December 8, 2000
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Tricky Dicky Meets Adamant Al
By Leonard Garment. Mr. Garment was counsel to President Nixon and is the author of "In Search of Deep Throat" (Basic Books, 2000).
Scene: The private study of the vice president's residence on the grounds of the Naval Observatory in Washington, D.C.
Time: Late, late at night.
The vice president is alone at his desk, staring through the window at nothing. There is a knock at the study door. The vice president opens it.
Al Gore (jumping back as if he had seen a ghost): Omygosh! It's you!
Richard Nixon: You were expecting maybe Joe Lieberman?
Gore: I suppose you've come here to gloat, just like every Republican politician in the country, living or -- oh, sorry.
Nixon: Please. I'm beyond all that. I've been where you're standing, you know. The 1960 presidential election, the Daley machine doing its magic, delivering Illinois for Kennedy -- now there was a Daley . . .
Gore: Yes, yes. Ever since that over-age prom queen in Florida certified the election for Bush, the pundits have been on my back to act the way they say you did in 1960. You! I mean, the Washington Post, of all papers, wrote a huge feature about how magnanimous you were -- how statesmanlike, for God's sake -- for not contesting that election.
I suppose you're here to tell me to do the same. Go right ahead. Everyone else is after me to quit. Even the ones who say they're behind me a thousand percent, they're talking to the press behind my back about how the end is near, by which they mean my end.
They're all jumping ship -- except for the girls, of course. I can't tell you what a shot in the arm it is to have a pair of gutsy daughters.
Nixon: You bet, Al. There's nothing like a pair of gutsy daughters. I remember how strong Julie and Tricia were when the whole world was telling me to resign in 1974 . . .
Gore (clearing his throat): That's neither here nor there.
Nixon: Yes. Well, you may be surprised to know that I'm not here to pile on. Just the opposite. All those high-minded types saying it's time for you to give in, to be, what, magnanimous -- don't listen to them. You take their advice, you agonize writing your concession speech because you think you can come up with something that will make you politically immortal, you deliver the thing on television, the next morning the New York Times anoints you a statesman -- and then it's over. Finished. You're history.
Gore: But I'm beginning to lose the opinion leaders. And the polls say that 70% of Americans say they want me to stop.
Nixon: Forget the polls. And forget the opinion leaders. They're not your people; they've never been your people. They've always made fun of you. They say you're a robot, you're not spontaneous, you're all brain and no heart, you have no charm, you're not an integrated personality, you couldn't control your face during the debates -- believe me, I know what it is to have the press say those things about you. (Pauses, thinking.) Precisely those things, in fact.
(Back on message): Your people, the ones who'll stick with you in the wilderness and mount your comeback -- your troops for a future in politics -- those people are still struggling down in Florida. You have to go the distance for them.
Gore (nodding his agreement): I know, I know.
Nixon: The people who stick with you are the real partisans. The ones who are tied to you because of their permanent interests, like organized labor. Or the ones who are just plain rabid. You take that Paul Begala fellow -- saying the Republican states were colored red on the media maps because they were the states where blacks and gays were murdered. You can't find loyalists like that just anywhere, you know.
Gore nods more vigorously.
Nixon: Those are your people, and they're not ready to quit. You've got to stick with them, right to the end. Otherwise, at the end of all this you'll wake up and find yourself scrambling to be president of Harvard, a glorified fundraiser for the rest of your natural life.
Gore (stops nodding and suddenly looks puzzled): Wait a minute. All that sounds right to me. But that's not what you did in 1960. You didn't contest the election. You didn't stick with it for the sake of your supporters. Then you went through a hard time. Losing an election in your home state, like you did in 1962 -- that must have been humiliating. (Shudders.) Humiliating. You even had to practice law with those people in New York, some of them real flakes. But you put together a mostly new cast of characters for your political comeback -- and it worked.
So why are you telling me to do what you didn't do?
Nixon (clears his throat, uncomfortably): For one thing, this one is a lot closer than 1960, Al. Politics is tougher than it used to be. Ever since Watergate. And the media is much rougher, like all those reporters yelling and shoving outside the recount room in Miami. And the lawyers, like locusts.
Watergate taught me something very important. You know how Ron Zeigler said that contrition is bull-bleep? Well, magnanimity is bull-bleep, too. Trust me on this one. I've got to go now. You'll remember what I said. You'll hang in there?
Gore: I'll fight to the end. You have no idea what you've done for me.
Nixon: Well, maybe I do. Good night, Al. (Walks out through the doorway.)
Gore: Good night, sir. (Closes the door.)
Nixon (walks through the halls of the vice president's home, pausing by the grand piano, talking to himself): By the time he gets done putting the country through this thing, even Harvard won't have him. But I don't think he would understand that. (Chuckles softly, plays a fragment from the Tennessee Waltz, then disappears through the wall.)
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