Walking through the U. S. Capitol on a July evening in 1974, Sen. Robert C. Byrd paused in the rotunda, the heart of the building that, arguably, is the most sacred symbol of American democracy. He stood in silence for a few seconds, thinking about Watergate, the issue gripping the nation and threatening the Constitution, then turned to his aide.
“Do you know why we’ll get through this and be stronger afterward?” he asked rhetorically. “Because we’re acting with honor. We — Democrats and Republicans — are putting the nation ahead of politics.”
That memory returned to me, the aide, when I learned of Byrd’s death Monday. Initial reports understandably mentioned his long-ago membership in the Ku Klux Klan and the “pork” he delivered to West Virginia. Few focused on his role as what reporter Clark Mollenhoff called “the unsung hero of Watergate.”
Byrd never apologized for securing federal projects. “Have you thought of putting it in West Virginia?” he would ask officials requesting funds from his committee. The KKK issue, for which he apologized early in his career, resurfaced in 1971, after his election as Democratic whip. He explained it like this:
“Racial prejudice. I’m ashamed of it, but that’s what it was. I was a product of an environment where jobs were scarce and racial tensions high. I’ve worked to overcome my prejudices, to grow.” He quoted Robert Louis Stevenson: “To hold the same views at 40 as we held at 20 is to have stupefied for a score of years.”
No one questioned his sincerity or doubted his veracity. Byrd never shrank from self-examination — and he examined others just as closely. In April 1973, the Senate Judiciary Committee held hearings for Acting Director L. Patrick Gray to become FBI head. Each night, Byrd studied the transcripts and the next day returned to areas where he felt Gray had misled the committee.
Under Byrd’s relentless questioning, Gray admitted destroying Watergate documents given to him by presidential counsel John Dean, who told him “they should not see the light of day.” The testimony moved the Watergate cover-up nearer the Oval Office. Dean responded, saying he would “not be anybody’s scapegoat,” creating an every-man-for-himself situation. The unraveling had begun.
A month later, Archibald Cox was named Watergate special prosecutor. At his confirmation, accompanied by Attorney General Elliott Richardson, Byrd solicited from Richardson a promise that Cox would not be fired without first consulting the Judiciary Committee. When Richardson agreed, Byrd insisted, in the face of opposition, that Richardson make the promise under oath.
That became significant. After several confrontations, Nixon on Oct. 20, 1973, ordered Richardson to fire Cox. Richardson refused. He could not, because firing Cox could have placed him in contempt of Congress. Byrd’s insistence on the promise being made under oath had guaranteed the special prosecutor autonomy. Nixon fired Richardson, and Watergate effectively came to a close that Saturday night. A few hours before pausing in the rotunda that July evening, Byrd had taken a call from John Connally, Nixon’s chief of staff. Impeachment hearings were being held in the House; Connally wanted Byrd’s assessment.
“The House will impeach; the Senate will convict,” Byrd told him. Within two weeks, the president resigned. Although praised for his bipartisan leadership, Byrd never spoke publicly about his role.
Pausing in the rotunda that July evening was not unusual. Byrd often stopped there for reflection, doing so “because it reminds me how privileged and blessed I am to be part of this, just thinking of all those who have passed this way.”
All of us are privileged that Robert Byrd passed this way.
John Guiniven, an associate professor at James Madison University, was press secretary to Robert C. Byrd from 1969-77.
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