Moments from Nixon's Memoirs

A dying brother, a strange dream, a wild drive...

Richard Nixon's Memoirs, which became available to TIME last week and will go on sale in bookstores next week, contribute relatively little that is new to his Watergate story. But anyone who is interested in international politics will find in his 1,120-page volume a mountain of both intriguing and tedious personal detail on Nixon's pursuit of detente with Soviet leaders, his opening of diplomatic relations with Communist China, and his ending the U.S. involvement in Viet Nam.

In recounting his life, both public and private, Nixon skips jarringly from family anecdotes to petty political concerns and to high affairs of state. For many readers, this may be primarily a book to be skimmed, in search of those Nixonian nuggets that say so much about the man and his quite special view of his times. Some samples:

On Brother Arthur. As soon as he saw me alone, my youngest brother, Arthur, greeted me with a solemn kiss on the cheek. I later learned that he had asked my mother if it would be proper for him to kiss me since I had been away. Even at that early age [Arthur was 7, Dick 12] he had acquired our family's reticence about open displays of affection. A short time after we returned to Whittier, Arthur complained of a headache. Arthur's condition deteriorated quickly, and the doctor was unable to find the cause. I remember my father coming downstairs. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. He said, "The doctors are afraid the little darling is going to die." Just before we left, we went upstairs to see our brother. He had asked for one of his favorite dishes, tomato gravy on toast; we brought some up with us, and I remember how much he enjoyed it. Two days later he died. The doctor said that it was tubercular encephalitis.

On his honeymoon. After we were on our way, we discovered that our friends had removed the labels from all the cans, and thus every meal became a game of chance. Several times we ended up having pork and beans for breakfast and grapefruit slices for dinner.

On the 1960 presidential campaign. We were faced by an organization that had equal dedication and unlimited money. led by the most ruthless group of political operators ever mobilized for a presidential campaign. I had been burned by the power of the Kennedys and their money and by the license they were given by the media.

On being a lawyer. I had finally come to the realization [in 1965] that there was no other life for me but politics and public service. Even when my legal work was at its most interesting I never found it truly fulfilling. If all I had was my legal work, I would be mentally dead in two years and physically dead in four.

On entering the White House. I slept only about four hours my first night in the White House, and was up at 6:45 a.m. While I was shaving, I remembered the hidden safe that Johnson had shown me during our visit in November. When I opened it, the safe looked empty. Then I saw a thin folder on the top shelf. It contained the daily Viet Nam Situation Report for the previous day, Johnson's last day in office. The last page contained the latest casualty figures. I closed the folder and put it back in the safe and left it there until the war was over, a constant reminder of its tragic cost.

On Eisenhower's death. The last time I saw Eisenhower was two days before his death. His doctor greeted me outside the entrance to the Presidential suite. "How's he doing?" I asked. "I'm afraid there's not much hope, Mr. President," he replied. I talked with Eisenhower for about 15 minutes before the doctor came in to indicate that I should leave. I could see that he was tiring fast, so I shook hands with him and walked quickly to the door.

It struck me that this was probably the last time I would see him alive. I turned impulsively and tried to keep the emotion out of my voice as I said: "General, I just want you to know how all the free people of Europe and millions of others in the world will forever be in your debt for the leadership you provided in war and peace." His eyes were closed as I spoke, but after a brief moment he opened them and lifted his head from the pillow. With an unusual formality, he said, "Mr. President, you do me great honor in what you have just said." Then he slowly raised his hand to his forehead in a final salute.

On going to Peking. "This is the most important communication that has come to an American President since the end of World War II," Kissinger said. For nearly an hour we talked about the China initiative--what it might mean to America and how delicately it must be handled lest we lose it. "Henry, I know that, like me, you never have anything to drink after dinner," I said, "But I think this is one of those occasions when we should make an exception." I found an unopened bottle of very old Courvoisier brandy that someone had given us for Christmas. As we raised our glasses, I said, "Henry, we are drinking a toast not to ourselves personally or to our success. Let us drink to generations to come who may have a better chance to live in peace because of what we have done."

On meeting Mao. Kissinger remarked that he had assigned Mao's writings to his classes at Harvard. Mao said, "These writings of mine aren't anything.

I There is nothing instructive in-- what I wrote." I said, "The Chairman's writings moved a nation and have changed the world." Mao, however, replied, "I haven't been able to change it. I've only seen able to change a few places in the vicinity of Peking."

On the North Vietnamese. Kissinger and [ completely agreed on the cynicism and perfidy of the North Vietnamese [negotiators]. Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, Kissinger said, "They're just a bunch of shits. Tawdry, filthy shits. They make the Russians look good, compared to the way the Russians make the Chinese look good when it comes to negotiating in a responsible and decent way."

On South Viet Nam. If we fail it will be because the American way simply isn't as effective as the Communist way in supporting countries abroad. I have an uneasy feeling that this may be the case. We give them the most modern arms, we emphasize the material to the exclusion of the spiritual and the Spartan life, and it may be that we soften them up rather than harden them up for the battle. On the other hand, the enemy emphasizes the Spartan life, not the material, emphasizes sacrifice and, of course, with the enormous Soviet technical help on missiles, guns, etc., they have a pretty good advantage.

On secretaries. We discussed work habits, and he [Brezhnev] told me he did not use a Dictaphone. I recalled that Churchill had told me that he much preferred to dictate to a pretty young woman. Brezhnev and the others agreed, and Brezhnev jokingly added, "Besides, a secretary is particularly useful when you wake up at night and want to write down a note." They all laughed uproariously.

On Brezhnev's driving. I presented him with a dark blue Lincoln Continental. He got behind the wheel. The head of my Secret Service detail went pale as I climbed in and we took off down one of the narrow roads that run around the perimeter of Camp David. At one point there is a very steep slope with a sign at the top reading, "Slow, Dangerous Curve." Even driving a golf cart down it, I had to use the brakes in order to avoid going off the road. Brezhnev was driving more than 50 miles an hour as we approached the slope. When we reached the bottom, there was a squeal of rubber as he ... made the turn. After our drive he said to me, "This is a very fine automobile. It holds the road very well." "You are an excellent driver," I replied. Diplomacy is not always an easy art.

On Rockefeller. I had a rather curious dream of speaking at some sort of a rally and going a bit too long and Rockefeller standing up in the middle and taking over the microphone on an applause line.

On Congress. I was a man of the Congress and I was proud of the fact. But by 1973 I had concluded that Congress had become cumbersome, undisciplined, isolationist, fiscally irresponsible, overly vulnerable to pressures from organized minorities and too dominated by the media.

Tricia on the last day. I took three consciously deep breaths to clear the light-leadedness that had struck me. One ... two ... three. I said aloud "Take three deep breaths." Mama, Julie did so. The Hall seemed overcrowded with humanity.

Platform ahead. Step up onto platform.

Find name marker. Do not trip over wires.

Stand on name marker. Reach for Mama's hand. Hold it. Applause. Daddy is speaking. People are letting tears roll down their cheeks. Must not look. Must not think of it now.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.