Chapter 1
The Fall from Grace: Nixon's White House Through the Eyes of His Counsel
On a warm May day in 1970, John Dean's life changed forever with an unexpected call from the White House. Within months, this ambitious young lawyer would become Counsel to the President Richard Nixon, catapulting him into the inner circle of American power. What began as a dream job would evolve into a nightmare of criminality, cover-ups, and eventually, redemption. "Blind Ambition" has become a cultural touchstone for understanding the Watergate scandal, praised by critics as "the definitive insider account" and cited by historians as essential reading for anyone seeking to understand how a "third-rate burglary" brought down a presidency. The book's unflinching self-examination resonated with a post-Watergate America hungry for accountability, and its warnings about unchecked executive power remain disturbingly relevant today.
Chapter 2
The Seduction of Power
The call came unexpectedly in May 1970. Bud Krogh from the White House asked if I might be interested in working there. Though internally ecstatic, I feigned caution, explaining I was content at Justice. Weeks later, Attorney General Mitchell warned me against the move, hinting at tensions between himself and White House staff.
By July, everything accelerated. I was whisked by helicopter to the Western White House compound in San Clemente, where I met the legendary Bob Haldeman. Contrary to his stern reputation, he greeted me warmly, describing a role handling legal matters, conflicts of interest, and domestic disorders. His curious question about whether I could be loyal to Nixon rather than Mitchell revealed the administration's internal tensions. When asked if I wanted the job, I strategically hesitated.
The next day, Haldeman introduced me to President Nixon, who formally offered me the position. Despite my nervousness, I accepted. Nixon spoke admiringly of Mitchell and emphasized the importance of involving young government lawyers. Later, Murray Chotiner warned me against discussing the President's private comments.
Upon returning to Washington, Mitchell congratulated me but cautioned about White House politics, particularly tensions between Ehrlichman and Shultz. He described Haldeman as "the President's right and left hands" who "does for the President what the President isn't any good at doing himself." Mitchell assured me Nixon would like me once I'd proven myself, and encouraged me to help the President by telling "him the way things are."
My first day at the White House began with navigating its complex hierarchy and understanding how power worked in Nixon's administration. I quickly learned that even trivial matters could become Presidential concerns, as demonstrated by my first assignment-responding to a satirical article about Agnew supposedly planning to cancel the 1972 election.
Despite my recommendation against legal action, the President pushed further, requesting an IRS investigation of the magazine. Troubled by the ethical implications but fearing for my position, I sought advice from Murray Chotiner who bluntly informed me: "If Richard Nixon thinks it's necessary you'd better think it's necessary. If you don't, he'll find someone who does." He justified it by claiming all presidents used the IRS against enemies.
Jack Caulfield, my newly assigned staff member with police connections, handled the IRS request with disturbing ease. Though the magazine was too new for a promising tax inquiry, I reported that we'd extended the investigation to its organizers-crossing an ethical line I would never uncross.
Chapter 3
The Machinery of Power
The White House machinery began each day around 7:00 AM. Ehrlichman would eat breakfast in the mess, reading news summaries before chairing the 7:30 staff meeting with George Shultz. At 8:15, they'd join Haldeman, Kissinger, Colson and other top aides for the more important session that determined what the President would focus on that day.
More significant was Haldeman's relentless tickler system-a paper monster with a computer's memory that tracked every assignment. Missing deadlines meant first a secretary's call, then a biting reprimand from Larry Higby: "What's the matter, Dean, can't you meet a deadline?" The tickler reached everyone, even Mitchell and Kissinger, with each call meticulously recorded on Haldeman's scorecard where reputations were made and broken.
By fall 1971, I had expanded my office space and staff considerably. After nearly eighteen months of constant work, I took a European vacation, during which I contemplated leaving for a higher-paying position abroad. When I told Haldeman, he insisted I stay through the election, implying I owed it to the President. I agreed, pleased he wanted me to stay.
My involvement in Supreme Court nominations revealed the power struggle between Ehrlichman and Mitchell. Ehrlichman enlisted me to review Mitchell's candidates, including Representative Poff and later Herschell Friday and Judge Lilly. My negative assessments helped Ehrlichman block Mitchell's recommendations, allowing him to advance Lewis Powell instead. I also circulated William Rehnquist's name, which gained traction despite the President initially calling him a "clown" for his appearance.
Ehrlichman's victory over Mitchell on Supreme Court nominations exemplified his strategic campaign to consolidate White House control over domestic agencies. His method was methodical: study an issue in Mitchell's domain, solicit cooperation, produce critical findings, then recommend solutions that transferred authority to himself. He gained leverage over antitrust policy by attacking Mitchell's handling of the ITT cases, eventually convincing the President to authorize White House coordination of antitrust policy.
Chapter 4
The Seeds of Scandal
In January 1971, I received a confidential assignment from Haldeman that would later help explain the chain of events destroying Nixon's presidency. It originated from the President himself, who had dictated a memo wondering when Larry O'Brien (Democratic National Committee Chairman) would be "held accountable for his retainer with Hughes." The President believed Hughes had O'Brien on a "very heavy retainer."
I consulted Jack Caulfield, who described the Hughes empire as embroiled in a $2 billion internal war with private eyes and Mafia figures involved. The assignment's implications were clear: if O'Brien was on Hughes's payroll while serving as DNC chairman, it would be scandalous.
After collecting only rumors, Chuck Colson connected me with Robert Bennett, a Mormon who had recently purchased the Mullen public relations firm and acquired Hughes as a client. Bennett confirmed O'Brien had been retained by Hughes but was vague about details, focusing instead on Robert Maheu, the recently ousted manager of Hughes's Las Vegas properties who had hired O'Brien. Bennett seemed to be steering the administration against Maheu rather than O'Brien.
Caulfield warned that pursuing O'Brien might "shake loose Republican skeletons," suggesting we settle for a truce. I advised Haldeman we were in dangerous waters, and he temporarily dropped the matter. However, by April 1971, the President was ordering Haldeman to develop better campaign intelligence capabilities, setting the stage for what would come later.
Haldeman's interest in intelligence intensified in 1971. He summoned me to stress that "nothing has higher priority than the President's reelection" and complained our demonstration intelligence was "worthless." Seeing an opportunity to position myself for the campaign, I proposed expanding my office's role to collect all intelligence relevant to the President's campaign.
Meanwhile, Strachan was educating himself on campaign tactics, learning from veterans like Buchanan about "political hardball" used against Nixon in 1968. The consensus was that Nixon's campaign should employ similar tactics first and better. By August, Strachan reported having "oral recommendations for political intelligence and covert activities," and operations began-Chapin hired Donald Segretti to disrupt Democratic campaigns, while Magruder infiltrated Muskie's office.
Chapter 5
The Million-Dollar Intelligence Plan
When Gordon Liddy asked about his campaign intelligence budget, I casually suggested "maybe half a million bucks" based on Caulfield's Sandwedge proposal. Shortly after, Liddy returned to my office with a bandaged hand. He explained he'd burned his flesh over a candle without flinching to prove his strength to potential recruits-"Macho," he called it. Alarmed, I called Bud Krogh who dismissed it saying, "Liddy's a romantic," but agreed to warn Magruder to keep an eye on him.
On January 27, I attended a meeting in Mitchell's office where Liddy presented his intelligence plans using professional multi-colored charts. He outlined several operations with gemstone codenames: Operation Diamond (convention demonstrations), Operation Ruby (political intelligence), Operation Crystal (electronic surveillance), and Operation Sapphire (sabotage). His proposals included kidnapping radical leaders, using prostitutes on a Chinese-themed yacht to compromise Democratic officials, intercepting communications with a "chase plane," and sabotaging the Democratic convention's air conditioning system.
The entire "Gemstone" apparatus would cost one million dollars. Mitchell was clearly offended but characteristically avoided direct confrontation, merely suggesting Liddy "go back to your drawing board." After Liddy left, I told Mitchell the presentation was "unreal, and a little frightening." Mitchell grinned and agreed. A week later, Magruder called to say Liddy had revised his plans and scheduled another meeting.
At the second meeting on February 4, I arrived late to find them discussing a revised budget with cuts. Though the exotic items weren't mentioned, they were still discussing "targets" and "surveillance." Worried by Mitchell's unhappy expression, I interrupted: "I don't think this kind of conversation should go on in the Attorney General's office." The meeting abruptly ended. Outside, I told Liddy to communicate through Magruder rather than directly with Mitchell, and added "I don't think you and I should ever talk about this subject again." I thought I'd made my distaste clear, but worried my ambiguity might be interpreted as security precaution rather than disapproval.
After the Liddy meeting, I immediately went to Haldeman's office. Though uncomfortable bringing bad news while he was preparing for the President's China trip, I detailed both meetings and protested: "This stuff is incredible, unnecessary and very unwise. We don't need buggings, muggings and prostitutes and kidnappers to handle demonstrations." Haldeman instantly agreed: "You're right. You should have nothing further to do with Gordon Liddy."
I felt relieved to be out of the campaign intelligence business, though I hadn't shown particular bravery by Haldeman's standards. Several times I'd stopped short of crossing a hazy line that kept me off the "first team"-men like Haldeman, Ehrlichman, Kissinger, Colson and Krogh who trampled rules, believing their power protected them.
Chapter 6
The Break-In That Changed Everything
Returning from Manila on June 18, 1972, I was exhausted and planned to stay overnight in San Francisco. But Fred Fielding called with urgent news: five men had been arrested breaking into Democratic National Committee headquarters at Watergate, allegedly attempting to bug Larry O'Brien's office. One was James McCord, security coordinator for the Committee to Re-elect the President, who initially gave police a false name. A check from Howard Hunt was found on one of the Cuban burglars.
Back at the White House on June 19, I was immediately pulled into the crisis. Jack Caulfield called in panic, worried because he'd recommended McCord for the Committee job. "I'm not involved," he insisted desperately. "This thing could go all over the place."
Then Jeb Magruder called, his voice jumping nervously between bravado and panic. "We've got a real problem, John... Mitchell told me to get hold of you." Then he dropped the bombshell: "This is all that dumb fucking Liddy's fault. He blew it... He never told us he was using McCord."
When Liddy arrived, I suggested we walk outside to avoid being seen together. Gone was the crisp, commanding Liddy I knew-his beard unshaven, his suit rumpled, his forehead lined with worry. He immediately blamed Magruder: "This whole goddam thing is because Magruder pushed me." He revealed they'd broken in previously to plant a transmitter and photograph documents, but returned because the device malfunctioned.
Liddy admitted using McCord was "a serious mistake" but blamed Magruder's budget cuts. When I asked about Hunt, he explained Hunt had recruited the arrested Cubans. Most alarmingly, Liddy implicated Gordon Strachan as possibly knowing about the operation-which meant Haldeman and potentially the President knew.
Before we parted, Liddy made a chilling offer: "If somebody wants to shoot me on a street corner, I'm prepared to have that done. You just let me know when and where." He assured me none of the arrested men would talk: "They're all soldiers."
Back in my office, Gordon Strachan appeared, his neck flushed red. He announced he'd "destroyed all the documents in our files relating to that operation," including wiretap logs and notes about Haldeman's instructions to Liddy to shift focus from Muskie to McGovern. "Bob's files are clean," he assured me. "I've gone through all the political-matters memos, and I've taken out everything sensitive and shredded it."
Chapter 7
The Cover-up Begins
Though the White House publicly showed Olympian disdain for the break-in, internally we were scrambling. Cover-up personalities emerged: Colson played the enthusiastic know-nothing, Haldeman exuded confidence, Mitchell brooded quietly, and Ehrlichman maneuvered fact-finders like chess pieces. I began as a go-between but my extensive knowledge qualified me for a major role.
I began as a fact-finder, became an idea man, and finally a desk officer. Initially, I took satisfaction in having no criminal liability, seeking to remain an "agent" of my superiors. When Ehrlichman suggested I "deep-six" Hunt's materials in the Potomac, I delayed until finding an alternative-giving them directly to FBI Director Pat Gray, allowing us to claim we'd turned everything over to "the FBI" while counting on Gray to suppress them.
I sustained my image as "counsel" rather than participant as long as possible, but the line blurred as I became central to containing the Justice Department investigation and arranging hush money. In a covert meeting with Gray on a park bench overlooking the Potomac, I secured FBI 302s and AirTels on the investigation, with Gray reluctantly agreeing after I implied the President wanted them.
When I learned FBI agents planned to interview Kathleen Chenow about Hunt, I dispatched Fielding to England to retrieve her, claiming "cooperation" while actually coaching her to avoid testifying about the Ellsberg break-in. I also arranged hush money payments, meeting with Herb Kalmbach who became the first of several fund raisers. Neither the White House forces (Haldeman and Ehrlichman) nor Mitchell wanted to handle this dirty work, but both sides ultimately approved using Kalmbach. I carried messages between the warring factions, becoming the "linchpin" of the conspiracy with my growing power and ability to reconcile disputes.
By late June 1972, I'd risen to unprecedented influence, participating in decisions about removing Mitchell from the Re-election Committee and addressing him by his first name. I broke off my relationship with Maureen Biener, enticed by my prospects as a bachelor with newfound power. The cover-up proved tremendously successful politically-secret White House polls showed the Watergate break-in hadn't affected Nixon's popularity, with most voters unaware or unconcerned.
Chapter 8
Meeting the President
After the Justice Department announced the first Watergate indictments on September 15 with orchestrated fanfare declaring the investigation complete, I was unexpectedly summoned to the Oval Office. Expecting a formal pat on the back, I was shocked to find Haldeman slouched casually before the President's desk while Nixon reclined with his feet propped up-an unprecedented informality that both flattered and disoriented me.
"Well, you had quite a day today, didn't you?" Nixon said cordially. "You got Watergate on the way, huh?" The conversation meandered through potential political strategies, including whether to reveal Johnson's 1968 wiretapping of Republicans. Nixon seemed pleased with the cover-up's progress, telling me I'd been "skillful" at "putting your finger in the dikes" as leaks emerged.
When the conversation turned to enemies, Nixon's mood darkened dramatically. "We're getting a few shots," he growled. "It'll be over. Don't worry. I wouldn't want to be on the other side right now." Leaning forward intently, he instructed: "I want the most comprehensive notes on all those who have tried to do us in. Because they didn't have to do it... they are asking for it, and they are going to get it!" Nixon became suddenly composed again, adding ominously, "We haven't used the Bureau, and we haven't used the Justice Department, but things are going to change now."
My relationship with the President had transformed dramatically after our meeting-he'd taken me into his confidence beyond my wildest expectations. Though I chastised myself for appearing naive at times, I felt we would survive through the election when perhaps the whole Watergate mess would evaporate.
We maintained tight control over all fronts-the FBI, lawsuits, Justice Department, Congress, GAO and press-while Hunt's demands for hush money persisted. Election Day 1972 arrived with Nixon's landslide victory feeling like merely an excuse to drink with friends. The next morning, the President addressed his hung-over staff with a flat, mechanical speech about avoiding becoming a "burned-out volcano" like Disraeli's administration. Then Haldeman delivered the bombshell-everyone must submit resignation letters for a complete administration overhaul.
Chapter 9
The Cancer Growing
Back in my office on November 13, six days after the election, I was still depressed about my interrupted vacation. While newspapers glowingly forecast Nixon's second term accomplishments, Chuck Colson called me to his office with unexpected news. He had finally spoken with Howard Hunt and recorded their conversation "for protection." I listened apprehensively as Colson repeatedly tried to distance himself from Watergate while Hunt pressed about "commitments that were not kept" to the defendants.
Hunt warned ominously that "the stakes are very high" and "this thing must not break apart for foolish reasons," setting a November 25 deadline for "resolution on the liquidation of everything that's outstanding." As Hunt made his demands, I felt the bottom drop from my stomach-Watergate wasn't going away; it would only get worse.
After flying to New York with Maurice Stans, I met Mitchell at the Metropolitan Club. When I played Hunt's tape, Mitchell listened impassively, only protesting Hunt's perjury accusation against him. His quick departure after hearing the tape troubled me. As Mitchell walked away, collar up and shoulders slumped, I wondered if he felt as burdened by the cover-up as I did. "All we had were worries and shady habits, evasions but no solutions."
Our middle-level cover-up group met in my office to address Hunt's escalating demands. Parkinson paced nervously while O'Brien cracked jokes and LaRue slumped in his chair "like a tired basset hound." Hunt's memo detailed staggering financial demands for all seven Watergate defendants-salaries, family expenses, and legal fees stretching into 1973. LaRue lamented his inability to raise such funds, especially with campaign surplus widely reported. "I can't tell them we need campaign money. We just won the goddam election."
After an unproductive meeting with Haldeman and Ehrlichman, who were "riding high from Camp David" and dismissed Hunt's demands as "Mitchell's problem," I was forced to call Haldeman directly. Mitchell was desperate. "We're all afraid Hunt might blow soon." Reluctantly, Haldeman authorized using the $350,000 slush fund as a "loan" to pay the defendants.
Chapter 10
The Breaking Point
My mental state was deteriorating rapidly. After studying obstruction-of-justice laws, I realized we were unquestionably criminals. The law clearly prohibited all those little acts that had triggered my instinctive feelings of guilt-conspiracy required only evidence of conversations meant to impede investigations plus an "overt act." We had been skating by on the President's power.
As Christmas approached, I brooded about what Watergate was doing to my life. Each day brought new snares to manage while my office empire expanded with limousines and redecorating. At home, my spirit evaporated; I switched from fifths to half gallons of Scotch and canceled social engagements, straining my new marriage.
The Watergate trial ended with all defendants convicted, but my mental state was deteriorating rapidly. I found myself closing my office doors for long stretches, daydreaming about jail, and seeing no clean way out of the cover-up. My analytical mind that had propelled me to the White House now tormented me by focusing on our grave vulnerabilities. I compared myself to Raskolnikov-paranoid, schizoid, almost wanting to get caught to end the lies ruining my private life.
February brought new challenges: a unanimous Senate vote establishing a committee to investigate Watergate, Pat Gray's confirmation hearings where he revealed I had received FBI reports, and my sudden emergence as a public Watergate target. Ironically, this crisis coincided with my quantum leap toward intimacy with the President, meeting with him almost daily.
My private meetings with Nixon revealed a surprisingly disorganized, often forgetful man who struggled with simple tasks like note-taking. Three themes dominated our conversations: his obsession with launching counterscandals against Democrats, constant reminiscing about the Hiss case (which made me uncomfortable as I identified with Hiss, not Nixon), and strategizing about handling the Ervin hearings. Most troubling was his growing insistence on a comprehensive "Dean Report" that would effectively make me responsible for false conclusions about Watergate.
On Saturday, March 17, I reluctantly went to the office to work on the "Dean Report" when the President unexpectedly summoned me to the Oval Office. Nixon, wearing a shamrock for St. Patrick's Day, offered Camp David as a retreat for writing the report. We engaged in a subtle jousting match-I tried steering him toward my "affidavit" approach that would protect me, while he pushed for a report without such safeguards.
Chapter 11
The Cancer Metaphor
Howard Hunt delivered a brutal ultimatum through Paul O'Brien: $72,000 for support and $50,000 for attorney's fees by Wednesday, or he'd "reconsider his options" and reveal "seamy things" about what he did for Ehrlichman at the White House. I erupted in anger, refusing to continue as a money messenger and telling O'Brien we were both deeply implicated in obstruction of justice.
Confiding in Dick Moore about Hunt's extortion, I expressed my despair over the escalating cover-up: "It keeps going on and on... People are going to keep committing perjury. More and more people know about it. The money payments are chewing people up." Moore, looking grandfatherly and sad, provided the perfect metaphor: "It's like some sort of tumor... like a cancer." This image struck me deeply-the President needed to "sever" this cancer before it consumed everything.
Walking nervously to the Oval Office that morning, I sat directly in front of the President's desk rather than in my usual side chair. I began by telling him I believed he didn't know everything I knew-partly true, partly providing him "deniability." Using Moore's metaphor, I explained we had "a cancer within-close to the Presidency" that was "growing geometrically" through blackmail and potential perjury.
When I mentioned the "Cuban Committee" cover for payments, the President's response stunned me-he already knew about this technical detail and advised keeping the cover "for what it's worth." I emphasized that the payments constituted obstruction of justice involving Haldeman, Ehrlichman, Mitchell, and myself. Most shocking was the President's response to my estimate that the blackmail would cost "a million dollars over the next two years"-"We could get that," he declared confidently, even boasting about his ability to obtain untraceable cash.
Throughout our meeting, every time I tried to emphasize the dangers of the cover-up, the President redirected me back to solving the immediate problem-paying Hunt's blackmail demands. When I admitted I wasn't confident we could "ride through this," Nixon reminded me I "used to feel comfortable"-making me feel both guilty and disloyal.
Chapter 12
The Dam Breaks
The next morning brought disaster-Pat Gray had testified I had "probably lied" about Hunt's White House connections. I awoke to find my house surrounded by reporters and cameras with the Washington Post headline "DEAN PROBABLY LIED" splashed across the front page. As I hid inside drawing the blinds, Paul O'Brien called with even worse news: Judge Sirica had just read James McCord's letter in court charging perjury, hush money payments, and higher-ups' involvement in the break-in.
Though we assessed McCord knew only hearsay, his charges would give reporters the hook they needed. When the President called, I offered my judgment that McCord would create heat but little legal damage. Nixon surprisingly suggested I needed a vacation and insisted I go to Camp David for rest. I wondered about his motives but eagerly accepted the chance to escape the press siege at my home.
While exploring Camp David with Mo, she innocently asked why I shouldn't just refuse to write a false report. Her simple wisdom hit home. That night, walking alone in the woods, I made a decision: I would not lie under oath for anyone, even the President.
After meeting with Shaffer, I found myself caught between my lawyer's advice and White House pressure. When Haldeman called from San Clemente asking about my Camp David report, I reluctantly revealed I'd hired a lawyer, framing it as helpful for determining everyone's criminal liabilities. Meanwhile, Shaffer reported back from his meetings with prosecutors Silbert and Glanzer-they were primarily investigating who authorized the break-in, focusing on Mitchell and Magruder, with McCord having implicated me alongside them.
Shaffer arranged an "off the record" meeting where I could speak directly with prosecutors without my statements being used against me. Despite my concerns about implicating others in the cover-up, Shaffer was blunt: "It's your ass or theirs." When I called Haldeman to inform him about meeting prosecutors, he tensely responded that we should discuss it when he returned from California, warning "once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it's going to be very tough to get it back in."
Chapter 13
Going Public
Fired by Nixon in a ten-word sentence during his national television address, I found myself suddenly a private citizen facing the full power of the presidency. When Mo informed me that FBI agents had stormed my White House office and sealed my files, I frantically instructed her to hide sensitive documents, particularly the Huston Plan, in our attic.
My lawyer Charlie Shaffer, normally composed, grew visibly disturbed as I detailed my conversations with Nixon about raising hush money ("no problem to get a million dollars") and clemency offers. "The President is a goddam criminal," Charlie concluded, pacing our living room. "The P needs a lawyer and he better get himself a good one." Despite being a Nixon voter himself, Charlie recognized the gravity of what I'd revealed-what he called "a goddam atom bomb." Yet we both understood the challenge ahead: it would be my word against the President's, and prosecutors were already questioning my credibility regarding Pat Gray's destruction of documents.
When Charlie suggested I take a lie-detector test to prove Gray had destroyed the documents, I immediately agreed. Hooked to the machine in a sterile Maryland office building, I endured the physical discomfort while answering questions about the Hunt documents. The polygraph expert confirmed I passed "with flying colors," prompting Charlie to challenge Gray to take the same test.
Caught between Charlie's need for secrecy in prosecutor negotiations and Bob's push for public defense, I finally agreed to a clandestine interview with Newsweek's John Lindsay. Despite Lindsay's friendly demeanor and my cautious answers, the published story was hostile, describing me as having "refrigerant blood" and portraying my testimony as "transparently designed to enhance his bid for immunity."
As my June 25th testimony approached, I experienced wild emotional swings-from trembling anxiety to unusual clarity, from dread to determination. I decided to sit alone at the witness table without lawyers to demonstrate confidence in my testimony. I carefully analyzed my Cronkite interview weaknesses: blinking eyes (replaced contacts with horn-rimmed glasses), voice inflection (planned to speak in measured monotone), insincere laughter (resolved to avoid it), verbal fillers (determined to think before answering), and appearance (got a haircut).
My testimony began with a police-escorted processional through the Senate subway passage to the packed Caucus Room. Heart pounding, I awkwardly attempted an ice-breaking comment that fell flat. I stumbled through an apologetic opening, confessing my own wrongdoing while expressing belief that Nixon "did not realize or appreciate at any time the implications of his involvement." I then read my 245-page statement for nearly three hours before lunch.
