The Rise and Fall of Herb Kalmbach

The Rise and Fall of herb Kalbach

Discreet and studiously low-key, Herbert W. Kalmbach, 52, was the ideal lawyer to handle Richard Nixon's personal affairs. Like the President, he was a self-made and extraordinarily diligent man, both traits that Nixon admired in an aide. Above all else, Kalmbach was an unswerving and unquestioning loyalist.

The tall, well-groomed lawyer proved his devotion as far back as 1960, when he worked with zeal and success to raise money for Nixon's unsuccessful bid for the presidency. Nixon never forgot. During his run for the White House in 1968, Kalmbach once again helped raise funds. After the election, Kalmbach turned down Nixon's offer to become Under Secretary of Commerce, choosing instead to stay in California and to build up his law practice. But he later agreed to serve as the President's personal lawyer.

It was a shrewd choice. Kalmbach's solid but unspectacular career as a real estate lawyer was instantly touched with gold. In 1968 his firm had only two other lawyers. By 1970 the number of attorneys had jumped to 14, and by 1973 to 24. Suddenly major clients from all over the nation were eager to sign up with the attorney who represented the President: United Air Lines, Dart Industries Inc., the Marriott Corp., MCA Inc. (the dominant producer of prime-time TV shows). National companies traditionally seek out lawyers who have friends and clients in high places in Washington, and Kalmbach's were very high indeed.

For the President, Kalmbach performed a variety of minor legal chores, such as drawing up his will and writing out checks to cover routine expenses like insurance premiums, property taxes and mortgage payments.

Personal Clout. But Kalmbach also provided some distinctly profitable services to the President. He not only handled the complicated purchase of Nixon's estate in San Clemente but had the clout on his own to get the Government to make thousands of dollars worth of improvements on the property that were charged off to "security," including a $388.78 exhaust fan for the fireplace. It was Frank DeMarco, Kalmbach's partner, who helped arrange Nixon's controversial gift to the nation of his vice-presidential papers, a donation that the President claimed as a $482,000 deduction on his income tax returns.

More important, Kalmbach steadily emerged as the White House's financial Mr. Fix-It, the man who could be counted on, without quibbling, to collect or pay out money as problems arose. In addition to the charge of obtaining contributions and secretly and illegally funneling them to candidates, which he pleaded guilty to last week, Kalmbach was one of the bagmen who picked up campaign contributions from milk producers just before the Administration upped milk-price supports in 1971. He paid Donald Segretti some $45,000 in salary and expenses to carry out his campaign of political dirty tricks, and he illegally raised funds and paid out $220,000 to the seven Watergate defendants.

Kalmbach remained the President's lawyer until his pleas of guilty last week. Only then did he resign from the firm that had soared so high so fast since the election of 1968. He also quit as chairman and a director of the Bank of Newport, which he founded two years ago. Kalmbach now faces the likelihood that he will be disbarred, but even if he never practiced again, he would likely remain a wealthy man: he has sizable real estate holdings--mainly apartment houses and office buildings--in California and Hawaii.

Though money is no problem for Kalmbach, social prestige is. "Nixon's man" had risen with sleek assurance in the moneyed society of Newport Beach, just an hour's drive by Cadillac south of Los Angeles. He was a power in the Lincoln Club of Orange County, an organization of wealthy and conservative G.O.P. contributors. He hobnobbed with the likes of John ("Duke") Wayne and Donald Nixon, the President's brother, both neighbors in Newport.

In the past half year, Kalmbach has all but withdrawn from the cocktail circuit and the lush golf courses. He has denned up with his attractive wife--a former Rose Bowl princess--and one of their three children in their $100,000 house overlooking the lean white yachts tugging at anchor in the harbor. Last fall Kalmbach made the mistake of appearing at the 25th anniversary dinner of the Balboa Bay Club. As a director he was included in the testimonials, but when he stood to acknowledge his name, there was a pause of embarrassed silence followed by a timid patter of applause. Says a guest who watched Kalmbach's humiliation: "It was pathetic."

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