockefeller, at the latter's West 54th Street apartment in New York City. Kissinger and other Rockefeller staffers were trying to predict which position Nixon would offer their boss in his new administration.

It appeared likely to the Rockefeller insiders, if not to the Nixon insiders, that their man would be offered something major, probably secretary of defense. In turn, he would offer a choice appointment to Kissinger, probably assistant secretary for international security—a considerable plum and a perfect launchpad for a rising star. It was also quite possible, however, that Kissinger would be offered something higher: unbeknownst to Rockefeller, he

had made himself unusually helpful to Nixon, serving as his secret channel on the Paris peace talks. Kissinger had used his Democratic connections to gain access to privileged information in Paris and had funneled it to Nixon men Richard Allen and John Mitchell. He had more lines into the Nixon camp than his Rockefeller colleagues imagined, but then again he also had more connections to Hubert Humphrey than the Nixon group realized. Humphrey, in fact, had also spoken of giving Kissinger a top job if he was elected, quite possibly the role of the president's chief adviser for national security. Kissinger's capacity to be all things to all campaigns—an overt Rockefeller man, a semi-overt Humphrey man, and a covert Nixon man—reflects the emergence of the rootless operator in the modern superstate. Kissinger was the first—though there were others to follow—of the wildly ambitious agents of opportunity set loose in the wilds of Washington and other capitals. They are interchangeable men, singular in their ambitions, unhampered by traditional loyalties or affiliations. They are men so cool and detached in their geopolitical views that they sometimes seem to be part of a new international elite, readily transferable to the governments of allies and adversaries alike.

It did not seem to occur to the Rockefeller camp that Nixon would not welcome its leader into the fold. But Nixon had not forgotten the humiliation inflicted by Rockefeller in 1960 when the former had won his first presidential nomination. The price of Rocky's support had been Nixon's consent to a platform which seemed more Rockefeller than Nixon to most conservatives and which had enraged the Republican right. There were less tangible resentments as well: old money, the East, all the associations that Kissinger inherited and Rockefeller embodied. There would, as it happened, be no job for Nelson Rockefeller. Instead, after the brief phone call, Kissinger became national-security adviser.

Many were surprised when Nixon offered and Kissinger accepted the job. Among those particularly sur-

Vanity Fair - September 1994

[LC]

prised were Kissinger's associates in the foreign-policy wings of the Rockefeller and Humphrey campaigns, people who had thought they were close to him, people who had thought they knew that he viewed Nixon as a kind of political devil incarnate. The reason they had thought they knew this was that Henry Kissinger had often told them so.

In early 1969 I lived a few blocks from the historian Teddy White on Manhattan's East Side. We often went for walks when our workdays were done, and on January 23, 1969 (I am grateful for H. R. Haldeman's diary for reminding me of the exact date), Teddy told me a story rich in its ironies. On the previous day, January 22, he had been at the White House for his final interview with Nixon—now newly installed as president—for *The Making of the President, 1968*. By chance, he had also seen Kissinger.

"The last time I had seen Henry was during the Miami convention, which nominated Nixon," Teddy said. "Nixon clearly had a lock on the nomination and so I decided to wander over to the Rockefeller headquarters to see what it was like there as the last of Nelson's presidential ambitions were coming to an end. It had the feeling of a morgue. Everywhere you looked there were old plates of take-out food and half-emptty coffee containers. And the only person I saw was Henry. I have never been greeted so warmly; it was as if I were his last friend on earth.

"'Teddy,' he said, 'we have to stop this madman Nixon ... ' Kissinger went on a prolonged indictment of Nixon, that he was not to be trusted, that he represented everything dark and dangerous, that he was not worthy of the office. He said that America might not survive a Nixon presidency."

Teddy White had not been greatly moved by this tirade; he had heard comparable Kissinger soliloquies. Then, just two days after the inaugural, he had visited Nixon in the White House. Nixon had welcomed him, outlining his vision of the presidency and then taking him to meet his new assistant for national-security affairs, *Doctor Henry Kissinger*. Teddy had been amused by Nixon's continuing emphasis of the

**WISE GUY**
John McCloy—Wall Street attorney, assistant secretary of war, high commissioner for Germany, president of the World Bank, chairman of Chase bank, chairman of the Council on Foreign Relations. More than any figure of this century, McCloy symbolized Establishment values.

Establishment came for Henry Kissinger in November 1968.

Kissinger, as an undergraduate,
Harvard 1950.

Kissinger, serving as
Gerald Ford's secretary of state
in 1975, chats with then
vice president Nelson Rockefeller,
his old mentor.

"Henry, you're brilliant," Elliott began. "But you're arrogant.

honorific. It was as if both were equal beneficiaries of Kissinger's intellectual credentials. Kissinger, Teddy told me, had been extremely stilted, even after Nixon's departure, when they chatted for an hour before Teddy raced to catch the shuttle to New York.

That night, the phone rang just as Teddy entered his apartment. The voice, heavily accented, was familiar: it was Kissinger. "Teddy," he said plaintively, "that last conversation we had together in Miami—it was off-the-record, wasn't it?"

Kissinger's appointment brought to the inner circle of power the most complicated, brilliant, and controversial government servant of the postwar era, a man with a towering intellect, an unnerving appetite for power, and a reputation, as time passed, for conduct of the most deviant sort. ("I admire Henry," said Richard Allen, a conservative Nixon adviser who helped bring Kissinger into the Nixon camp and was later squeezed out by him. "What is troubling about him is why he needs to be so devious and manipulative—he's so brilliant, he works so hard. He sees connections before everyone else. He could rise just as high if he played straight. But for some reason, he just can't play straight. He *has* to manipulate.")

Kissinger was the first great figure of the meritocracy to play so great a role in the foreign-policy superstruc-

ture, the first (but certainly not the last) who came from the seemingly disinterested ambience of Harvard to use that institution as an elegant but glorified trade school. The contradictions in his life were dazzling: He was a firsthand observer of our fragmented and less than generous refugee policy toward the Jews of Europe, but for much of his life seemed to downplay systematically the importance of human rights in foreign policy. He often seemed uneasy with the American instinct for goodness and morality in foreign policy, as if it were the weakness of a youthful, innocent nation lacking in its sense of realpolitik. Though he had been propelled to the inner sanc- tum of power by the forces of the Eastern Establishment, his willingness to go along with Nixon's actions on Vietnam, and most specifically Cambodia, had a profound impact on his relationship with the Establishment, which effectively broke with the Nixon administration over these policies.

Kissinger's role in the Nixon White House signified a sea change in the nature of the American Establishment, which, in the past, had prided itself on the now seemingly archaic notion that character and integrity were more important than brilliance and originality. The greater good of the ruling class, which of course meant the greater good of the country, was more important than self-advancement. Kissinger's rise to power, his ability to retool and repackage himself, his

cultivation of journalists, represented something else, something contemporary, a different kind of man who played by different rules in a new, media-driven age. His success signaled the end of the Establishment as it had existed in the past, the Establishment as written about by Richard Rovere and John Kenneth Galbraith, a group united not merely by certain goals and ideals but also by immutable rules of behavior. More, it signified the coming of a new ethos: character and traditional standards of loyalty were no longer, as they had been, a requisite; more important, they could now be viewed as a weakness. The more loyal a man was, the more he was burdened by the past. One should not be tied to people who were out of favor.

The Establishment's high-water mark was probably 1960 and the election of John Kennedy. Vietnam was its nadir, when it lost something critical: the belief on the part of ordinary Americans that it possessed a rare expertise that those of more plebeian backgrounds lacked. Vietnam, among other things, revealed the Establishment as poorly informed on a vast landmass which included, among other countries, China. The Establishment's elite was made up of men who looked toward Europe. They had seen Vietnam as essentially peripheral, and they had made a fatal error in failing to understand not only the ineffectiveness of American technology there but also the revolutionary forces driving their opponents. These

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[L]

Kissinger with
Ali MacGraw
at the world
premiere of
*The Godfather*
in 1972

Kissinger and wife Nancy
with *The Washington Post's* Kay
Graham aboard Rupert
Murdoch's chartered yacht,
*Midnight Saga*.

In fact you're the most arrogant man I've ever met."

miscalculations cost them and the class
they represented dearly.

The Establishment's decline stemmed not merely from the loss of its myth of expertise. Its base was torn asunder by domestic change. The G.I. Bill had altered the very nature of American society. America had gone from political democracy to econom ic democracy with the New Deal, and to social democracy with the coming of the G.I. Bill. The nation's great elite colleges were no longer private sanctuaries of privilege. In the years after World War II, they were being opened to the children of the meritocracy, and once this happened, the very nature of the Establishment was transformed. It had to adapt quickly, admitting new members such as Zbigniew Brzezinski, who would ultimately become Jimmy Carter's national-security adviser, and Kissinger, whose fathers had not even been born on American shores.

The power of privilege and the con-
nections that came from being a lega-
tee of a great family fell into decline.
It was harder for the children of by-
gone glories to assume command, for
they were often outstripped in college
by the hungry, driven children of the
meritocracy. It was an article of faith
that the prep-school graduates per-
formed better during freshman year than
the public-school graduates, but that late
in the sophomore year the hungrier pub-
lic-school boys passed them by. The
world changed similarly. In later years,

Henry Kissinger would reflect this contrast when he upstaged Secretary of State William Rogers, whom he saw as his principal rival for influence in foreign policy during the Nixon administration. Rogers—certifiably Waspy, demonstrably clubbable—belonged to Burning Tree and to the Racquet and Tennis Club as well as the Metropolitan. But he never craved power as Kissinger did. Rogers, although perceived as a Washington insider, became stunningly vulnerable almost overnight.

The Establishment declined for other reasons: American power and money moved south and west, and the consequences for the Republican Party, and thus the Eastern Establishment, were profound. (While the Establishment liked to think of itself as nonpartisan, it was essentially genteel centrist eastern Republican.) The final decline of that wing of the party was foreshadowed in 1964 when Goldwater won the Republican nomination from the main liberal candidate, Nelson Rockefeller. After 1968, no Republican liberal would run for at least a quarter-century, although John Anderson ran as an independent and John Lindsay campaigned as a Democrat. George Bush transmogrified from the son of Prescott Bush, good eastern liberal internationalist, to George Bush of Texas, a man who played to (but never really won over) the Republican right. Late in his career, in one of his less successful transformations, Kis-

singer—after having served Nixon and
Ford, the Republican center’s surviv-
ing figures—attempted, albeit unsuc-
cessfully, to recast himself yet again to
satisfy the new right wing.

Another factor in the Establishment's decline was rising media power. The failure of U.S. Vietnam policy diminished the Establishment but strengthened the media, which reported the war more accurately than the government did. The media, bolstered by network television, arrived as a power center rivaling government itself. Previous Establishment media people working Washington had known their place: they were ancillary to their government betters. But the new generation, demonstrably less responsive to men in office, was more independent and more aggressive. Within government, there was far greater pressure to leak, which undermined many Establishment norms, most notably secrecy, which had worked through the 50s and 60s.

The arrival of men such as Kissinger and Zbigniew Brzezinski at the forefront of the national-security complex signaled the first surfacing of a professional class of foreign-policy experts, a new generation for America's postwar incarnation. (In time, this nucleus of experts trained specifically for the role of foreign policy would expand further with the coming of the representatives of human-rights groups and

PHOTOGRAPHS: LEFT, BY SANTI VISALLI; RIGHT, BY DAVID JONES

251

They joined the best clubs within the colleges, Porcellian and Fly, Skull and Bones...

Above: General George Marshall makes a stop in Paris on his way to Moscow for a meeting at the Kremlin.

Right: Elihu Root, who served as secretary of state under Theodore Roosevelt, helped define the Establishment's internationalist stance.

refugee organizations.) The new class, trained quite specifically for the task, was created not to wrest power away from the older, more traditional Establishment, but ostensibly to serve it. Its rise created a dramatic impact. Before World War II, the ruling class had drifted through the Ivy League, turning rather casually to careers in government if they were bored with more traditional careers in finance and the law. There was nothing casual about the new generation. They sought advancement in the most singular way.

The Wasp Establishment as it existed in the 50s and early 60s was a select group of prominent men whose job was to guide American foreign policy, which they had done with considerable success for much of the earlier part of this century. The term "Wasp" should not lead one to assume that the sole qualifications were to be white and Protestant. There were millions of good, God-fearing white Protestants who were not, by standard definition, true Wasps. Rather, the term referred to a class within a class, a governing elite which had served, earlier on, as both upper and ruling class. Most of its members were men of the Atlantic, Republican internationalists who—because of financial interests—tilted toward Europe. They

was their common role in that great struggle to move America toward preparedness before the war. The later battle for the containment policy which stalemated Soviet aggression in Europe seemed easy by comparison.

They were eastern men, even if they were not all eastern-born (Lovett came from Texas, Kennan from Wisconsin). Educated in New England, they had joined the great banking houses and law firms of Wall and State Streets and were groomed in the verities and politics of the world to which they had been born or become apprenticed. They accepted its internationalism, its dress codes, its restraints, its mastery of ego. Their preferred continent was Europe, not Asia, the preferred general Eisenhower, not MacArthur, the preferred sports tennis and sailing, not baseball or basketball. They rendered these decisions with finality, a certainty inculcated in the great prep schools, where their values and friendships had been solidified and where they had learned to distinguish who among them was worthy and sound. From the right preps they had moved on to the right colleges and, more important, to the best clubs within the colleges, the Porcellian and the Fly at Harvard, Skull and Bones and Scroll and Key at Yale, and Ivy and Cap and Gown at Princeton. They were

shared a special kinship with England, a vague tolerance—and certain irritability—toward France, and a wary acceptance of Germany. Almost all of its senior figures had been interventionists in those lonely, desperate years before World War II when America was still isolationist and Hitler was on the rise, threatening England and the democracies of Europe. If there was a thread which bound together the great American diplomats and policymakers of that era—Henry Stimson, George Marshall, John McCloy, Dean Acheson, George Kennan, Averell Harriman, and Bob Lovett—it

united by styles and manners that symbolized everything they shared; in the 50s at least, they were known as "Shoe" (for "White Shoe") or "Clubby," which has over the years mutated to "Preppy."

The better young men were not so much brilliant as clubbable, vouchable. The bloodlines were tested, the values confirmed early on. The legatees knew who had "the right stuff" and who, conversely, would never pass muster; they knew what was to be discussed only in private. They knew—and this was perhaps the most elemental rule of all—that they were not to take credit for anything, even if the credit was rightfully theirs. They tended to be self-deprecating and detached, stoic. (Many were uneasy with John Foster Dulles not just because of his slowness to perceive the danger of Hitler but also because he was considered too partisan and vainglorious.) They were sound; they were solid: the Establishment resisted fashion. It was important to hold the center; it was important not to embrace new ideas too quickly—it was better to be wrong than to be hasty.

Issues of class were critically important to the men who inhabited this inner circle. By all rights, these centrist Republicans should have supported Richard Nixon in 1960, but the Establishment had never warmed to Nixon. John Kennedy may have been a Catholic, he may have been a Democrat, he may even have been old Joe Kennedy's son. But he was cool, innately patrician, clearly the first Irish-Catholic Brahmin. Having dealt all his life with his father, an autocratic tycoon, he was equipped to charm even the most towering figures of the Establishment on their home turf.

Nixon was another matter. In 1960, Henry Luce, patriarch of *Time*, was fond of saying that he was supposed to be for Nixon, but he didn't like him very much. He was supposed to be against Kennedy, but he liked him a great deal. Nixon—a striver, awkward and uncomfortable, too nakedly ambitious—conducted himself quite differently from someone raised in the culture of Luce and the others. Years earlier, when Nixon had gone to New York for an interview at the Establishment law firm of Sullivan and Cromwell,

252

John Kennedy tries out a director's chair during a visit to Hollywood in 1940.

the partner interviewing him had made notes on his shifty-eyed manner. Nixon was, to this world, forever the outsider. Even when he tried to be friendly, it seemed artificial.

Kennedy was filled with the kind of easy confidence that was crucial to being an Establishment member in good standing. He was secure not only in the belief that good things would happen to him but also with the idea that they *should* happen to him. He deserved them. Doors would open readily, important men would seek his company, appealing women would find him attractive. Kennedy accepted his good fortune without doubt: he never questioned his entitlement. Nixon, with all his stored-up anger, was untrustworthy. The insecure were *always* untrustworthy. And the Establishment was premised, as much as anything, on trust.

In the years after W.W. II, the Harvard Government Department was not a place for the faint of heart. Of the young men who were teaching fellows there in the early 50s, three went on to become national-security assistants to the president of the United States: McGeorge Bundy, Kissinger, and Brzezinski. It was the hot place, offering instant connection to power. With the growth of the Cold War and the coming of America as a superpower, the country needed an entire new class of bright young men to serve. Harvard was the magnet for those who would fill the vacuum—a new breed of action intellectuals, men not content with academe, men determined to create and act on new policies.

Kennedy was cool, innately patrician, clearly the first Irish-Catholic Brahmin.

From the start, Kissinger seemed a less than passionate teacher. His lectures on occasion, said one observer, resembled modern press conferences. At the beginning of class, he answered questions about world events; if there was time at the end, he *might* discuss the assignment. Those who wanted to see him were told to make three appointments. He would, he promised, be sure to keep one. He was interested in those above him in the hierarchy, and was one of the earliest networkers. Christmas cards, oddly enough, were one of his chosen instruments. On the surface, the young Kissinger might have appeared an unlikely holiday celebrant, but he kept the names and addresses of everyone on hand, including those young foreigners who had come through the Harvard international program and who seemed destined for something.

He had the ability to find the right older man to sponsor him. At Harvard, it was William Yandell ("Wild Bill") Elliott, one of the towering figures of the Government Department. Bill Elliott was a former college football star who took great pleasure in the roughness of his language and manner. If he did have, as he was certain, one of Harvard's best minds, it was clearly matched by the dimensions of his self-regard. He became an important Kissinger booster, but being an Elliott protégé was not always an unmixed blessing. Bill Elliott was not above letting his acolytes know the price they paid for his sponsorship. In 1955, a classmate of mine named Richard Ullman (later a distinguished political scientist at Princeton) was working as the editor of the summer *Crimson* at Harvard, and he went to see Bill Elliott for a story about the International Seminar then conducted at the university. When Ullman asked Elliott a procedural question, he replied, "Go see my water boy about that."

"Who's your water boy?" the puzzled Ullman inquired.

"Henry Kissinger."

"Why do you call him that?"

"Because he does everything I ask him to," Elliott answered.

Somehow in those years Kissinger managed to offend Elliott: no one knew how. Perhaps Elliott sensed that Kissinger was intent on transfer to a larger field of action. But something happened, and

in 1963, at the time of Elliott's retirement, there was a scene that became legendary. Elliott's senior colleagues had gathered at a dinner to say farewell and the guest of honor had visited each with parting words. Almost all his comments were generous, until he came to Kissinger: "Henry," he began, "you're brilliant. But you're arrogant. In fact you're the most arrogant man I've ever met." Kissinger became ashen-faced. "Mark my words," Elliott continued, "your arrogance is going to get you in real trouble one day."

Because of the unique force of his will, Kissinger's weakness became his strength. His insecurity in the end became his weapon; he needed success more than others, and he would do more to attain it. Sensing himself an outsider, disconnected and rootless, he acted with fewer restraints on his conduct. The key factor here was his insecurity, produced as it had been by his terrible childhood in pre-Holocaust Germany. Uprooted, the society around him destroyed, his most cherished institutions corrupted and made evil, Kissinger arrived here badly damaged, wary, extremely suspicious. He gave his trust and loyalty to no one, and in personal and professional dealings (for a man like him the two were never separated), he was always on red alert: *Is this friend or enemy? What are his weaknesses, prejudices? Can he be flattered, neutralized?* Unsure of his place in the new world, he could theoretically understand its protections but could never entirely trust in them. This damage, however, only made him more brilliant, more interesting—and finally more devious. He could never relax or let down his guard. Despite the blessings of a free society, he could never entirely overcome the warieness of those whose childhoods have been lost in the totalitarian states they have left behind. (Though Kissinger has often denied that his childhood is in any way part of the psychic key to him, his longtime associates feel otherwise.)

He was ferociously territorial, with the tendency to interpret the simplest of moves in the darkest of lights. He squabbled constantly with Bob Bowie, his superior at the Center for International Affairs. At a department meeting, Bowie suggested that a noted professor be

254

"I can do you more good if I am not public,"
Kissinger told the Nixon people.

[u]

brought in. Kissinger was furious. Later, he turned to his colleague Mort Halperin. "Do you know what that was about?" he asked. Halperin did not. "It was an attempt to embarrass me," said Kissinger, explaining that the professor in question had written unfavorably about one of Kissinger's books. Bringing him to Harvard, Kissinger suggested, would lend the university's imprimatur to the review.

He was a brilliant man with a capacity not merely to reinvent himself but to become—at least momentarily—the person that others wanted him to be. As Walter Isaacson has noted in his excellent biography, Kissinger was the prototype of someone who had grown up in an authoritarian society, obsequious with those above, overbearing with those below, and devious with peers. There is an additional consideration: more than one acquaintance has pointed out Kissinger's own internal resentment of the flattery that had become his trademark. This, perhaps, explains his unattractive tendency to privately ridicule—as if to gain some kind of revenge—the very people he had just courted.

At Harvard he was acutely aware of and quite resentful of the success of another rising star, Zbigniew Brzezinski, whose talents and ambition were quite similar to his own. If anything, in those days, Brzezinski—slim, attractive, and roguish—was perceived as socially more presentable than the somewhat overweight Kissinger. And Brzezinski had one additional advantage: in those early, overheated days of the Cold War, he was automatically regarded, by virtue of his genes (he was an émigré Pole), as a hard-liner. Kissinger, a Jew, inevitably aroused somewhat more suspicion on the right for possible left-wing sympathies. He had to work harder than Brzezinski to show his bona fides as an anti-Communist.

In the 50s, Kissinger made a lateral move to the Rockefeller operation, becoming an adviser on foreign policy. His book on the use of tactical nuclear weapons was published and was a surprising success. It even made the best-seller lists. But Kissinger was hardly a commanding figure; his massive insecurities about being an immigrant Jew were not assuaged by working for

one of America's first families. His reputation for sycophancy increased, as did his talent for flattery of the most skilled sort: intellectual flattery. He was very aware of where powerful men stood on all issues, who their enemies were, and—far more than the norm—he had the capacity to play to these men, to bring up subjects and prejudices close to their hearts. So often the men were stunned by this brilliant young mind who seemed to feel as they did about so many things and expressed their very own feelings with such conviction. Kissinger was not someone, it was said, who ever disagreed with anyone more powerful than he, at least face-to-face.

As his power within the Rockefeller organization grew, Kissinger began to think of himself as increasingly grand. When a press liaison who had an almost perfect ear for Rockefeller's speech patterns once tried to rewrite a Kissinger speech, Kissinger was not pleased. "When Nelson buys a Picasso, he does not get a housepainter to go and retouch it," he said. Inevitably, Emmet John Hughes, for many years the ranking Rockefeller intellectual and a man who watched Kissinger's rise with a combination of resentment and disdain, retaliated. In 1968, before the Rockefeller presidential run, frustrated by what he perceived as constant Kissinger undercutting, Hughes suggested that the Rockefeller people bring in Brzezinski as an adviser. Brzezinski, Hughes said, had a far better mind than Henry's. Soon there were rumors not only of a Brzezinski opening (playing the Polish card, one Rockefeller staffer called it) but also of sightings: Zbig and Emmet lunching at a place where rising stars were offered important jobs. Kissinger was appalled. He was heard to say that there was no need to bring Zbig into the campaign; there was already plenty of intellectual firepower. Rockefeller, however, was intrigued by Brzezinski; if two intellectuals were better than one, then certainly three were better than two, and they clearly cost a good deal less than Picasos. For a time, Brzezinski responded to the seduction: he was closer to Humphrey politically, but thought more highly of Rockefeller as an administrator. But by the time the Rockefeller offer

was tendered, he had signed on with Humphrey.

But Zbig remained something of a thorn. Years after the Rockefeller face-off, after Carter had given Brzezinski Kissinger's old job as national-security adviser, Kissinger was invited to a dinner at Kay Graham's in honor of Frank Wisner, who had just been named ambassador to Zambia. During the festivities, Kissinger had been extremely bothered by a photo on the mantel of a slim, handsome young man. "Kay," he asked, "how could you do it to me?"

"Do what, Henry?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Put up a photo of Zbig, and so quickly, too."

"Henry," she said, "that is a photo of Phil Graham" (her late husband).

To all intents and purposes, Rockefeller's 1968 loss of the Republican presidential nomination seemed, at least to the outside world, a loss for Kissinger as well. His surprising move to Nixon, however, signaled the coming of a new age and a new type of foreign-policy adviser. What was stunning to many people was the degree to which the qualities that had been important in the past, those of character and loyalty, were discredited. Gradually, after Kissinger surfaced in the Nixon camp, some of his old friends in the Johnson administration came to believe that he had betrayed them by feeding vital information on the Paris peace talks to the Nixon people, information which—when relayed back to Saigon—had a critical effect on the negotiations. Kissinger fed this information first through Richard Allen and then through John Mitchell, the general campaign manager. Allen, who had brought Kissinger into the Nixon campaign, later told *The New York Times's* Seymour Hersh: "I became a handmaiden of Henry Kissinger's drive for power. I was naïve. I had my zipper wide open."

After Rockefeller's defeat at the convention, Allen—who greatly admired Kissinger's intellect—offered him a chance to be a Nixon foreign-policy adviser. Kissinger had told Allen that he was positively inclined toward Nixon, but that he could

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work more effectively if he did not come out publicly with his support. His exact words: "I can do you more good if I am not public." Kissinger became a secret source for the Nixon people while simultaneously assuring friends in Paris that he held Nixon in contempt. Clearly, the old codes that had existed in the world of foreign policy had been detonated.

At the same time, as reporter Seymour Hersh later discovered, Kissinger had made an offer to pass on information about Nixon to Humphrey, information accumulated by the Rockefeller organization throughout the years when Nixon and Rockefeller were rivals for the Republican nomination. "The Shit Files," they were called. "My God," Hersh told me, "I started checking around and I found out he was a double agent, not only giving stuff to Nixon on the Democrats, but offering the Rockefeller stuff to the Humphrey campaign."

To Dan Davidson, a young Harriman aide working in the Paris peace talks, the subsequent revelation that Kissinger was passing information to the Nixon campaign was stunning. "Later," says Davidson, "long after it was over, we found out that he was sending our stuff back to the Nixon people, though we never knew exactly what he was sending back. Knowing Henry and his eagerness to impress Nixon, and to win some kind of place in the Nixon administration, there is no reason to believe that he held back anything." It was one thing for an eager would-be officeholder to play both camps by straddling the middle. It was another thing entirely to use credentials gained from one camp to penetrate another and pass on its secrets.

Kissinger's move to the Nixon camp, Dan Davidson believes, reflected a significant change in the delicate area of foreign and national-security policies. The old boys of the Establishment, Davidson says, had character and operated within certain boundaries that were clearly outlined and that one did not violate lightly.

Recently I asked Davidson if now, more than 25 years later, Kissinger's double game still bothered him. "Not if you come to realize that you were dealing with someone who is completely without character," Davidson answered, as if he were amused by the idea of Kissinger scurrying back and forth between the camps, trying to gain favor and somehow come out on the winning side.

For a brief time, Davidson worked under Kissinger at the National Security Council, but it was not a mutually satisfying experience. He was one of the

aides who left early on, and later it was discovered that he had been one of the staffers who had been wiretapped. Talking about what eventually happened in the White House, specifically the wiretapping of N.S.C. staff members with Kissinger's authorization, Davidson makes this point: "You cannot imagine McGeorge Bundy and Carl Kaysen sitting around in the Kennedy White House saying to each other, 'Let's wiretap our N.S.C. people.'"

That Nixon, with the knowledge he had of Henry Kissinger's fundamental character, found a place for him at the highest level of his administration is not, upon consideration, surprising. Kissinger had proved his value with his actions during the 1968 campaign. He had, ironically, proved his loyalty, if that is the word. He was a player. When I suggested that a dark sun brought Nixon and Kissinger together, I used the description advisedly. Nixon was from the start, for whatever intelligence and political skill he possessed, a damaged man. It was one thing for Kissinger to be a courtier in the world of Nelson Rockefeller, where the abundant confidence of the candidate permeated all meetings. It was quite another thing to be insecure, without connections, and rootless in the administration of the most insecure and disconnected of modern politicians: Richard Nixon.

The Nixon White House had an unusually ugly atmosphere, a kind of swaggering macho style reflecting the lowest common denominator of American social behavior. Because it was believed that people who sounded tough were tough, points were awarded to those who seemed manly and hard. From the start, the union of Nixon and Kissinger in this environment was not merely unhealthy but also dangerous. Here were two highly intelligent men, each relentlessly ambitious, each significantly damaged and distrustful, each in his own way insecure and vulnerable. Unsure of himself, unsure of his relationship to his president, Kissinger set out to consolidate power.

Dick Allen was the first to learn that Henry Kissinger was not your average professor, ill-prepared to face the demands of the political bureaucracy. He quickly recognized the fact that standing before him was a superb and relentless bureaucratic enfighter, a man for whom issues of power, down to the tiniest details, were always in play. Kissinger moved Allen, who was serving as his deputy in the Nixon White House, out of the action quite skillfully and almost im-

mediately. When Richard Moose, a young staffer, asked Kissinger what he should do with Allen, Kissinger replied, "Give him the largest office we have, but no telegrams." That is, flatter him, but keep him off the cable traffic. Allen was quickly stranded; his assignments took him far away from central issues.

What Kissinger managed in the White House during those early years was something of a bravura performance. He knew that for a variety of reasons he was culturally unacceptable, that there was a severe allergy to him, and that he had to pass a kind of Caesar's-wife test almost every day. After all, he was Jewish, he represented Harvard and the Rockefellers, and he was the butt of jokes. One of his aides remembered being with Kissinger, Haldeman, and Ehrlichman in the West Wing elevator. One of the men commented on a Washington Post item about Kissinger's having dinner with a young woman the night before. There was a quick suggestion that the idea of Henry's liking girls was a surprise; they had always heard that he preferred boys. There it was—the reminder that he was the man outside, the one who would be required, again and again, to prove himself.

At first, as he gradually made his accommodations to the norm of the White House, some of his more idealistic staff members were staggered by the level of his duplicity. What amazed them was not the dishonesty or ruthlessness, but the fact that what was at issue was frequently stunningly inconsequential. There would be a modestly successful press conference and soon the phone would ring and it would be Nixon calling Kissinger to ask how it had gone. Kissinger would launch, full throttle, into the flattery that seemed to come so naturally: it had been magnificent; the reporters had looked like children. Then Haldeman would call and upbraid Kissinger for Nixon's weakness on foreign policy, and a different Kissinger would seem to accept this. Later, Kissinger would call Rockefeller to tell him how terrible Nixon had been.

Kissinger's first great challenge in the Nixon White House was to prove his usefulness to the practical Nixon and his toughness to Haldeman and Ehrlichman. He had to show that he was not faint of heart like Bill Rogers, their secretary of state. Kissinger's strength in the early formative months was that he could offer the president one thing at all times: total agreement on Vietnam. He had made his separate peace; he would be their man. Bill Rogers, saddled with a clumsy, less than hawkish bureaucracy, was his perfect

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Kissinger said he was on his way to
China with Bill Blass and Oscar de la Renta.

Above: Kissinger with media baron Rupert Murdoch in June 1994. Right: Richard Nixon greets Kissinger at a party for former U.N. ambassador Jeane Kirkpatrick in the late 80s.

foil. Lacking Kissinger's innate talent for the subtleties of infighting, Rogers seemed unable to grasp the fact that Kissinger intended to take him out as a player—using Vietnam as the instrument. In an entry in *The Haldeman Diaries*, dated March 3, 1971, Haldeman describes himself joking with the president (labeled here as "P") about which of his two foreign-policy experts—Kissinger and Rogers—would, if need be, throw himself on a sword out of loyalty. The president repeatedly emphasizes that he realizes Kissinger is both more valuable and more *loyal* than Rogers. "The P made the point," says Haldeman, "that if we got to the stage where somebody had to fall on a sword in order to save the P, Henry would do it, but Rogers wouldn't. I made the point that I agreed with that, but that if Henry did it, he would do it with loud kicking and screaming and make sure that the blood spurted all over the place so he got full credit."

Kissinger put together a brilliant young staff at the N.S.C. But most of the staff were deeply suspicious of Nixon; they were men who had turned on the war some time ago and who were inclined by background to favor Kissinger over Nixon. They savored Kissinger's anecdotes about Nixon's drinking and about his general emotional volatility. Among other things, it made their jobs psychically more palatable: they were, it seemed, working for Kissinger, not Nixon. There was an additional benefit in this for Kissinger, some of them later suspected. Surely they would report back to their friends in Georgetown and elsewhere on his lonely, liberal fight against the forces of darkness.

So he was a man playing different

though it was White House custom for a rising figure to display his power by maximizing the number of his staffers he could get into the White House Mess, Kissinger cut off mess privileges for his staff.

Nixon's great policy problem was Vietnam and his pledge to end the war with peace and honor. Simply stated, this was not doable if the U.S. continued the process of troop withdrawal. Nixon could not adjust his rhetoric to the realities. The idea that the South Vietnamese ARVN—already a defeated army—could achieve what 500,000 Americans, backed by the most formidable assemblage of airpower in the history of mankind, could not was simply ludicrous. The war was over and the other side knew it. What was being debated was forms of withdrawal, fig leaves really. Peace would come only with defeat. No one, I suspect, had a better grasp of this than Henry Kissinger, master of realpolitik.

The Cambodian invasion was—according to Roger Morris, one of the most brilliant members of Kissinger's N.S.C. staff—the fateful moment for Kissinger in the Nixon White House, his personal crossing of the Rubicon. (When I spoke to Kissinger, he agreed with this, although, I suspect, with a significantly different view of who the ultimate victim in all this was.) Up until now, Kissinger had been able to be two different men, answerable to both the Nixon hawks and the more liberal Establishment. Now he faced a choice between the part of himself that courted favor with Nixon and the part of himself that needed the goodwill of Harvard and Georgetown, the political-social-journalistic world where he had invested

roles to warring constituencies. A dangerous game—and Kissinger was nervous about what might happen if his staff mixed socially with the other aides. He couldn't risk having his people discover his support for Nixon's policy in the meetings with the president. Al-

20 years building up friendships and credibility. He chose, of course, to maintain power. Though he continued to portray himself to some columnists and journalists as a man agonized by the Cambodian bombing and invasion, his staff realized during the Cambodia crisis that this was not, indeed, the case. The young men watched with increasing distress the growing duplicity of his performance, alongside what Roger Morris referred to as Kissinger's self-absorption, megalomania, and gamesmanship.

Cambodia tore Kissinger's staff apart, not unlike the country itself. "The bleeding hearts," as he liked to call them, these young men whom he had cherished and admired, were appalled. The move into Cambodia was to them a disastrous move in terms of domestic politics; it would imply a wider, not smaller, war. The Americans, Kissinger's staff realized, would never be able to locate the COSVN, the Communist headquarters in Cambodia, and they felt the invasion would drive the Khmer Rouge westward toward Phnom Penh. It was, at least one of the staffers believed, the needless sacrifice of a small, powerless nation to a flawed, indeed failed, military policy.

The meeting of Kissinger's staff where he told them about the coming move into Cambodia was, in its own way, as skilled a piece of bureaucratic manipulation and duplicity as one could imagine. The goal was to dampen and limit staff dissent. What was not discussed was the critical incremental jump in the policy, not merely the use of fixed-wing aircraft in this strike but also the fact that South Vietnamese combat troops would be joining U.S. forces in the invasion. Some of the staff people attending the meeting knew this, but they had not been told who else, if anyone, knew it. Therefore, they could not mention it at the meeting. Thus was debate—and dissent—on the most important aspect of the operation effectively suppressed. (Later, when they spoke among themselves, they would find out the degree to which they had been had. Many had, in fact, known of the escalation, but Kissinger had skillfully tied them up.)

Bill Watts, one of three who actually resigned over Cambodia, had come to the White House from the Rockefeller

SONIA MOSKOWITZ

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"I became a handmaiden of Kissinger's drive for power,"
said Richard Allen. "I had my zipper wide open."

CJ

camp. After the meeting, he was unable to sleep, convinced of his own role in a certain disaster. At the time, he was supposed to be taking over a job as staff coordinator, and he went in to see Kissinger, to say that he would not accept the job. Kissinger's reply was memorable, reflecting his awareness that he had crossed his own private Rubicon. "Your view represents the cowardice of the Eastern Establishment," Kissinger cried. Watts was enraged and leapt out of his seat and tried to take a swing at Kissinger, who had retreated behind his desk. A little later, Al Haig asked Watts what he was doing. Watts said he was resigning and Haig said, "You can't do that. You have an order from our commander in chief." "Fuck you, Al," Watts said. "I'm going home."

When Tony Lake and Roger Morris decided to resign as well, the three men spoke at great length about whether or not to go public in a press conference on Cambodian policy. They now saw Kissinger as being an essential part of the Nixon policy on Vietnam, more hawkish than they had wanted to believe, a critical part of the darkness they saw around them. In the end, they decided not to go public; they decided that Kissinger, despite the Cambodian invasion, might still be the one redeeming force in the government. In Morris's words, "His intellectual quotient and potential for policy was still somehow greater than his megalomania. . . . If we had gone public with our description of the real Henry whom we knew, and of Nixon's drinking as we knew it and as it was reported to us by Henry, and of the horrendous tenor and tone of the White House in general . . . we knew he would be destroyed." They decided they needed to save him and they did not hold a press conference. Morris now regards the failure to go public as the single biggest mistake of his career. The invasion was, of course, a disaster. The COSVN headquarters was not found. (Watts had once asked a friend in the C.I.A. about COSVN, and the friend had laughed: "There's nothing to find. It's not a fixed place. It's a state of mind.") Watts and the others realized that the invasion brought Cambodia full force into the war with catastrophic consequences. "Because of what we did, we made Pol Pot, we

made him a hero in his own country," Watts said years later. A few days after the invasion had taken place, a meeting was held in Haldeman's office where the top staff people spoke of how to explain the essential failure of the invasion to the media. Kissinger wanted no part of it. "I do not deal with P.R. problems," he said as he strode out of the room.

Going along with the Nixon policy on Vietnam was probably not that hard a call for Kissinger. He was extremely conservative in a classic sense, much more so than most of his old Harvard contemporaries, who—if they were, in general, hard-liners on the Cold War—remained properly optimistic about the uses of American power and the inherent strengths of democratic life. Kissinger was always more pessimistic. He had watched one society collapse and it made him cautious and deeply suspicious of profound political change. His most natural voice was mournful/pessimistic. He was extremely wary of too much idealism in politics, particularly the idealism of the left, which he had seen transformed into totalitarianism. Still, he always feared the right more than the left. Once before in his life, the right had struck against everything he believed in. At one point during the tensions over Cambodia when he was arguing policy with his more dovish staff, he told them that he and Nixon were saving them from the right. "Henry, you are the right," Tony Lake countered, meaning that when you employ policies designed to head off the right, you become the right.

There was, I think, a certain cynicism to the Vietnam policy. When the peace settlement was finally agreed on, John Ehrlichman asked Kissinger how long he thought the South Vietnamese might hold out. Ehrlichman had expected some kind of benign reassurance. Instead, Kissinger told him the truth. "I think that if we're lucky they can hold out for a year and a half." Bringing an unwinnable war to its final end is not a pleasant task under any circumstances, and given the nature of the men in the Nixon administration, it was particularly unpleasant. It was longer and messier than it should have been. The war was extended for an unnecessary period of time, and instead of being able to rescue those Vietnamese who had been

loyal, we were left with a remarkable image: a shot of the people whom we had joined in battle, and whom we had intended to save, hanging on to the skids of departing helicopters.

As the Nixon White House came apart during Watergate, Kissinger's longtime courtship of the media proved invaluable. As a friend to the faithful in Georgetown, he was a Good Guy, "Our Henry" to their Nixon, their Haldeman, their Ehrlichman. He was—or so it appeared to some—the last vestige of legitimacy in a government near collapse, and there was an active and determined effort to protect and save him from the spreading stain of Watergate. A number of prominent media figures participated in this effort, either actively or by their silence. Very few reporters pursued the Kissinger angle. For a time, it appeared that he might eventually escape the larger morass unscathed.

Then, one day in 1973, Bill Sullivan, a high F.B.I. official, called Seymour Hersh of *The New York Times* and suggested lunch. They met at an F.B.I. hangout in Washington near the Justice Department. Sullivan said he had something for Hersh and pulled out a folder with 17 authorizations for wiretaps of N.S.C. staffers, other government staffers, and some journalists, many of them instigated by Henry Kissinger. Even Hersh, accustomed to probing the least savory corners of government, was stunned. The revelation of Kissinger's complicity in this went beyond his own darkest scenarios. He quickly returned to his office to call the F.B.I. men whose names were on the wiretapping orders to assure himself that they did indeed exist. With the documents verified, he phoned Kissinger. He recalls the events that followed very clearly. His first question to Kissinger was followed by an audible gasp at the other end of the line. Then Kissinger's attempted denials faded as Hersh provided chapter and verse of the evidence. "How can I run the government if material like this is printed?" Kissinger pleaded as the conversation ended.

All through the day, there were interruptions as Kissinger marshaled his connections in an attempt to stop the stories.

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Rogers seemed unable to grasp the fact that Kissinger
intended to take him out as a player—using Vietnam.

First, Scotty Reston wandered by and asked what Hersh had. "Henry seems very upset," said Reston. Hersh showed him; Reston nodded his head. "Fine," he said. "No wonder he's upset." Then a call came from Clifton Daniel, Washington-bureau chief for the *Times*, who also checked out the story. Finally a call came from Abe Rosenthal, the managing editor in New York. No one tried to stop Hersh, in part because the *Times* was playing catch-up with *The Washington Post* on Watergate. Then, around five o'clock, a call came from General Alexander Haig, who had replaced Haldeman as White House chief of staff.

"Seymour," he began. (Since he had never been Seymour to Haig before, Hersh knew that something serious was coming.) At first, Haig tried to justify the wiretaps as legal and perfectly proper— not a news story. Then, as that argument began to evaporate, Haig toughened his defense. He said that this would end Kissinger's legitimacy, that he would be forced to resign, and that the government would unravel. Finally, as deadline approached, Haig rose to his ultimate ploy.

"You're Jewish, aren't you, Seymour?" he asked. Hersh said that he was. "Let me ask you one question, then. Do you honestly believe that Henry Kissinger, a Jewish refugee from Germany who lost 13 members of his family to the Nazis, could engage in such police-state tactics as wiretapping his own aides? If there's any doubt," Haig continued, "you owe it to yourself, your beliefs, and your nation to give us one day to prove that your story is wrong." Hersh believed that Kissinger, despite his background, was perfectly capable of employing wiretaps. And so the *Times* went with it.

In two ways, Kissinger was dramatically different from past Establishment figures. In an earlier age, when they had worked among Washington's leading journalists—columnists such as the Alsops, Scotty Reston, Roscoe Drummond, and Walter Lippmann—the Establishment figures had used their power on behalf of policy. But Dean Acheson never tried to sell himself directly to Reston, and he most certainly never attempted to separate himself from a policy that Truman ap-

proved of but that he sensed Reston would not approve of. Kissinger represented something new, a man who managed inside the White House to be utterly servile to the president while deftly separating himself from his policies when he was with people who disagreed with them. This was a new era, one which produced a different kind of person and offered a different set of rewards; it was defined by the vastly greater power of the media and the different nature of a less Calvinist, more media-conscious society which presented vastly different temptations. The members of the old class had hardly been without ego, but the codes they lived by demanded suppression of idiosyncrasy and the upholding of team values. It was not by chance that Kissinger became a star in the new era; he responded to the powerful orbital pull of the media. Dealing with the new celebrity journalists fulfilled not only a professional but also a psychic need for him. It was important to his vision of his larger career. ("Henry always knew there was going to be life after Nixon," John Ehrlichman said.) He was drawn first to print people, and particularly to columnists, who were more influential than they are today, and then to television reporters. As such, he was surely the harbinger of a wider change in America as it began to manifest itself in government, not so much of greater ego but of greater manifestations of ego. He did not come from the same class as the Old Establishment, and his psychological needs were different from those of the men who had once served in comparable positions.

By the spring of 1994, Henry Kissinger was still an important player in American foreign policy, although probably more influential overseas than in America. He had founded Kissinger Associates, an international consulting firm worth an estimated $10 million, and had become extremely wealthy. For those hoping to do business in China, for example, his assistance in opening doors was considered extremely valuable. He remained what his Washington years had made him: a star, that most unlikely of things—a celebrity produced by the national-security complex. Even the darker

side of his history, which had come to the surface through various books and articles, had not diminished his glamour and in fact seemed to increase his panache among some new friends.

The break with many of his old academic and political colleagues, mainly over Cambodia and Vietnam, had been painful. Few of those relationships had ever been successfully patched up. His relations with Harvard remained bitter; when he found himself in the Boston area, he refused to attend any function conducted on Harvard ground.

In the 80s, when he stood for re-election to the board of the Council on Foreign Relations in New York, the Establishment's last great forum, he came in last. Though he joked about his defeat, friends considered it to have been deeply wounding. Some associates believed that it damaged his relationship with Winston Lord, the council head. Lord had been one of the young staffers who had stood by him during Cambodia. Kissinger was said to have blamed Lord for encouraging him to stand for the seat.

As always, he seemed ever ready to shift alliances. A former aide remarked that he still made his way through life "like Eliza moving across the ice floe." As he had once been a man of Cambridge and the Rockefellers, of Harvard and Georgetown, he was now close to the instant tycoons of the exurban Connecticut countryside, the semi-beautifull people: men such as Wall Street mogul Henry Kravis, men wealthy and grand enough to require their own secretaries of state. He enjoyed the privileges of their wealth, particularly their private jets. After one incident when Kissinger commandeered the Kravis jet for a trip to Japan, the amused millionaire was heard to tell friends that he hoped to go to China soon himself, "if I can get the use of Henry Kissinger's plane."

In his new world of celebrity, he courted the famous as assiduously as ever. Or almost as assiduously. My friend the novelist John Gregory Dunne once met him at a party in Los Angeles given by the late agent Irving "Swiftly" Lazar. "I am a great admirer of your work," Kissinger politely told Dunne, who received the compliment with a degree of skepticism. Later in the evening, Kissinger spoke of a

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trip to China "with Bill Blass and Oscar de la Renta" which he was planning. He mentioned that he wanted to take one of Dunne's books. "Which one?" Dunne inquired.

*The Two Mrs. Grenvilles*, Kissinger replied, referring to a novel by Dunne's brother Dominick. "You've got the wrong brother," Nancy Kissinger hissed into her husband's ear.

As the Republican Party moved further right during the Reagan and Bush years, Kissinger became increasingly isolated from the center of the party. In 1980, during the Republican convention, there was a brief moment when it seemed he might return to power. At the last minute, just as Ronald Reagan was getting ready to accept his nomination, there were whispers of a dream ticket: Reagan and Jerry Ford, two presidents for the price of one. There was even, it seems, a discussion of what might have amounted to a sort of co-presidency. Ford, apparently reluctant to accept a vice-presidential slot, was said to have demanded that part of the price of his participation on such a ticket was the return of Henry Kissinger as secretary of state. Dick Allen, by then a top Reagan adviser, saw the drafting of Ford as something of an attempted coup by Kissinger and made it his personal mission to shoot it down.

Still, Kissinger remained a man who could always get himself on television, and the networks vied to sign him as a special commentator. Though he was sometimes capable of being truly visionary, his appearances were often strangely disappointing, his voice oddly muted. "A grumpy talking head," John Lewis Gadsis, the diplomatic historian, called him. "My sense is that he is unconsciously ill at ease with so public and democratic an instrument."

To this day, he remains extremely sensitive to everything written about him. John Ehrlichman once wrote that Kissinger and his wife, Nancy, seemed to have become in his postgovernment years the joint keepers of the Henry Kissinger flame, alternating on four-hour shifts. Prolonged diligence was required last May, when *The Haldeman Diaries*, the personal journals of H. R. Haldeman's White House years, was published.

Bob Haldeman, it turns out, was a

careful diarist, recording everything that occurred during his years as Nixon's presidential assistant. He decided, late in his life, to turn it into a book. His motivations were complex, and because he died before the actual publication, we will never know exactly what propelled him. Money probably had something to do with it, as well as the desire to clear his own name. There was also the distinct possibility that the diaries were an attempt at some revenge on Richard Nixon, who had failed to pardon Haldeman, and on Henry Kissinger, who had never really been tainted by the crimes of the administration as all the others who had belonged to it had been.

When Jo Haldeman decided after the death of her husband to go ahead with the publication of his diaries, she was extremely sensitive to their potential impact on both Nixon and Kissinger. She called representatives of both men to let them know what she intended to do. She is now gently discreet about their reactions, but my sources tell me that neither Nixon nor Kissinger was greatly pleased about the planned publication of the diaries. Arguments were put forth that the publication of the book would serve no purpose and only open up old wounds. Nixon apparently suggested, at some point, that the book be published—if it had to be published—after his own book, which was then also scheduled for a spring publication. The former president apparently did not want to spend his publicity tour answering questions about Bob Haldeman's memories of the unfortunate past.

The Haldeman book did, indeed, bring back the past, and there was the darkness evoked once again. Here was what Roger Morris called "the constitutional squalor," the vengeful president once again raging at those around him. The diaries are, I think, particularly devastating to Kissinger. They are our record of the way he played to Nixon, of his systematic attempts to undercut Bill Rogers, of the fact that on several critical occasions—despite what he was saying in Georgetown—he was more hawkish than Nixon and the others on the subject of Vietnam. When some writers with memories took note in the papers of the diaries and the revelations about Kissinger, the man himself responded with angry letters to edi-

tors. When I asked Kissinger about the diaries during an informal talk for this piece, he was dismissive. (He agreed to see me, not so much to answer questions but—I believe—to find out what I was up to.) He had not bothered to read them, he said. He cautioned me to remember that Haldeman had not been involved in foreign policy, seeming to insinuate that in the Nixon administration there had indeed been a boundary separating politics and foreign policy.

The Establishment which Kissinger was once part of is now almost completely changed. During the 70s, it was transformed into a new professional class, and it has continued to change. It now includes the new generation of professionals, including not only Kissinger's lineal descendants but new groups—including human-rights organizations and others committed to the plight of refugees. What was once a small, exclusive club has now grown much larger and noisier. What is clear now is the power that television has played in the metamorphosis of the international political process. As it dramatized certain issues, the medium revealed that it could also affect the foreign-policy agenda of nations like the United States. Thanks to television, someone like Randall Robinson—the South Africa activist who went on a widely publicized hunger strike against U.S. policy in Haiti—can now be as influential as a man like Henry Kissinger. What is strange is that Kissinger, a man so skilled at manipulating the media, was so slow to see the changed dynamic of the contemporary world and even slower, perhaps, to fathom its consequences. He continues, quite ironically, to see himself as the standard-bearer of the old order rather than the harbinger of the new. At a recent dinner party, Henry Kissinger and a group of colleagues were discussing the malaise in contemporary America. Someone said that the problem with the country was the decline of its elite, the loss of the Establishment which Kissinger had once represented. Paul Volcker, former chairman of the Federal Reserve, looked over at Kissinger and asked if he thought that this was true, that the elite was in decline.

"No," said Kissinger, pausing just long enough, "but it is true that I am getting very lonely." ☐

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Kissinger's many faces
taught young aide lessons

Robert C. McFarlane joined the staff of Na-
tional Security Adviser and soon-to-be Secretary
of State Henry Kissinger in 1973.

Thus began a fascinating four-year tour of duty
with the legendary diplomat whom McFarlane de-
scribes as "one of the most mercurial and difficult

bosses it has ever been my pleasure or peril to know.”

For better and for worse, as McFarlane describes in the last of three excerpts from his compelling book, “Special Trust,” he was to learn many lessons from this brilliant master of diplomacy, treachery and intrigue.

Before I went to work for Henry Kissinger, I had read every book and article that he had ever written. His work is without peer: exhaustive in its scholarship, rigorous in its analysis, elevated in its language, visionary in its thinking. He is a giant intellect, and the pre-eminent strategist of his generation.

As a White House fellow in 1971-72, I had worked in an office next door to Kissinger in the West Wing. Kissinger was the national security adviser — and I would see him often in the halls. He knew who I was, but I was just a junior staffer, and Henry's manner always called to mind the line about the Lowells speaking only to the Cabots and the Cabots speaking only to God. I suppose Henry might have said that God spoke only to him, and he would share it with President Nixon.

He was an iconoclast, unap-
proachable, demanding, impe-
rious. When the interview I had
requested for a position on his
staff came through in 1973, I wor-
ried about making the grade with
him. He didn't go out of his way to
ease my qualms.

The interview took place at San Clemente during a Nixon trip to his California home in June 1973. I had to spend a nervous half hour waiting before I was finally called into Kissinger's office on the edge of the Pacific. He looked me over non-committally. He said he had looked at my record. Then he declared, quite deliberately, in his gruff German accent, that in his judgment, no one could ever replace Jon Howe.

Howe was, I knew, an extreme-
ly talented naval officer who had
earned his master's and doctorate
from the Fletcher School of Law
and Diplomacy at Tufts Univer-
sity in a record two years' time,
and had been Kissinger's military
assistant for four years. He would
go on to serve in a number of staff
and command positions and ulti-
mately rise to four-star rank as
commander of NATO forces for
the southern region of Europe. His
reputation was certainly one to
live up to.

Despite this inauspicious begin-
ning, I was chosen for the job and
was soon working 12- to 15-hour
days for one of the most mercu-
rial and difficult bosses it has
ever been my pleasure or peril to
know.

Kissinger set extremely high
standards. He worked extraordinarily
hard himself, and expected
those around him to follow suit.
He thought nothing of driving his
staff to extreme efforts in produc-
ing policy papers or analyses or
reports and occasionally rode peo-
ple to the point of exhaustion. He
was given to verbal abuse of his
subordinates and rarely acknow-
ledged the tremendous efforts his
colleagues and staffers put in for
him.

In my job, I was responsible for

assuring that all the paperwork
that came to Henry's office was
thorough, well-coordinated with
other White House offices and
substantively sound. It was fasci-
nating work that involved a great
deal of learning at the hand of a
master, and I loved it.

At the same time, I found cer-
tain aspects unsettling. Not only
was Kissinger demanding and
dogmatic, a man who did not tol-
erate rational argument with
temperance or any measure of
good grace, he was also distrust-
ful, hypocritical, routinely dishon-
est and abusive to his friends. He
is an extremely vain man, appar-
ently without solid spiritual an-
chors, who was as absorbed with
how he would be perceived by fu-
ture generations as he was with
his genuine commitment to sound
policy.

But he went at his job with a
Spenglerian view of humankind,
and believed that his role was to
exploit the vulnerabilities of
others as each situation demand-

ed, by fair means or foul, to ac-
complish what he thought was
right.

Fair play was to him just a rhe-
torical metaphor, and life and
especially international politics
were a very Darwinian process.
Get the most you can with the
least expenditure of capital and
always play your cards close to
your vest seemed to be his *modus
operandi*, and he truly couldn't
fathom, even disdained, people
who operated out of a greater
sense of honesty and forthright-
ness than he. I remember an inci-
dent during the congressional in-
vestigation of the organization
and functioning of the CIA in 1976.
Committees headed by U.S. Rep.
Otis Pike and Sen. Frank Church
were requesting files from both
the CIA and the White House re-
lating to covert activities. Henry,
true to form, was anxious to keep
as much back as possible, to keep
the flow of papers to the Hill very
tightly controlled.

One day, as the tedious work

**MANY MOODS:** Though often stern, Secretary of State Henry Kissinger was a multifaceted man that Robert McFarlane came to fear and respect.

File photos

of examining all the NSC and presidential files dragged on, Henry came into the office. (He

was given) a piece of news: Bill Colby, the director of the CIA, had OK'd sending Congress a category of file for which the committees had not even asked. It was a pre-emptive move on Colby's part to keep a problem from arising later. But Henry, who was capable of throwing pencils and other projectiles when angered, went into a rage.

"Goddam Colby!" he stormed in his office. "They charge him with shoplifting; he confesses to murder."

Above all, Kissinger had intellectual disdain for nearly everyone around him, including the press, the Congress and the president. Even Nixon he saw as a foil, a man who could be manipulated, usefully, to advance his own view of how our foreign relationships ought to be engaged or exploited.

Working for such a complex, conspiratorial man, I found it hard, at times, to maintain my moral compass. During the worst days of Watergate, I knew that he was capable of undetermining Al Haig in a conversation with Nixon one moment, then hanging up and calling Haig to disparage Nixon in turn. He would make commitments to senators or congressmen, then call the president to rip apart the position to which he had just committed.

It was a four-year course in political hardball. Often I asked myself, "Do I believe in what his purposes are, and do I believe that he can achieve them without severe damage to our institutions?" In the end, I did believe it. Ultimately what he sought to, and frequently did, achieve transcended the dishonesty and cynicism of his methods. It was a classic case of the ends justifying the means.

©1994 by Robert C. McFarlane. Reprinted with permission from Multi Media Communicators Inc.

THE ARTS

[L.C.]

# The Last Tycoon, Take Two

## Books: The mush and grit of Robert Evans

ROBERT EVANS'S THE KID Stays in the Picture (412 pages. Hyperion. $24.95) is the wildest, profanest, mostRICICULOUSLY riveting movie memoir ever. His style is so hilariously messy (sample Evans epigram: "Possession is 99 percent of ownership") that it's fun—the voice of a self-taught, self-centered mogul who was never mogul enough to command absolute power. Evans, head of Paramount in the late '60s and early '70s, ruefully characterizes himself as an "employee," unlike the Cohns and Zanucks of preconglomerate Hollywood. This makes him more appealing than the fascistic studio bosses who ruled in iron jodhpurs.

It's the stuff of movie legend that Evans (born Robert J. Shepera in 1930 in New York) was spotted poolside by Norma Shearer, who tapped him to play her late husband, boywonder producer Irving Thalberg, in "Man of a Thousand Faces" (1957). Director Henry King wanted to drop him from his next movie, "The Sun Also Rises," but Twentieth Century Fox boss Darryl F. Zanuck—who thought Evans was a new Valentino—strode onto the set and proclaimed through his bullhorn: "The kid stays in the picture." His liaison with Ava Gardner on this movie launched Evans as a legendary collector of such trophies as Lana Turner, Princess Soraya of Iran and four wives: starlet Sharon Hugueny, actress Camilla Sparv, Ali MacGraw ("the most extraordinary woman of my life") and ex-Miss America Phyllis George.

But his real mistress, says Evans, was Paramount. Hired by Gulf+Western tycoon Charles Bluhdorn, the inexperienced Evans was known as "Bluhdorn's Folly." "The kid's got balls," explained his boss, in a line that occurs like a mantra throughout the book. Evans's testicular testimony includes his defiance of J. Edgar Hoover, who wanted him to shut down a picture that made sport of the FBI. He showed even more guts in facing down Frank Sinatra, who he says ordered his wife Mia Farrow to stop shooting "Rosemary's Baby" so she could appear in one of Sinatra's movies. Evans

talked Farrow into staying, and Sinatra promptly served her with divorce papers on the set. Evans got threats from the Mafia warning him not to make "The Godfather" if he wanted to save his "pretty face" and his baby son, Joshua, by MacGraw.

Evans's two biggest hits couldn't have been more different: the mushy "Love Story" (1970) and the gritty "The Godfather" (1972), and he fought corporate resistance on both projects. His decline was fueled by a serious drug problem; he was sentenced to a year's probation for cocaine possession in 1980. In 1989 he pleaded the Fifth Amendment as a trial witness in the murder of Roy Radin, who had wanted to back Evans in a new production company. This led to a near-suicidal depression until attorney Robert Shapiro (now O. J. Simpson's lawyer) helped clear Evans's name.

The most bizarre parts of the book, about his friendship with Henry Kissinger, read like scenes from a Robert Altman satire.

Evans begged Kissinger to break from his Vietnam deliberations in Washington to attend the New York première of "The Godfather," and he did. Kissinger asked Evans for help in keeping his job as national-security adviser—some people in the Nixon White House, he said, felt that "this little Jew boy is getting out of hand." Evans claims he advised Kissinger to enlist Hugh Sidey of Time-Life, who "writes about you like you're the second coming of Christ." Whether he did so is not known, but strong eulogies of Kissinger soon appeared in Life and Time. Evans, who sat at Kissinger's table at his 50th birthday party, wasn't invited to his 60th. "If I were him, I wouldn't invite me either," writes Evans. This is the flip side of Evans's chutzpah. "I've been shot down ... disgraced, betrayed." he says. Evans was F. Scott Fitzgerald's Last Tycoon, except he's come back. After last year's embarrassing "Sliver," he's planning to film "The Saint." As Bluhdorn said, the kid has—well, you know.
JACK KROLL

COURTESY ALICE SPRINGS

The son also rises: With MacGraw and Kissinger at 'Godfather' première in 1972, with Joshua c. 1990

# Pizza at Three O'Clock

## Mysteries: Crime scenes

IT IS AXIOMATIC AMONG MYSTERY WRITERS, no less than real-estate agents, that "location, location, location" are the three most important words in English. To the best crime writers, a sense of place is every bit as crucial as who killed Col. Mustard in the pantry with a candlestick. No one has ever caught the corrupt beauty of Los Angeles better than Raymond Chandler, and Rex Stout's wry evocation of Manhattan remains vivid two decades after his death. But, as two new mysteries prove in very different ways, bringing a place to life in print is a tough trick.

No writer could be more obsessed with geography than April Smith. She even takes the title of her debut novel, "North of Montana" (293 pages. Knopf. $23), from a map coordinate. The "Montana" in question is a street in Santa Monica. To the north lies a swanky neighborhood populated by the nouveau riche, including a surgeon accused by an aging movie queen of addicting her to painkillers. To nail the doc, Ana Grey, an ambitious young FBI agent, treks out

68 NEWSWEEK SEPTEMBER 5, 1994

8

[LC]

THE NEW YORK TIMES, SUNDAY, JUNE 5, 1994

ROBERT LIPSYTE

# The Art of Trash Talk
Not Limited to a Court

Three of the greatest trash talkers in the history of sports — Muhammad Ali, Henry Kissinger and Marge Schott — made encore performances recently as if to remind the current designated mouths that there have been giants in the field. Call it Homer-ic boasting, bench jockeying, psych-ing out, trash talk is the latest label for a line of hostile chatter that goes back at least to Cain putting down Abel before eliminating him from the race.

The verbal sparring between Reggie Miller of the Pacers and Spike Lee of the Knicks Fanatics, Mark Messier's promise to win the sixth game against the Devils, even the needling notes that Yankees left in teammate Jim Leyritz's locker, are contemporary, although hardly classic, variations of the attempt to divert or pump up or straighten out.

It was Ali, first as Cassius Clay, who brought bodacious black style to the global village as a way of talking his opponents off balance and publicizing his fights. He sold real tickets, along with wolf tickets. The cultural commentator, Nelson George, has pointed out that Ali's descriptions of himself as "pretty" was the "mack talk" of pimps and his assigning animal names to his opponents — Sonny (the Big Ugly Bear) Liston and Floyd (the Rabbit) Patterson — was in the African tradition of elevating oneself by dehumanizing one's enemies. George even saw Bundini Brown, Ali's assistant trainer for uplift, as a kind of Mr. Interlocutor from the minstrel shows.

The mostly black-on-black trash talking in pro basketball delights some, offends others. Is it a further expression of creative style (hip-hop hoops?), a reflection of street-corner desperation; is it indicative of the game's tilt from finesse to confronta-tion?

As can the more formalized "doz-ens," trash talk can get out of hand; on several occasions, Ali lost control of the scene he was creating, and op-ponents physically attacked him at news conferences and during TV in-terviews. His bewildered reply to news that he had been reclassified as fit to be drafted for the Vietnam War — "I got nothing against them Viet-cong" — was interpreted out of con-text by much of America as treacher-ous trash talk.

It took almost 30 years, but Ali topped that line several weeks ago without even saying a word. Cruelly diminished by he what he calls Par-kinson's syndrome, he traveled to Vietnam with American families whose relatives were still missing in action.

Meanwhile, in New York, Henry Kissinger, the Sort-of Secretary of State for the World Cup, was trash-talking countries.

In a funny, smart and mean speech at the Spanish Institute, Kissinger characterized national personalities

through their soccer play. He sounded like a Teutonic rapster.

The Africans, said Kissinger, lack "the stamina and tactical ability to beat the top European teams," but are great crowd pleasers because of their "reckless" play. The Germans, he said, are well trained and can run endlessly, but unless they are ahead late in the game "a great melancholy falls" and they believe "life is unfair," at which point "anything can happen."

The Italians, he said, will not train; they play "like Machiavelli," spend-ing the first half trying to "disconcert their opponents...rattle them with operatic performances." They are the "most strategic" and if "they can get a quick goal in the second half, they will put their engine on defense."

The Brazilians, he said, are "the most fun to watch because they look like a samba band always on attack; but they are so infatuated with the el-egance of play they forget the point is to score."

The English, he said, have "charac-ter, discipline and training" but be-cause "they did not modernize fast enough," they "cannot now beat ad-vanced teams."

Anticipating that the English would qualify for the World Cup, said Kissinger, American organizers planned to place the team in Los Angeles to discourage their hooligan fans from flying over. The L.A. police sent a task force to Britain, according to Kissinger, and reported that there was nothing to worry about because "those people are rank amateurs compared to the people we deal with in central L.A."

This, of course, got the biggest laugh of the night. It might have got-ten Spike Lee mad enough to elevate his game; he would have dashed out and made a hit movie. Because Kissinger is a diplomat, it is not clear how much of what he said he actually believed or was even true; in any case, it was almost a primer of world-class trash talk.

Marge Schott is rarely character-ized as a diplomat, which may be a mistake; how could she have gotten away for so long trashing races, reli-gions and sexual orientations unless she had a constituency somewhere? Dog lovers love her, her car custom-ers support her, and much of Cincin-nati, whose Reds she kept in "our certainly see her as salt of the earth, a German-American princess, a wid-ow, an outspoken, hard-driving social conservative. In New York, host of this month's Gay Games, her trash-talk against her ballplayers wearing earrings ("only fruits wear ear-rings") sounded like a bias crime or, even worse, out of touch; New York construction workers seem to be get-ting bored with their diamond studs.

Inexorably, all this leads to the democratic town meeting of trash talk — sports radio — where we all get a chance to dump and run.

Kissinger's wheels
rolled out of garage

Former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger's luxury auto was stolen yesterday from an upper East Side parking garage, police said.

The 1994 Mercedes-Benz was discovered missing about 8:35 a.m., when his driver arrived to pick up the car at the River Tower garage on E. 54th St., near Kissinger's apartment, police said.

Someone forced open a locked box in the garage office yesterday and swiped the keys, apparently when the attendant left to get another customer's car, a source at the garage said.

The keys were not marked, so it wasn't known whether the thief knew who the four-door, blue sedan belonged to. No other keys or cars were taken.

Police initially feared

Henry Kissinger

weapons might have been stored in the car, but they determined there was nothing of value inside.

The Secret Service was notified of the theft, which is routine with someone of Kissinger's background.

A Kissinger spokeswoman declined to comment.

— John Marzulli

MAY 18 '94 09:56AM FRIED FRANK DCO

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15TH STORY of Level 1 printed in FULL format.

Copyright 1994 American Broadcasting Companies, Inc.

All rights reserved

ABC NEWS

SHOW: _Nightline_ (ABC 11:30 pm ET)

May 16, 1994

Transcript # 3386

TYPE: Show; Interview

SECTION: News; Domestic

LENGTH: 4860 words

BODY

ANNOUNCER: May 16th, 1994. This is a _Nightline_ exclusive, 'The _Haldeman_ Diaries.' Reporting from Washington, Ted Koppel.

TED KOPPEL: [voice-over] He referred to himself as 'President Nixon's sonofabitch.'

H.R. _HALDEMAN:_ Tuesday, June 29th. Today started with the 8:00 Cabinet meeting, at which the President delivered his blast to the Cabinet. 'From now on, _Haldeman_ is the lord high executioner. Don't you come whining to me when he tells you to do something. He will do it because I asked him to, and you're to carry it out.'

TED KOPPEL: But H.R. 'Bob' _Haldeman_ was more than just the President's SOB. He was Richard Nixon's stout right arm, his protector, his chief of staff, and beyond that, he was what so many of us have always wished for, a fly on the wall, with a notebook, a tape recorder, a movie camera, and access to almost everything that happened during the Nixon years in the White House. At the end of almost every day, until he himself was forced to resign by the mounting Watergate scandal, _Haldeman_ either wrote or dictated that day's observations into a diary. Eventually, there would be almost a million words, some of it handwritten, most of it on tape.

What you will see and hear tonight is being made public for the first time. The _Haldeman_ diaries will be released as a book and CD-ROM later this week. Even now, 20-some years after the fact, six months after _Haldeman's_ death, this diary will make people squirm.

The Reverend Billy Graham.

H.R. _HALDEMAN:_ Tuesday, February 1, 1972. Graham has the strong feeling that the Bible says that there are satanic Jews, and that- that's where our problem arises.

TED KOPPEL: On Henry Kissinger.

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H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Monday, January 10, 1972. He [President] raised the question of whether really Henry's gotten past the point in basic stability to where he is no longer useful and maybe even dangerous. It's just something I do think we have to seriously consider.

TED KOPPEL: On Ted Kennedy.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Wednesday, June 23, 1971. She was on the 30th floor, he on the seventh. He walked up to her floor, said he wanted to screw her, and she said they couldn't because of the press, and he said that, 'The press'll never touch me.'

TED KOPPEL: The diary was just as unblinking when _Haldeman_ focused on the President.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Monday, October 16, 1972. Made the interesting point that after the election, we will have awesome power with no discipline; that is, there won't be another election coming up to discipline us, and we've got to do our planning on that basis.

STEPHEN AMBROSE, Nixon Biographer: Bob _Haldeman_ knew Nixon better than anybody else, except maybe Pat and Tricia and Julie. Now, _Haldeman_ - I know, absolutely, that he spent more time with Nixon than anyone else when Nixon was president. I think that of 1,531 days of the Nixon presidency, _Haldeman_ missed being with the President in about 20 of them, and on 10 of those days they talked on the telephone. He was always there. He was there at all the critical meetings.

TED KOPPEL: _Haldeman_ died last November at his home in Santa Barbara. He was 67.

JO _HALDEMAN:_ When Bob was ill, he mentioned to me or stated very definitely that he wanted me to keep his commitment to have the diaries published, but underlying that was the fact at some future date these would be made public, and probably out of context, and this way we could get them out in their entirety.

TED KOPPEL: Writer and computer specialist Scott Klososky met Bob _Haldeman_ in 1988, and early last year _Haldeman_ asked him to help turn the diaries into a book and CD-ROM.

SCOTT KLOSOSKY: One of the reasons that Bob told me that he was interested in having me help him was because I was young enough that I didn't come up through that era, so I would be a good reality check for what in the diary would be interesting.

MICHAEL CLARK, Sony Software Engineer: Bob _Haldeman_ came to us with a diary that ran for 52 months, over 1,400 pages, along with scrapbooks, movies, visitors' logs, appointment schedules, and so on, a massive amount of information and overwhelming, if you look at it all piled up, but something that can be easily handled within the technology of the CD-ROM into a conveniently accessible package.

TED KOPPEL: Historian and Nixon biographer Stephen Ambrose is one of the few people who has had access to the entire diary.

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STEPHEN AMBROSE: People are going to see this was a, really, a very hard-working guy who was involved in some of the great events of our lifetime, and he wasn't just the President's sonofabitch, but was an important adviser to the President on domestic and foreign affairs.

TED KOPPEL: When we return, the _Haldeman_ diaries.

[Commercial break]

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Nixon walking along the beach in his trunks, with a shirt. I have mixed emotions about using this, because I was shooting it from behind the blinds in my room. I'm sort of invading his privacy here, but I don't know that it does any real harm.

TED KOPPEL: Bob _Haldeman_ was a true Nixon loyalist. His admiration for Nixon's fighting spirit dated back to 1956. Nixon was running for reelection as Dwight Eisenhower's vice president. In 1960, _Haldeman_ signed on as chief advance man for Richard Nixon's presidential campaign against Jack Kennedy. He stayed with him in 1962, when Nixon ran for governor of California. They lost that race, too. Six years later, they combined forces in the successful 1968 presidential campaign.

This was, for Bob _Haldeman_, the culmination of a dream. Monday, January 20th, 1969. He recorded the swearing-in of President Nixon on his home camera.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Monday, January 20, 1969. The Inaugural. Expression on his face was unforgettable, this was the time! He had arrived. He was in full command. Someone said he felt he saw rays coming from his eyes. Great ovation. Then, 'Hail to the Chief' for the President. Almost impossible to believe.

TED KOPPEL: Even the President's most ardent supporters recognized that Richard Nixon came across as somewhat stiff. His image needed humanizing. He needed help. He needed a dog. The White House staff presented the President with an Irish setter, King Timahoe [sp?]. _Haldeman_ refers to him as Tim.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Monday, January 27, 1969. Brought the new dog in for a preview visit. President pretty awkward about how to handle him, basically embarrassed.

Wednesday, January 29, 1969. Had Tim in the office. Both of them pretty nervous.

Friday, January 31, 1969. Had Tim in the office. Can't get him to come over by President's desk. He's trying dog biscuits. No use.

Monday, February 3, 1969. Still trying to get Tim by desk, dog biscuits are starting to work.

Tuesday, February 4, 1969. The President got to tossing dog biscuits around the office for Tim, one hit the grandfather clock.

TED KOPPEL: There are, in those early diary entries, references to three men who will themselves have presidential aspirations someday. The first, Pat Buchanan, was working at the White House.

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H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Wednesday, January 22, 1960. [Nixon speechwriter] Pat Buchanan had his first meeting with President this afternoon and discovered when he left, after an hour session about press and TV briefings, that his fly was open.

TED KOPPEL: These diary entries are 25 years old, but see if this reference to
Ross Perot sounds familiar.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Tuesday, November 11, 1969. Ross Perot just called about his
United We Stand running more ads and a full TV show, really almost unbelievable.
He is really determined and will get some results. The problem is his total lack
of sophistication, but that doesn't stop him. Our real need is to find a way to
channel the energy and money productively. It's an amazing resource.

TED KOPPEL: And then, one of the many references to Ted Kennedy. Nixon has believed from the first days of his own presidency that Ted Kennedy will be his most likely opponent in 1972, until an accident at a remote spot called Chappaquiddick. **Haldeman** made this entry in his diary.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Saturday, July 19, 1969. Called me over to tell family about
Teddy Kennedy's escapade. Very strange news coverage, as they try to cover up
real implications of what happened. Kennedy, late last night in Martha's
Vineyard, drove his car off a bridge into a pond, left a girl in it to drown.
She was a former secretary of Bobby's. Lots of peculiar possibilities, but wires
carry no sensationalizing or speculation. Erlichmann has investigators, et
cetera, working on what really happened. Wants to be sure he doesn't get away
with it, but of course, no reaction from us. Real concern is realization of what
they'd be doing if it were one of our people. Obviously [President feels] he was
drunk, escaped from car, let her drown, said nothing until police got to him.
Shows fatal flaw in his character, cheated at school, ran from accident.

TED KOPPEL: On the day Neil Armstrong became the first man to walk on the moon, <u>Haldeman</u> notes that Nixon was excited, clapped and said, 'Hooray,' but even then, the President had something else on his mind.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Sunday, July 20, 1969. Had me in for discussion of the Teddy
Kennedy matter. Reviewed today's developments. He is very interested in the
whole thing and feels it marks the end of Teddy. Had Erlichmann work on
investigation, et cetera.

Monday, July 21, 1969. Lots of talk about Teddy Kennedy episode. General
agreement that it has killed him as a presidential candidate. Also wants to set
up and activate 'dirty tricks,' with Buchanan, Nofziger, Mollenhof, Woods and
Klein.

TED KOPPEL: Kennedy was still a hero to many. When the two met face to face,
Nixon cast himself as the sympathetic, understanding adviser.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Monday, August 4, 1969. [President] Had Ted Kennedy into his
office. Told him he understood how tough it was, et cetera. Said he was
surprised to see how hard the press had been on him, especially because they
like him, but have to realize they are your enemy at heart even if they do like
you, because their prime motivation is the story.

TED KOPPEL: By the summer of 1971, as Nixon geared up for reelection, he began

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to play political hardball against Ted Kennedy and other prominent Democrats. By now _Haldeman_ is dictating his diary into a tape recorder.

H.R. _HALDEMAN:_ Wednesday, June 23, 1971. Now that we have our man in IRS, he wants to pull the Clark Clifford file and also all the top supporters of the Doves. Also _Kissinger_ has reported to him that Teddy Kennedy is now in a position practically of being a total animal, that at the opening of the Kennedy Center he went to work on Christine Ford, who he had also propositioned at the Carlisle before he went to Paris for De Gaulle's funeral. She was on the 30th floor, he on the seventh. He walked up to her floor, said he wanted to screw her. She said they couldn't because of the press and he said 'The press will never touch me.' He pulled the same thing on Edgar Bergen's daughter, according to Mrs. Bergen. So we need to take advantage of this opportunity and get him in a compromising situation if we can.

TED KOPPEL: It's difficult to know how other presidents fretted and worried, whether their obsessions, in retrospect, might seem as petty or trivial as Nixon's often did. These _Haldeman_ diaries are unique, in that they provide us with continuing close-up observations that were never intended to be made public in the first place. That same perspective of Richard Nixon and Vietnam, in a moment.

[Commercial break]

H.R. _HALDEMAN:_ And now this is the pope's on- sideways, because I have the camera in my lap, because we weren't supposed to be taking pictures during the audience. And then, when the pope rises, you stand up, so I stood up and he goes upside down.

TED KOPPEL: It was one of the lighter moments of President Nixon's first trip abroad, _Haldeman_ capturing everything he could on home movies, recalling almost everything else in his diary. It was never his intention, _Haldeman_ would later insist, that his diary ever see the light of day. His wife, Jo, was one of the few people who knew that Bob _Haldeman_ was keeping a daily record of the Nixon presidency.

JO _HALDEMAN:_ As time went on and Bob's diaries started to accumulate, both the written diaries and the recorded cassettes, Bob realized that he had something that was becoming quite valuable, and he decided to keep them in a safe in the White House, and he more or less tongue in cheek marked them 'Top Secret.'

TED KOPPEL: The trip to Europe took place just a month into Nixon's first term. He wanted, he told _Haldeman_, to convey a message.

H.R. _HALDEMAN:_ Monday, February 24, 1969. President called me in to review the trip so far, was in his pajamas and pretty well out. Made point that two major purposes of the trip are, first, to establish with free world leaders a clear picture of Nixon as a leader, second, to present to the people of the United States the clear picture of Nixon as free world leader and so accepted. Thus far, he's sure accomplishing this in fine fashion.

TED KOPPEL: But there would always be developments over which even the President of the United States had no control. For Richard Nixon, as for his predecessor, Vietnam would haunt his presidency. Just as Nixon was leaving Washington for

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Europe, the North Vietnamese launched an offensive in South Vietnam. It would have historic consequences that were first noted in an offhand fashion as part of Haldeman's diary notation.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Monday, February 24, 1969. Brussels. I watched [and filmed] procedures at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Area tightly secured to avoid hostile demonstrations, only schoolchildren, and most of them American, allowed in range. I went to the airport with Kissinger for a special meeting in plane, only secure area. Very interesting discussion about important future possibility.

TED KOPPEL: Below that diary notation, Haldeman later added more information. He, Kissinger and the national security team had met on Air Force One to lay out plans for a response to the North Vietnamese offensive. U.S. planes, it was decided, would at some point be launched to bomb North Vietnamese sanctuaries in Cambodia. That would come to be known as 'Operation Breakfast,' and it was put secretly into effect on March 17th, 1969. News of the raids would leak to the press, and the President, furious, would give orders that would ultimately lead to the creation of the so-called 'Plumbers Unit,' to plug the leaks. Eventually, the activities of that unit led to Watergate, but that was still some years off.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Tuesday, April 15, 1969. Cabinet meeting with wives for the first time in history. Pretty dull session until President's wind-up, for a half-hour at the end. Then gave his pitch about patience on Vietnam. Did say hoped we would have it over in a few months. Indicates he has some real faith in Kissinger's plan.

TED KOPPEL: But by the fall of 1969, it wasn't even close to being over. Across the country, the President was confronted by the largest anti-war protest in the nation's history, the Moratorium. Nixon reached out in a major television speech to what he called the 'silent majority.' He asked their help in ending the war with honor.

Pres. RICHARD NIXON: [November 3, 1969] To you, the great silent majority of my fellow Americans, I ask for your support, for the more divided we are at home, the less likely the enemy is to negotiate at Paris.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Monday, November 3, 1969. Did a great job in the air, content superb, delivery very good, with a few fluffs. Commentary after was mixed. Worst were [TV correspondents] Marvin Kalb and Bill Lawrence. Both seemed to be stunned. Apparently really expected a major move. President started wanting to know what we were doing for an all-out counterattack [while networks were still commenting]. Then a plea. If only do one thing, get a hundred vicious dirty calls to New York Times and Washington Post about their editorials, [even though no idea what they'll be].

TED KOPPEL: The country was becoming sharply divided on Vietnam. The White House got a good response to the President's speech.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Tuesday, November 4, 1969. Reaction day, and a spectacular one! Wires pouring all day, as fast as machines could process them. Piled them all on President's desk, almost all favorable and about 43 referred to 'silent majority.'

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Thursday, April 23, 1970. He's very much absorbed in Cambodia and realizes he's treading on the brink of major problems as he escalates the war there. Before he left the office tonight he was standing looking out of the window and said, 'Damm Johnson, if he'd just done the right thing, we wouldn't be in this mess now.'

TED KOPPEL: Nixon was convinced, _Haldeman_ added, that if only Lyndon Johnson had kept bombing North Vietnam the war could have been ended in 1968.

At a university in Ohio, students demonstrated against the decision to invade Cambodia. Suddenly, the shadow of America's involvement in Indochina loomed even larger.

H.R. _HALDEMAN:_ Monday, May 4, 1970. I told him of four students killed at Kent State. He's very disturbed. Afraid his decision set it off and that this is the ostensible cause of the demonstrations there. Issued condolence statement, then kept after me all the rest of the day for more facts. Hoping rioters had provoked the shooting, but no real evidence they did except throwing rocks at National Guard.

TED KOPPEL: When we come back, Richard Nixon, insultingly blunt and dismissive of blacks and Jews, from the pages of the _Haldeman_ diaries.

[Commercial break]

H.R. _HALDEMAN:_ We're at Redskins practice, and Nixon had a great interest, a tremendous interest in football and in baseball, Knew most of the players and knew their records and- and that kind of thing, and got a big kick out of going to a game.

TED KOPPEL: There was a domestic agenda. Like the Clinton administration today, the Nixon people were working on a health care plan, and a welfare reform program. Unlike the Clinton administration, President Nixon did not have a great deal of support among black Americans. Publicly, he went through the motions, posing for awkward pictures with Lionel Hampton and Sammy Davis, Junior. But privately Nixon was full of bitter contempt and a surprisingly ignorant streak of racism.

H.R. _HALDEMAN:_ Monday, April 28, 1969. President emphasized that you have to face the fact that the whole problem is really the blacks. The key is to devise a system that recognizes this, while not appearing to. Problem with overall welfare plan is that it forces poor whites into same position as blacks. Feels we have to get rid of the veil of hypocrisy and guilt and face reality. Pointed out that there has never in history been an adequate black nation, and they are the only race of which this is true. Says Africa is hopeless, the worst there is Liberia, which we built.

Tuesday, May 13, 1969. Ralph Abernathy [president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference]. Pretty ridiculous. President handled beautifully. Abernathy went out and stabbed us on TV. Proved again there's no use dealing honestly with these people. They obviously want confrontation, no solutions. Pretty fed up with blacks and their hopeless attitude.

Thursday, April 2, 1970. Broads frequently over problem of how we communicate

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with young and blacks. It's really not possible except with Uncle Toms, and we should work on them and forget militants.

TED KOPPEL: Perhaps no one has researched and chronicled the career of Richard Nixon more thoroughly than historian Stephen Ambrose. Even he was surprised by the level of intolerance that surfaced in the pages of the _Haldeman_ diaries.

STEPHEN AMBROSE: The anti-Semitism runs a lot deeper than we had thought. It just reinforces [unintelligible] how cynical he is, how he hates the press, how he always assigns the worst possible motives to anybody who criticizes him on anything. Never can he say, 'Well, he just disagrees with me.'

TED KOPPEL: Was it anti-Semitism in the sense that he just didn't like Jews, or anti-Semitism in the sense that a lot of his adversaries turned out to be Jews and therefore it- it became a problem for him?

STEPHEN AMBROSE: Oh, especially at The New York Times.

TED KOPPEL: Yeah.

STEPHEN AMBROSE: You know, it's funny about Nixon. He rants and raves about the Jews, and they control the press and they this and they that. He was the best friend Israel ever had. And look at this, he had Bill Safire working for him-

TED KOPPEL: Henry Kissinger.

STEPHEN AMBROSE: -he's got Henry Kissinger working for him. Nixon would say, 'Aw, goddamned Jews, ain't that right, Henry?' And Kissinger would reply, 'Well, Mr. President, there are Jews and then there are Jews.'

H.R. HALDEMAN: Tuesday, February 1st, 1972. There was considerable discussion of the terrible problem arising from the total Jewish domination of the media, and agreement that this was something that would have to be dealt with. [Reverend Billy] Graham has the strong feeling that the Bible says that there are satanic Jews, and that that's where our problem arises.

Wednesday, February 9th, 1972. Made the crack, in reviewing the press list, of whether there were any non-Jews going in the press corps to China, then on to some other items on making sure that we have some of our blacks in the Secret Service as stewards and so forth on the trip.

TED KOPPEL: In 1970, when members of the Jewish community boycotted the visit of French leader Pompidou because of his sale of fighter jets to Libya, Nixon issued a threat.

H.R. HALDEMAN: Thursday, February 26, 1970. Really raged again today against United States Jews because of their behavior toward Pompidou. Has decided to postpone Jewish arms supplies for their 'unconscionable conduct.' Also said in front of Kissinger not to let any Jews see him about the Middle East. Said they can go talk to [New York Mayor] Lindsay and [New York Governor] Rockefeller about whether they can provide arms for Israel. As mad as he's been since we got here.

TED KOPPEL: It was an open secret in Washington during the first Nixon term that

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national security adviser Henry Kissinger did not get along with Secretary of State William Rogers. But entries in the _Haldeman_ diary suggest it was even worse than anyone believed at the time.

STEPHEN AMBROSE: We hadn't any idea of the extent of it. Every day Kissinger comes to _Haldeman_ and says, 'You have go to fire Rogers or I am quitting, I'm going to resign.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Tuesday, March 2nd, 1971. The three of us had a long discussion about the whole Rogers-Kissinger problem. He feels that Henry's at a point emotionally where, when one of these things hits, he's going to come charging in and quit before he actually is- even realizes what he's doing.

Wednesday, March 3rd, 1971. Big problem is still the Kissinger-Rogers situation. The President made the point, for example, that if we got to the stage where somebody had to fall on the sword in order to save the President, Henry would do it but Rogers wouldn't. I made the point that I agreed with that, but that if Henry did do it, he would do it with a loud kicking and screaming and make sure the blood spurted all over the place so he got full credit for it.

February 27th, 1972. Then he [President] told me to make a note of the fact that Kissinger has worked hard and I'm to call Rebozo and have him give Henry all of his phone numbers of girls over- that are not over 30.

TED KOPPEL: Coming up, H.R. _Haldeman_ and Barbara Walters, 20 years ago, an interview that touched off a firestorm of protest.

[Commercial break]

Today

BARBARA WALTERS: Are you disturbed when people refer to you and to your associates, Mr. Erlichmann and Dr. Kissinger, as- as the Germans, and they call your office the Berlin Wall? Does that bother you?

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** No, not a bit. I think it's sort of inevitable when you put three of us together with names like that, that someone would have come upon that- that sort of line. It doesn't bother me at all.

TED KOPPEL: Bob _Haldeman_ did not do a lot of television, but in February of 1972, with congressional critics stepping up their attacks on Vietnam policy, the President asked _Haldeman_ to go public with a counterattack. He was specifically told to accuse the critics of consciously aiding and abetting the enemy.

H.R. **HALDEMAN:** That's Barbara Walters making me up, you know, high-priced makeup man. The White House crew persuaded me to do a long interview with Barbara Walters because there was- I was an unknown and there was a feeling that I was becoming unduly unknown and mysterious.

["Today"] The only conclusion you can draw is that the critics now are consciously aiding and abetting the enemy of the United States.

BARBARA WALTERS: Quite a few of these critics are in the Senate.

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H.R. HALDEMAN: Mm-hmm.

BARBARA WALTERS: They are not consciously aiding and abetting the enemy. They have- they have suggested some alternatives in the way the government of South Vietnam could be handled.

H.R. HALDEMAN: In this particular posture I think they are consciously aiding and abetting the enemy.

[diary] Wednesday, February 9th. By now my Today show thing has really escalated into a super-confrontation type of thing. The President made the point that 'I stand behind my people when they make a mistake.'

TED KOPPEL: The counterattack had been Nixon's idea in the first place, but there is no sense of irony in Haldeman's account of the President depicting himself as a man who stands behind his people. Haldeman, as we noted at the outset, had no illusions about his role. 'Every president needs a sonofabitch,' he said. 'I'm Richard Nixon's.'

When Richard Nixon began his political career in the late 1940s, he gained prominence as a staunch anti-communist. A less passionate anti-Communist might not have had the credentials to do what Nixon did in February of 1972. He few to China to meet with Mao Zedong. So hastily was the actual meeting arranged, Haldeman recalls, that only Henry Kissinger and a Secret Service agent went along for the face-to-face meeting with the chairman. The Secret Service was under orders not to tell press secretary Ron Ziegler.

H.R. HALDEMAN: Ziegler's taking an orange and just at that point, Chapin comes in and tells us, 'You guys might be interested to know that your president is missing,' at which point Ziegler chokes on his orange. We didn't know where he had gone or where he was. We had no communication with him, no nothing.

TED KOPPEL: The opening to China put pressure on the Soviets, as Nixon had calculated, and three months later, in May of '72, Nixon became the first American president inside the Kremlin, where he signed the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty. Haldeman kept up his diary entries despite enormous obstacles.

STEPHEN AMBROSE: With regard to Haldeman's dedication, the most amazing thing. In May of 1972, he was in Moscow. His room is bugged, as everything was bugged in Moscow, and he- but he was determined to make his diary entry. It had been a big day, with this summit with Brezhnev and all. So he goes out into the American Cadillac that's sitting in Red Square, gets into the back seat of the Cadillac at 2:00 in the morning, and for the next hour and a half dictates his diary entry for the day.

H.R. HALDEMAN: Monday, May 22, 1972. As soon as we got into the Kremlin and settled down, President was whisked off to meet with Brezhnev at his office.

TED KOPPEL: Nixon was establishing detente with the Soviet Union, had made the opening to China. The Democrats were about to nominate George McGovern and the White House was salivating at the prospect. And then, this.

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H.R. **HALDEMAN:** Sunday, June 18th. The big flap over the weekend has been news reported to me last night, then followed up with further information today, that a group of five people had been caught breaking into the Democratic headquarters, actually in there to plant bugs and photograph material.

TED KOPPEL: Tomorrow night, the Watergate saga, as you have never heard it before, including the story of how Nixon attempted to blackmail LBJ into derailing the Watergate investigation.

That's our report for tonight. I'm Ted Koppel in Washington. For all of us here at ABC News, good night.

The preceding text has been professionally transcribed. However, although the text has been checked against an audio track, in order to meet rigid distribution and transmission deadlines, it has not yet been proofread against videotape.

LANGUAGE: ENGLISH

LOAD-DATE-MDC: May 17, 1994

["SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA\nBANK", "R/THURSDAY, JULY 21, 1994", "B8", "ORANGE COUNTY", "ARREST: Man\nPlanned to Sell\n12 Gallbladders", "Continued from B1", "alerting newspaper accompanying the package that identified its con-\nductors, said California officials of the shipment.", "After taking out an Anaheim\nmail drop for three days, a team\nof Fish and Diane Arden arrived\nSchulte on Friday in the parking\nlot of the DHL Worldwide Express\nfacility where he had picked up the\npackage and was about to place it\nin his car, he said, for official reasons.", "\"He was extremely surprised,\" said Lt. Angel Raton, the state health officer, who was at the arrest. \"His eye got big and he became pale. He was shocked that we were there, and I didn't think he was going to get caught.\"", "Schulte, subsequently released\non bail, was seen on Wednesday\nreached for comment on Wednesday.", "According to Raton, however, Schulte investigated officers he had gotten the idea of importing the new California health program on the subject and intended to sell them in Chinatown and other areas.", "In some Asian communities in California, investigators said, dried beef was being imported from China, which is for sale in some Asian countries, they bring as much as 800 dollars.", "Those who buy them generally\ngrine them into tea, believing them\nto be a good way to cut off cul-\nminations and, in some cases, to act\nas odysseans, said Valerie A. Gris-\nwald, the Orange County deputy\ncity attorney prosecuting the case.", "\"It's fairly widespread throughout the state,\" said Pat Moore, a spokesman for the state Fish and Game Department. \"We believe that several hundred bears are killed in California for this purpose each year.\"", "\"In some cases,\" said Bob Schlichting, another spokesman, \"it is as lucrative as drug running.\"", "Investigators say they have no\nevidence that Schulte's imported\ngallbladders came from California\ncountries. Because of the difficulty of\ninfiltrating the communities in\nwhich the bladders are sold, they\nmake the crime each year.", "In Schulte's case, Raton said, \"we were able to no tip in the bid. This was a first-time offense.\"", "\"What is our contract to do is protect the bears in our state,\" Griswald said. \"This appears to be a fairly permissive problem.\"", "Arrangement has been set for\nAug. 15 at Central Municipal Court\nin Santa Ana.", "CHP: Aneurysm\nRuled Cause of\nWoman's Death", "Continued from B1", "voiting—they may be having a\nbrain aneurysm,\" he said.", "\"What we are trying to do is protect the bears in our state,\" Griswald said. \"This appears to be a fairly permissive problem.\"", "Arrangement has been set for\nAug. 15 at Central Municipal Court\nin Santa Ana.", "CAUGHT", "Continued from B1", "Cased in 1970, it is completely by sur-\nprise,\" said Smith, 41, a former\nwheelchair marionette whose\nwork at the Petrofsky Centers for\nRehabilitation and Research has\nbeen featured on national televi-\nsion news programs. \"I'm one of\nthose people who never really\ngives up hope.\"", "Back in the 70's, the millionaire and his young girlfriend were a glamorous presence on the Houston social scene.", "Minnis was a charismatic, youth-\nful-looking health club tycoon, while\nthey met on a Colorado ski\nslope. Smith, whose age at the\ntime was 24, was a bright and beautiful California pre-\nmed student—part-time model\n4 years ago.", "Seventeen months after his broke\nup with Minnis in 1980, she was\nsent to a lockup in Houston lot. Four men,\nincluding a private detective hired\nby Minnis to tag him, parked in a Houston lot. Four men,\nharass her after they broke up, were later imprisoned for compari-\nson with a junior. Fearful for\nher life after the shooting, she\nchanged her name.", "The attorney's office, which was criticized by officers of the legal community, while having indicted Minnis, maintained there was insuf-\nficient evidence to support the\naccusation.", "Frustrated by the failure of the\ncriminal justice system to charge or\nconvict the junior, Frustrful for\nher life after the shooting, he\nbegan to seek legal counsel for\nhis injuries. But by then Minnis already", "Janni Smith now heads the Petrof-\nsky Centers for Rehabilitation,\nhad liquidated all his assets and left\nthe country.", "On Tuesday, he was on a flight\nfrom Cancun, Mexico, that stopped\noff at the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport\nwhere he was arrested, according\nto Eric Nienhöf, the assistant U.S.\nAttorney who will prosecute the\ncase. The flight's final destination\nwas Vancouver, Canada, where\nhe was held. During the flight,\nthe customs check. Minnis was stopped\nand later detained.", "Nichole would say, \"I have no comment on whether law enforcement agencies had been pursuing Minnis for any- thing besides the alleged passport\nviolation. But during a Wednesday\nnight phone call to The Times, he\nquoted the county district at-", "tome saying on television that\nlocal prosecutors still believed\nthey had expressed a \"frustration that\nthe [Houston] DA hadn't pursued a\ncase against Minnis.\"", "Nichols would not comment on\nhow federal authorities discovered\nthe passports, which the indict-\nment allegations were obtained by\nusing a computer. He said they\nwill argue in court Friday that\nMinnis should remain in custody\nduring his trial.", "The attorney who represented\nMinnis in court Friday, MI-\nchael Ware, could not be reached\nlater for comment.", "Minnis, who has been living in\ndifferent countries over the\npast decade, was taken to the\nHarlan Allen Richardson at the\ntime of his arrest. His capture is\nthe result of a two-year Wednesday,\nMili-", "The attorney who represented\nMinnis in court Friday, MI-\nchael Ware, could not be reached\nfor comment.\n\nThe attorney who represented\nMinnis in court Friday, MI-\nchael Ware, could not be

METRO 6

The Orange County Register **GOVERNMENT and POLITICS**

Thursday, July 21, 1994

H. LORREN AU JR./The Orange County Register

IN LINE FOR SIGNING: Henry Kissinger gets help in autographing his new book Wednesday as library volunteers Mike Tripp, left, and John

Garcia and library staffer Sandy Quinn get an 'assembly line' going at the Richard Nixon Library & Birthplace in Yorba Linda.

# Kissinger assails U.S. diplomacy

**GOVERNMENT:** In Yorba Linda, the former secretary of state calls Clinton's foreign policy 'wishy-washy.'

By JEFF KRAMER

The Orange County Register

YORBA LINDA — Former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger attacked the Clinton administration's foreign policy as "wishy-washy diplomacy" Wednesday, terming it shortsighted and incoherent.

Appearing before a crowd of nearly 300 at the Richard Nixon Library & Birthplace to promote

his new book, "Diplomacy," Kissinger, 71, touched on almost every world hot spot during his 45-minute talk.

He took issue with the White House frequently, portraying it as influenced more by media images than strategic considerations.

"We cannot run from crisis to crisis," he said. "We cannot keep turning each issue into a television spectacle."

The 56th secretary of state, who served under Presidents Nixon and Ford, argued against a U.S. invasion of Haiti, deeming that tiny country nonessential to the national interest.

He also criticized the use of U.S. military personnel to dis-

tribute humanitarian aid in Somalia — a mission launched by President Bush in late 1992—and chided President Clinton for sending troops to try to solve the political crisis there.

"We got ourselves involved in a civil war and quit after 18 casualties," he said.

Kissinger also called for a more sober evaluation of Russia and its historic role as a threat to its neighbors.

And he called for a proposal to end North Korea's nuclear-weapons program, but said the United States should not necessarily take the lead in any possible military conflict there.

"Should we use military force?" he said. "First, ask Ja-

pan and South Korea," the most likely victims of North Korean aggression.

The Nobel Peace Prize winner was well-received.

"I've always been a big fan of his," said John Alley, who traveled from Seattle. "He has to be one of the smartest people ever."

Lucinda Searles attended to hear not so much what Kissinger had to say, but how he said it. She teaches accent-reduction classes at Orange Coast College and taped Kissinger's distinctive German accent to use as a learning tool.

"He has the most recognizable American accent in the world," she said. "He's wonderful."

[LC]

John H. Taylor · Director

THE RICHARD NIXON LIBRARY & BIRTHPLACE

18001 Yorba Linda Boulevard · Yorba Linda · California 92686

(714) 993-5075 fax: (714) 528-0544

everybody. Those who love and respect me use axes to chop off the extra hands hanging on the gunwale."

In other parts of the world, the 61-year-old Mr. Linkola might be dismissed as a crank, if not a fiend. He is a college dropout who quit society 35 years ago to fish and to fret. But here in brooding, nature-loving Finland, Mr. Linkola is considered a national symbol, a leading "eco-fascist" and one of the country's most celebrated authors.

The misanthropic Finn appears often on television and delivers lectures in crowded university auditoriums. His publisher says his books, including "Dreams of an Improved World" and "From the Diary of a Dissident," have been national bestsellers, which in Finland means they sell about 15,000 copies. Though they haven't been translated, they have won literary prizes. Finnish academics write papers on "Linkolaism." He has written nearly 200 articles, and he has an entry in Finland's equivalent of Who's Who listing his hobby as "destroying human culture."

## 'A Towering Figure'

Says Esa Saarinen, professor of philosophy at Helsinki University: "He's a towering figure, one of our leading intellectuals." Adds Stig-Olof Raunio, a manager at Helsinki's largest bookstore: "Some like his ideas and some don't, but they all buy his books."

But why? Apparently, there's something about the cold, dark North that spawns gloomy prophets. Norway produced Ibsen, Sweden Ingmar Bergman. Finland has Mr. Linkola. His apocalyptic writings andour countenance - he says his last good laugh was in the 1960s - seem to appeal to Northern Europe's legendary melancholy.

"My object is to save mankind, to continue life on this planet," he tells a visitor to his workshop, as he cuts old nets with a pocketknife. A sworn enemy of the

*Please Turn to Page A7, Column 1*

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## CONTENTS
EARS ON PAGE B2

BASICS:
mutual funds
a science,
some
ntal guides
uchemy
ge Page C1.

C1. : QVC loses

by opening
ets, B1.

chip
tasks, B1.

POLITICS & POLICY: Freshmen
Democrats and Clinton, A12.

LEGAL BEAT: In Alzheimer's cases, judges must act like doctors, B1.

INTERNATIONAL: Small private firms operate British coal mines, A6.

REVIEW & OUTLOOK: Clinton in violation of disabilities law, A10.

OPINION: Fed needs a sourpuss to control inflation, A10.

LEISURE & ARTS: Dan Quayle responds to critics in new book, A8.

a williamson.

CLINTONITES BRACE for investigative reporter Bob Woodward's book on economic policy, to be published early next month. They thought he would target the Bush administration; but the book is all about Clinton's first year, and officials worry he has damaging details.

LABOR PAIN: The AFSCME union in Memphis, Tenn., surprisingly attacks the Democratic Senate candidate, Rep. Cooper, by claiming his health-care plan is "phony reform" that would "harm black folks more than whites." AFSCME backs Clinton's plan; Cooper denies the charges.

ZIP THEIR LIPS: Former Sens. Eagleton and Mathias form a bipartisan "citizens committee" to limit Senate filibusters. A few senators representing a "tiny minority" of Americans can block major votes, they wrote in a letter this week seeking a blue-ribbon panel. One idea for pushing the antitalk effort: going on talk shows.

CHANGE OF HEART? Clinton's lawyers, in trying to block Paula Jones's harassment suit, are expected to cite a 1982 Supreme Court ruling upholding presidential immunity in a suit charging Nixon with retaliating against a whistle-blower. Joining in a brief to limit Nixon's immunity was then Rep. Al Gore.

CLINTON MULLS leaning on the Dominican Republic to bolster his Haiti policy.

The White House probably will send new special envoy William Gray to press Santo Domingo to tighten border crossings that provide huge holes in tougher international oil sanctions against neighboring Haiti that take effect tomorrow. One possible stick: threatening to cut the Dominican Republic's sugar quota to the U.S. A major hurdle is that the Dominican military profits mightily from sanctions busting.

Gray fails to mollify his former colleagues in the Congressional Black Caucus, which wants military action to oust Haiti's rulers. He urges the caucus to give the new U.N. sanctions a chance but concedes there is no timetable for trying another approach. "The members are still upset that the president hasn't moved off center on this," says an aide to one Black Caucus member.

*Gray met for the first time yesterday with exiled Haiti president Aristide.*

MINOR MEMOS: Justice Thomas breaks his usual silence to correct a media mistake too grave to overlook: Contrary to reports, "I did not sell my Corvette." . . . Despite Clinton's lobbyist bashing, superlobbyist Thomas Boggs will host a "'meet and greet' reception for Hugh Rodham [Hillary Clinton's brother]," a Senate candidate in Florida. . . . Nixon aide H.R. Haldeman's diaries note Henry Kissinger worrying over stories about his dating actress Jill St. John: "He thinks [Secretary of State] Rogers is planting them to try to destroy him. May be."

*—RONALD G. SHAFER*

Latin American government bonds and U.S. mortgages were reverberating in the U.S. Treasury bond market. Investors in all those markets, it turned out, relied on U.S. Treasury markets to hedge their bets. So the assassination of a Mexican politician or a shift in the mortgage market quickly translated to an unloading of U.S. Treasury bonds, on which the broader U.S. credit system is largely based.

## Eerie Sound

The three-month bond plunge lifted the yield on 30-year Treasurys from about 6.2% in early February to above 7.6% in early May. (It closed yesterday at 7.23%.) William Gross, bond manager at Pacific Investment Management Co. in Newport Beach, Calif., listened to the market collapse over a speaker that broadcast the bond-futures pit at the Chicago Board of Trade. "You don't have to look at a screen to know whether the market is moving—you can hear the panic," he says. "When the market would sink, it sounded something akin to childbirth."

The ramifications were broad. Mortgage rates shot up more than 1½ percentage points. Corporate debt offerings dried up. The Clinton administration, which hailed last year's rising bond market as a sign of investor confidence in its policies, saw that same market cast a vote of no confidence. And the Fed got caught in an urgent game of catchup, culminating in this week's half-point boost in the short-term rates it sets.

## Role of Mortgage Securities

How did it happen? A look behind the scenes at the market's spring meltdown provides some clues. The proliferation of mortgage-backed securities played a little-appreciated role. As homeowners slowed their refinancing — thereby lengthening the maturities of securities based on home loans — the securities lost value faster than they would have before. In response, holders of these securities sold longer-term Treasurys to reduce the maturity of the rest of their holdings, pushing longer-term Treasurys to reduce the Federal Reserve Bank of New York economists are now studying. (See page C1.)

The world didn't look so complicated when Fed officials met in Washington Feb. 4 to raise rates, reasoning that an expanding economy no longer needed the prod of exceptionally low short-term borrowing costs. Only alarmists were talking about inflation. Long-term rates, though up from unsustainably low levels of last fall, were still low. Markets were calm.

Fed Chairman Alan Greenspan argued the markets would respond well to a ¼-percentage-point increase in short-term interest rates. Others argued that markets would respond even better to a half-point increase. But the most persuasive advocate of the larger increase, Vice Chairman David Mullins, wasn't there because he had just announced his resignation. Surprisingly, top White House economist Alan

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