by Michael Liss
Damp and clammy. Last week was the 49th anniversary of Richard Nixon’s resignation. Go back to your half-forgotten copy of Woodward and Bernstein’s The Final Days, or John Dean’s Blind Ambition, or Teddy White’s Breach of Faith: The Fall of Richard Nixon, turn pages, browse a bit, and see if you don’t feel just a little damp and clammy.
Then, do as I did and try RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon, where the former President gives explanations that are a lot like wargaming, and have those feelings intensify. If you are of a certain age, you can recall your own memories and emotions as history was being made. Perhaps you will also recall the sense of confusion, a growing anger, and then relief, as the “System” sputtered and lurched, moved backwards and forwards, and finally, with all its mightiness, resolved itself and decisively brought it all to a close.
There stood Richard Nixon, less than two years after a smashing landslide of a reelection victory, a solitary figure on a helicopter’s steps, his hands outstretched for last time, to be carried away to political oblivion.
What brought him there? Read more »
There is a minor American myth about shame and regret. It goes like this.