". . . And the car blew up the next night and I had to abandon it in Rock Creek Park at four in the morning. I think they're still billing me for it."

"Who?"

"The Avis people."

"My G.o.d, that's teddible."

"I only had it two nights. The first night I had this wreck, and the next night it blew up."

"What were you doing in this wretched city at four in the morning?"

"Well, actually we were thinking about going out to Tex Colson's house and jerking him out of bed, tying him behind the car with a big rope and dragging him down Pennsylvania Avenue. . . then cutting him loose in front of the White House Guard Gate."

"You're kidding. . . You don't really mean that. You wouldn't do a thing like that, would you?"

"Of course not. That would be a conspiracy to commit either murder or aggravated a.s.sault, plus kidnapping. . . and you know me, Ralph; that's not my style at all."

"That's what I mean. You were drunk perhaps, eh?"

"Ah, we were drunk yes. We'd been to a party at McGovern's."

"McGovern's? Drinking? Who was with you?"

"Drinking heavily, yes. It was Warren Beatty and Pat Caddell, McGovern's poll wizard, and myself and for some reason it occurred to me that the thing to do that hour of the morning was to go out and get Colson."

"My G.o.d, that's crazy! You must have been stoned and drunk -- especially by four in the morning."

"Well, we left McGovern's at about 2:30 and we were supposed to meet Crouse at this restaurant downtown. . . McGovern lives somewhere in the Northwest part of town and it had taken me two hours to find the d.a.m.n house and I figured it would take me another two hours to get out again unless I could follow somebody. Crouse was about a block ahead of me when we left. I could see his taillights but there was another car between me and Crouse and I was afraid I'd lose him in that maze of narrow little streets, almost like country lanes.

" 'We can't let Crouse get away,' I said. So I slammed it into pa.s.sing gear and pa.s.sed the car right in front of me in order to get behind Crouse, and all of a sudden here was a car coming the other direction on this street about 15 feet wide -- just barely enough room for two cars to pa.s.s and certainly not enough room for three cars to pa.s.s, one of them going about 70 miles an hour with a drunk at the wheel.

"I thought, hmmmm, well. . . I can either slow down or stomp on it and squeeze in there, so I stomped on it and forced the oncoming car up over the curb and onto the gra.s.s in order to avoid me as I came hurtling back into my own lane, and just as I flashed past him I happened to look over and saw that it was a police car. Well, I thought, this is not the time to stop and apologize; I could see him in my rear view mirror, stopping and beginning to turn around. . . So instead of following Crouse, I took the first left I could, turned the lights off and drove like a b.a.s.t.a.r.d -- a.s.suming the cop would probably chase Crouse and run him down and arrest him, but as it happened he didn't get either of us."

"What a rotten thing to do."

"Well, it was him or me, Ralph. . . as a matter of fact I worried about it when we didn't see Tim at the restaurant later on. But we were late because we did some high-speed driving exercises in the Southeast area of Washington -- flashing along those big empty streets going into corners at 80 miles an hour and doing 180s. . . it was a sort of thunder road driving trip, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g it on with that big Cutla.s.s."

"Enormous car?"

"A real monster, extremely overpowered. . ."

"How big is it? The size of a bus?"

"No, normal size for a big car, but extremely powerful -- much more, say, than a Mustang or something like that. We did about an hour's worth of crazed driving on these deserted streets, and it was during this time that I mentioned that we should probably go out and have a word with Mr. Colson -- because during a conversation earlier in the evening, the consensus among the reporters at McGovern's party was that Colson was probably the only one of Nixon's first-rank henchmen who would probably not even be indicted."

"Why's that?"

"He had managed to keep himself clean, somehow -- up to that point anyway. Now, he's been dragged into the ITT ha.s.sle again, so it looks like he might go down with all the others.

"But at that point, we thought, well, Colson really is the most evil of those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and if he gets off there is really no justice in the world. So we thought we'd go out to his house -- luckily none of us knew where he lived -- and beat on his door, mumbling something like: 'G.o.d's mercy on me! My wife's been raped! My foot's been cut off!' Anything to lure him downstairs. . . and the minute he opened the door, seize him and drag him out to the car and tie him by the ankles and drag him down to the White House."

"He could identify you. . ."

"Well, he wouldn't have time to know exactly who it was -- but we thought about it for a while, still driving around, and figured a beastly thing like that might be the only thing that could get Nixon off the hook, because he could go on television the next afternoon, demanding to make a nationwide emergency statement, saying: 'Look what these thugs have done to poor Mr. Colson! This is exactly what we were talking about! This is why we had to be so violent in our ways, because these thugs will stop at nothing! They dragged Mr. Colson the length of Pennsylvania Avenue at four in the morning, then cut him loose like a piece of meat!' He would call for more savage and stringent security measures against 'the kind of animals who would do a thing like this.' So we put the plot out of our heads."

"Well, it would have been a bit risky. . . wouldn't have done the Democratic party any good at all, would it?"

"Well, it might have created a bit of an image problem -- and it would have given Nixon the one out he desperately needs now, a way to justify the whole Watergate trip by raving about 'this brutal act.'. . . That's an old h.e.l.l's Angels gig, dragging people down the street. h.e.l.l's Angels. Pachucos, drunken cowboys.

"But I thought more about it later, when I finally got back to the hotel after that stinking accident I'm still trying to explain. . . and it occurred to me that those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are really mean enough to do that to Colson themselves -- if they only had the wits to think about it. They could go out and drag him down the street in a car with old McGovern stickers on the b.u.mpers or put on false beards and wave a wine bottle out the window as they pa.s.sed the White House and cut him loose. He'd roll to a stop in front of the Guard House and the Guard would clearly see the McGovern sticker on the car screeching off around the corner and that's all Nixon would need. If we gave them the idea, they'd probably go out and get Colson tonight."

"He'd be babbling, I'd think --"

"He'd be hysterical, in very bad shape. And of course he'd claim that McGovern thugs had done it to him -- if he were still able to talk. I really believe Nixon would do a thing like that if he thought it would get him out of the hole. . . So I thought about it a little more, and it occurred to me what we should do was have these masks made up -- you know those rubber masks that fit over the whole head."

"Ah yes, very convincing. . ."

"Yeah, one of them would have to be the face of Haldeman, one the face of Ehrlichman and one the face of Tony Ulasewicz."

"Yes, the meanest men on the Nixon Staff."

"Well, Colson's the meanest man in politics, according to Pat Buchanan. Ulasewicz is the hit man, a hired thug. I thought if we put these masks on and wore big overcoats or something to disguise ourselves and went out to his house and kind of shouted: 'Tex, Tex! It's me, Tony. Come on down. We've got a big problem.' And the minute he opens the door, these people with the Haldeman and Ehrlichman masks would jump out from either side and seize him by each arm -- so that he sees who has him, but only for two or three seconds, before the person wearing the Ulasewicz mask slaps a huge burlap sack over his head, knots it around his knees and then the three of them carry him out to the car and lash him to the rear b.u.mper and drag him down the street -- and just as we pa.s.sed the White House Guard Station, slash the rope so that Colson would come to a tumbling b.l.o.o.d.y stop right in front of the guard. . . and after two or three days in the Emergency Ward, when he was finally able to talk, after coming out of shock, he would swear that the people who got him were Haldeman, Ehrlichman and Ulasewicz -- and he would know know they were mean enough to do it, because that's the way they were mean enough to do it, because that's the way he he thinks. He's mean enough to do it himself. You'd have to pick a night when they were all in Washington, and Colson would swear that they did it to him, no matter what they said. He would thinks. He's mean enough to do it himself. You'd have to pick a night when they were all in Washington, and Colson would swear that they did it to him, no matter what they said. He would know know it, because he had it, because he had seen seen them." them."

'"Brilliant, brilliant. Yes, he'd be absolutely convinced -- having seen the men and the faces."

"Right. But of course you couldn't talk -- just seize him and go. What would you think if you looked out and saw three people you recognized, and suddenly they jerked you up and tied you behind a car and dragged you 40 blocks? h.e.l.l, you saw saw them. You'd testify, swear under oath. . . which would cause Nixon probably to go completely crazy. He wouldn't know them. You'd testify, swear under oath. . . which would cause Nixon probably to go completely crazy. He wouldn't know what what to believe! How could he be sure that Haldeman, Ehrlichman and Ulasewicz hadn't done it? n.o.body would know, not even by using lie detectors. . . But that's a pretty heavy act to get into -- dragging people around the street behind rented Avis cars, and we never quite got back to it, anyway, but if we hadn't had that accident we might have given it a little more thought although I still have no idea where Colson lives and I still don't want to know. But you have to admit it was a nice idea." to believe! How could he be sure that Haldeman, Ehrlichman and Ulasewicz hadn't done it? n.o.body would know, not even by using lie detectors. . . But that's a pretty heavy act to get into -- dragging people around the street behind rented Avis cars, and we never quite got back to it, anyway, but if we hadn't had that accident we might have given it a little more thought although I still have no idea where Colson lives and I still don't want to know. But you have to admit it was a nice idea."

"That's a lovely thing, yes."

"You know Colson had that sign on the wall in his office saying ONCE YOU HAVE THEM BY THE b.a.l.l.s, THEIR HEARTS AND MINDS WILL FOLLOW."

"Right."

"He's an ex-Marine captain. So it would be a definite dose of his own medicine."

"Do you really think he deserves that kind of treatment?"

"Well, he was going to set off a firebomb in the Brookings Inst.i.tution, just to recover some papers. . . Colson is not one of your friendlier, happier type of persons. He's an evil b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and dragging him down the street would certainly strike a note of terror in that crowd; they could use some humility."

"Poetic justice, no?"

"Well, it's a little rough. . . it might not be necessary to drag him 40 blocks. Maybe just four. You could put him in the trunk for the first 36 blocks, then haul him out and drag him the last four; that would certainly scare the p.i.s.s out of him, b.u.mping along the street, feeling all his skin being ripped off. . ."

"He'd be a b.l.o.o.d.y mess. They might think he was just some drunk and let him lie there all night."

"Don't worry about that. They have a guard station in front of the White House that's open 24 hours a day. The guards would recognize Colson. . . and by that time of course his wife would have called the cops and reported that a bunch of thugs had kidnapped him."

"Wouldn't it be a little kinder if you drove about four more blocks and stopped at a phone box to ring the hospital and say, 'Would you mind going around to the front of the White House? There's a naked man lying outside in the street, bleeding to death. . .' "

". . . and we think it's Mr. Colson."

"It would be quite a story for the newspapers, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, I think it's safe to say we'd see some headlines on that one."

PART II.

Flashbacks & Time Warps. . . Scrambled Notes and Rude Comments from the High Country. . . Dean vs. Haldeman in the Hearing Room. . . A Question of Perjury. . . Ehrlichman Sandbags an Old Buddy. . . Are the Sharks Deserting the Suckfish?

EDITOR'S NOTE:.

Due to circ.u.mstances beyond our control, the following section was lashed together at the last moment from a six-pound bundle of doc.u.ments, notebooks, memos, recordings and secretly taped phone conversations with Dr. Thompson during a month of erratic behavior in Washington, New York, Colorado and Miami. His "long-range-plan," he says, is to "refine" these nerve-wracking methods, somehow, and eventually "create an entirely new form of journalism." In the meantime, we have suspended his monthly retainer and canceled his credit card. During one four-day period in Washington he destroyed two cars, cracked a wall in the Washington Hilton, purchased two French Horns at $1100 each and ran through a plate-gla.s.s door in a Turkish restaurant.

Compounding the problem was the presence in Washington, for the first time, of our artist Ralph Steadman -- an extremely heavy drinker with little or no regard for either protocol or normal social amenities. On Steadman's first visit to the Watergate Hearing Room he was ejected by the Capitol Police after spilling beer on a TV monitor and knocking Sam Ervin off his feet while attempting to seize a microphone to make a statement about "the rottenness of American politics." It was only the timely intervention of New York Post correspondent John Lang that kept Steadman from being permanently barred from the Hearing Room.

In any case, the bulk of what follows appears exactly as Dr. Thompson wrote it in his notebooks. Given the realities of our constant deadline pressure, there was no other way to get this section into print.

The Notebooks "Jesus, this Watergate thing is unbelievable. It's terrible, like finding out your wife is running around but you don't want to hear about it."

-- Remark of a fat man from Nashville sharing a taxi with Ralph Steadman.

Tuesday morning 6/26/73 8:13 AM in the Rockies. . .

Bright sun on the gra.s.s outside my windows behind this junk TV set and long white snowflelds, still unmelted, on the peaks across the valley. Every two or three minutes the doleful screech of a half-wild peac.o.c.k rattles the windows. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d is strutting around on the roof, shattering the morning calm with his senseless cries.

His noise is a bad burden on Sandy's nerves. "G.o.d d.a.m.n it!" she mutters. "We have have to get him a hen!" to get him a hen!"

"f.u.c.k him; we got got him a hen -- and she ran off and got herself killed by coyotes. What the crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d needs now is a bullet through the vocal cords. He's beginning to sound like Herman Talmadge." him a hen -- and she ran off and got herself killed by coyotes. What the crazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d needs now is a bullet through the vocal cords. He's beginning to sound like Herman Talmadge."

"Talmadge?"

"Watch what's happening, G.o.dd.a.m.nit! Here's another true Son of the South. First it was Thompson. . . now Talmadge. . . and then we'll get that half-wit pimp from Florida."

"Gurney?"

I nodded, staring fixedly at the big blueish eye of the permanently malfunctioned "color TV" set that I hauled back from Washington last summer, when I finally escaped from the place. . . But now I was using it almost feverishly, day after day, to watch what was happening happening in Washington. in Washington.

The Watergate Hearings -- my daily fix, on TV. Thousands of people from all over the country are writing the networks to demand that this G.o.dd.a.m.n tedious nightmare be jerked off the air so they can get back to their favorite soap operas: As the World Turns, The Edge of Night, The Price Is Right As the World Turns, The Edge of Night, The Price Is Right and and What Next for Weird Betty? What Next for Weird Betty? They are bored by the spectacle of the Watergate hearings. The plot is confusing, they say; the characters are dull, and the dialogue is repulsive. They are bored by the spectacle of the Watergate hearings. The plot is confusing, they say; the characters are dull, and the dialogue is repulsive.

The President of the United States would never act that way -- at least not during baseball season. Like Nixon's new White House chief of staff, Melvin Laird, said shortly before his appointment: "If the President turns out to be guilty, I don't want to hear about it."

This is the other end of the att.i.tude-spectrum from the comment I heard, last week, from a man in Denver: "I've been waiting a long time for this," he said. "Maybe not as long as Jerry Voorhis or Helen Gahagan Douglas. . . and I never really thought it would happen, to tell you the truth." He flashed me a humorless smile and turned back to his TV set. "But it is, is, by G.o.d! And it's almost too good to be true." by G.o.d! And it's almost too good to be true."

My problem -- journalistically, at least -- has its roots in the fact that I agree with just about everything that laughing, vengeful b.a.s.t.a.r.d said that day. We didn't talk much. There was no need for it. Everything Richard Milhous Nixon ever stood for was going up in smoke right in front of our eyes. And anybody who could understand and appreciate that, that, I felt, didn't need many words to communicate. At least not with me. I felt, didn't need many words to communicate. At least not with me.

(The question is: what did he stand for, stand for, and what next for and what next for that? that? Agnew? Reagan? Rockefeller? Even Percy? Nixon was finally "successful" for the same reason he was finally brought low. He kept pushing, pushing, pushing -- and inevitably he pushed too far.) Agnew? Reagan? Rockefeller? Even Percy? Nixon was finally "successful" for the same reason he was finally brought low. He kept pushing, pushing, pushing -- and inevitably he pushed too far.) Noon -- -- Tuesday, June 26th Tuesday, June 26th The TV set is out on the porch now -- a move that involved much cursing and staggering.

Weicker has the mike -- mono a mono mono a mono on Dean -- and after 13 minutes of apparently aimless blathering he comes off no better than Talmadge. Weicker seemed oddly cautious -- a trifle obtuse, perhaps. on Dean -- and after 13 minutes of apparently aimless blathering he comes off no better than Talmadge. Weicker seemed oddly cautious -- a trifle obtuse, perhaps.

What are the connections? Weicker is a personal friend of Pat Gray's. He is also the only member of the Select Committee with after-hours personal access to John Dean.

"-- Live from Senate Caucus Room --"

-- flash on CBS screen flash on CBS screen Live? Rehea.r.s.ed? In any case, Dean is livelier than most -- not only because of what he has to say, but because he -- unlike the other witnesses -- refused to say it first in executive session to Committee staffers before going on TV.

Strange -- Dean's obvious credibility comes not from his long-awaited impact (or lack of it) on the American public, but from his obvious ability to deal with the seven Senatorial Inquisitors. They seem awed.

Dean got his edge, early on, with a mocking lash at the integrity of Minority Counsel Fred Thompson -- and the others fell meekly in line. Dean radiates a certain very narrow kind of authority -- nothing personal, personal, but the kind of nasal blank-hearted authority you feel in the presence of the taxman or a very polite FBI agent. but the kind of nasal blank-hearted authority you feel in the presence of the taxman or a very polite FBI agent.

Only Baker remains. His His credibility took a bad beating yesterday. Dean ran straight at him, startling the TV audience with constant references to Baker's personal dealings with "the White House," prior to the hearings. There was no need to mention that Baker is the son-in-law of that late and only half-lamented "Solon" from the Great State of Illinois, Sen. Everett Dirksen. credibility took a bad beating yesterday. Dean ran straight at him, startling the TV audience with constant references to Baker's personal dealings with "the White House," prior to the hearings. There was no need to mention that Baker is the son-in-law of that late and only half-lamented "Solon" from the Great State of Illinois, Sen. Everett Dirksen.

Dean is clearly a shrewd executive. executive. He will have no trouble getting a good job when he gets out of prison. He will have no trouble getting a good job when he gets out of prison.

Now Montoya -- the flaccid Mex-Am from New Mexico. No problem here for John Dean. . . Suddenly Montoya hits Dean head on with Nixon's bogus quote about Dean's investigation investigation clearing all members of White House staff. Dean calmly shrugs it off as a lie -- "I never made any investigation." clearing all members of White House staff. Dean calmly shrugs it off as a lie -- "I never made any investigation."

-- Montoya continues with entire list of prior prior Nixon statements. Nixon statements.

Dean: "In totality, there are less than accurate statements in that. . . ah. . . those statements."

Montoya is after Nixon's head! after Nixon's head! Is this the Is this the first sign? first sign? Over the hump for Tricky d.i.c.k? Over the hump for Tricky d.i.c.k?

*** Recall lingering memory of Miami Beach plainclothes cop, resting in armory behind Convention Center on night of Nixon's renomination -- ("You tell 'em, Tricky d.i.c.k.") -- watching Nixon's speech on TV. . . with tear gas fumes all around us and demonstrators gagging outside.

4:20 EDT.

As usual, the pace picks up at the end. These b.u.g.g.e.rs should be forced to keep at it for 15 or 16 straight hours -- heavy doses of speed, pots of coffee, Wild Turkey, etc., force them down to the raving hysterical quick. quick. Wild accusations, etc. . . Wild accusations, etc. . .

Dean becomes more confident as time goes on-- a bit flip flip now, finding his feet. now, finding his feet.

Friday morning, June 29. . . 29. . . 8:33 AM 8:33 AM Jesus, this waterhead Gurney again! You'd think the poor b.u.g.g.e.r would have the sense to not talk anymore. . . but no, Gurney is still blundering along, still hammering blindly at the receding edges of Dean's "credibility" in his now-obvious role as what Frank Reynolds and Sam Donaldson on ABC-TV both described as "the waterboy for the White House."

Gurney appears to be deaf; he has a brain like a cow's udder. He asks his questions -- off the typed list apparently furnished him by Minority (GOP) counsel, Fred J, Thompson -- then his mind seems to wander, his eyes roam lazily around the room while Thompson whispers industriously in his ear, his hands shuffle papers distractedly on the table in front of his microphone. . . and meanwhile, Dean meticulously chews up his questions and hands them back to him in shreds; so publicly mangled that their fate might badly embarra.s.s a man with good sense. . .

But Gurney seems not to notice: His only job on this committee is to Defend the Presidency, Defend the Presidency, according to his instructions from the White House -- or at least whatever third-string hangers-on might still be working there -- and what we tend to forget, here, is that it's totally impossible to understand Gurney's real motives without remembering that he's the Republican Senator from Florida, a state where George Wallace swept the according to his instructions from the White House -- or at least whatever third-string hangers-on might still be working there -- and what we tend to forget, here, is that it's totally impossible to understand Gurney's real motives without remembering that he's the Republican Senator from Florida, a state where George Wallace swept the Democratic primary Democratic primary in 1972 with 78% of the vote, and which went 72% for Nixon in November. in 1972 with 78% of the vote, and which went 72% for Nixon in November.

In a state where even Hubert Humphrey is considered a dangerous radical, Ed Gurney's decision to make an ignorant yahoo of himself on national TV makes excellent sense -- at least to his own const.i.tuency. They are watching TV down in Florida today, along with the rest of the country, and we want to remember that if Gurney appears in Detroit and Sacramento as a hideous caricature of the imbecilic Senator Cornpone -- that's not necessarily the way he appears to the voters around Tallaha.s.see and St. Petersburg.

Florida is not Miami -- contrary to the prevailing national image -- and one of the enduring mysteries in American politics is how a humane & relatively enlightened politician like Reubin Askew could have been elected Governor of one of the few states in the country where George Wallace would have easily beaten Richard Nixon -- in a head-to-head presidential race -- in either 1968 or 1972. Or even 1976, for that matter. . .

And so much for all that. Gurney is off the air now -- having got himself tangled up in a legal/const.i.tutional argument with Sam Ervin and Dean's attorney. He finally just hunkered down and pa.s.sed the mike to Senator Inouye, who immediately re-focused the questioning by prodding Dean's memory on the subject of White House efforts to seek vengeance on their "enemies."

Which Senators -- in addition to Teddy Kennedy -- were subjects of surveillance by Nixon's gumshoes? Which journalists -- in addition to the man from Newsday who wrote unfavorable things about Bebe Rebozo -- were put on The List to have their tax returns audited? Which athletes and actors -- in addition to Joe Namath and Paul Newman -- were put on the list to be "screwed"?

Dean's answers were vague on these things. He's not interested in "interpreting the motives of others," he says -- which is an easy thing to forget, after watching him on the tube for three days, repeatedly incriminating at least half the ranking fixers in Nixon's inner circle: Colson, Haldeman, Ehrlichman, Mitch.e.l.l, Magruder, Strachan, Ziegler, Moore, LaRue, Katabach, Nofziger, Krogh, Liddy, Kleindienst. . . and the evidence is "mind-boggling," in Senator Baker's words, when it comes in the form of verbatim memos and taped phone conversations.