Big Dick Nixon Energy
Reading Nixonland stirs up some family memories, like the time I was a PA on Richard Nixon's funeral
I spent last weekend devouring Nixonland: The Rise of a President and the Fracturing of America by Rick Perlstein. I also made a pot of chili, but that’s neither here nor there.
If you don’t know, Nixonland is a big-ass book. It checks in at 896 pages, but I prefer audiobooks, so I spent thirty-six hours and forty-six minutes with Dick Nixon. The audiobook was narrated by Stephen R. Thorn, who also narrates the John Dies at the End books, which are billed as novels of “cosmic horror.” I can’t tell if the narrator casting was a happy accident, odd coincidence, or a subliminal effort to communicate just how unsettling it is to live your whole life in a Dick-shaped world.
Perlstein’s book is a sweeping political and cultural history of the modern conservative movement, from Nixon’s early days in Congress, where he out-McCarthy’d Senator Joe “Blacklist” McCarthy, to Nixon’s overwhelming victory in the 1972 election, when he carried 49 states and crushed Senator George “I just got rat-fucked” McGovern by winning 60 percent of the popular vote. Along the way, Perlstein has plenty to share about Nixon’s Machiavellian scheming, relentless work ethic, paranoid style, and the bowling ball-sized chip on Nixon’s shoulder, plus the politics of grievance, doing crimes, OG culture warrior shenanigans, moral panics, moral failures, and the utter shit-show that was Democratic Party politics of the 1960s. I told you it was a big-ass book!
I’m not a conservative, or a historian. But I am a curious dude who reads dozens of history books a year. I’m also a goofball, which explains why Christina was forced to endure my countless attempts to perfect my Dick Nixon impression. Pro tip: the secret is to slacken your jowls, summon as much loathing as your inner Sith Lord can muster, and say the quiet part loud.
Comedic opportunities aside, Nixonland did what good histories usually do—force you to reckon with the present in new ways. Nixonland certainly forced me to do that. I was born three years after Richard Nixon resigned, rather than face impeachment over Watergate. Dick was literally before my time. But reading Nixonland was like climbing inside a time machine.
From one chapter to the next, I watched as Nixon manipulated my parent’s and grandparent’s generations. Wedge issue by wedge issue, Nixon redrew the fault-lines of America’s political coalitions, while perfecting the bomb-throwing politics that are blowing up all around us at this very moment. If you haven’t already read Nixonland, you should. Ten out of ten, would recommend, as the kids say.
But you don’t come to Situation Normal for history, or politics, or book reviews. You come here for slice of humor. Which brings me to the meat of this post. Reading Nixonland stirred up some family memories, from my parent’s wedding, to the time I was a PA on Nixon's funeral. Here’s the story.
Part One: Nixon resigns, Linda & Larry get married
On August 8, 1974, at 9:01pm Eastern, 6:01pm Pacific, Richard Milhous Nixon, the 37th President of the United States, addressed the nation on live television from the Oval Office. It took Nixon sixteen minutes to announce his resignation, which was remarkable, both because the scandal-plagued President was finally throwing in the towel and also because the average American needs only sixteen seconds to quit their job.
Three thousand miles away, in sunny Los Angeles, Larry Estrin, who was on his way to becoming the world’s best sound man, and Linda Stern, a public school teacher, were trying to hold a rehearsal dinner for their upcoming wedding. According to family legend, Nixon’s resignation ruined the rehearsal dinner. I always laughed at that particular family story, but after reading Nixonland, I was inspired to do a little oral history. So I called my mother and asked her what she remembered about that day.
“It was a fucking mess,” Mom said. “We were trying to rehearse, but everyone was too busy watching that crook resign.”
“Wait, your rehearsal dinner was actually a rehearsal?”
“Michael, you know your father. To him, a wedding was a show, and since it was our wedding, it was going to be a huge production. I had a wireless microphone in my bouquet, for Christ’s sake. This was 1974, normal people didn’t know from wireless mics. But that’s your father for you.”
Dad loved wireless technology, and he really loved putting on big-ass shows, so that tracked. But I didn’t see why a 16-minute speech would be so disruptive. So I asked why they didn’t just do the rehearsal after Nixon resigned.
“We tried to,” Mom said. “But it was crazy. Everyone was talking about Nixon resigning. They couldn’t talk about anything else. See, things were very different in those days. Watergate had been going on for more than a year, and we kept saying, they’ve got to get this crook already, what’s taking so long?”
“Actually, that kinda sounds like the present.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“So everyone was super-focused on Nixon and the rehearsal dinner was sort of an afterthought, huh?”
“It was like we had all gotten together to watch this sonofabitch Nixon resign instead of a rehearsal dinner. Everyone was glued to the TV, everyone but your father.”
“What was he doing?”
“What do you think he was doing, Michael? He was on the phone, naturally. I think he was calling his friends at NBC.”
“Why them?”
“Well, at the time your father was doing a lot of work with NBC. Somehow, he knew, or he was told, that after he left office, Nixon would end up back in San Clemente, where he had a beautiful mansion, the sonofabitch. Anyway, your father had already done some very big shows by then, but he really wanted to do something with the President.”
“It was a life goal, a bucket list thing,” I said.
“Absolutely. Your father set his sights very high. But how do you get a job doing sound for the President? Who knows? We didn’t know. What are gonna do, just call the White House and say, I’d like to do your sound? I don’t think so.”
“So this was the closest Dad had come to date?”
“Yeah, he saw an opportunity to get, well not into that part of the business exactly, but closer to that business. Honestly, I think he gave his friends at NBC the gear for free. All those guys—they were all guys in those days—were supposed to come to the wedding, but they were in Orange County waiting for you-know-who to show up. We had to rearrange the seating chart, and we ended up having to pay for their dinners because it was too late to cancel. My parents were plotzing—you know what plotzing means, right?”
“Freaking the fuck out.”
“Right, plotzing. Anyway, my parents couldn’t believe people in your Dad’s industry lived like that. But that was life with your father—the would phone ring, and the next thing you knew, he’d be halfway around the world doing some show or big event.”
The next day, August 9, 1974, Nixon once again went on television, this time to bid farewell to the White House staff, and let’s be honest, lay the groundwork for his final act as an elder statesman.
Then Nixon walked out of the White House, crossed the White House lawn, and climbed the steps to Marine One for the final time. But before the chopper took off, Nixon, who early on in his career had learned that television could be a cruel and fickle mistress, left us with an iconic image that looked like triumph, even though we were actually watching his downfall.
Meanwhile, somewhere in San Clemente, Dad’s friends at NBC waited for the former President to return home so they could cover whatever news there was left to make. I asked Mom if Nixon held any media events after arriving in San Clemente. Like a witness testifying before Congress, Mom said she “couldn’t recall.” A cursory Google search didn’t yield any useful information, and Nixonland didn’t mention any public statements in the days after Nixon resigned.
Two days later, on August 11, 1974, Linda and Larry were married in a ceremony that took place without any interruptions for breaking news.
Mom and I talked some more about family memories, but after reading Nixonland I still had one nagging question about my parents.
“Mom, can I ask you something personal?”
“Sure. What do I care?”
I hesitated, not because I was afraid to ask, but because I was afraid to know the answer.
“Do you remember who you voted for in the 1972 election?”
“Not Nixon!”
What a relief! The Democrats of the ‘60s and ‘70s were a far cry from their New Deal predecessors, but watching Nixon work his dark magic, I couldn’t help but worry that his spells might’ve worked on my parents.
“I voted for… oh for Christ’s sake, what was his name?”
“McGovern.”
“Yeah, that’s it. McGovern. I voted for Joe McGovern.”
“George McGovern. His first name was George.”
“Yeah, well, his campaign was kind of a mess. But what can I say, at least he wasn’t Nixon. That probably should’ve been his campaign slogan.”
“But Nixon was really popular. He won forty-nine states. Forty-seven million people voted for him, compared to twenty-nine million for McGovern.”
“What can I say, Michael? People are idiots.”
“But what about Dad?”
“Was he an idiot?” Mom asked.
“No… well, I mean… did he… um… vote for Nixon?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Michael, Jews voted Democratic in those days.”
That was true. I looked it up. In 1940 and 1944, 90 percent of American Jews voted for FDR. Harry Truman won 75 percent of the Jewish vote in 1948. Jews sort of liked Ike, but as I learned from Nixonland, everyone liked Ike, who was so popular that both parties wanted him to be their nominee for President. Throughout the 1960s, Jews proved to be a reliable voting bloc for JFK, LBJ, and Hubert Humphrey. But in the 1972 election, McGovern underperformed with Jewish voters, garnering only 65 percent of the vote.1
“Mom, a lot of Jews voted for Nixon in ‘72.”
“Oy. It was the Israel thing. See, a lot of Jews only think about what’s good for Israel when they vote. I don’t agree with that mentality, and neither did your father. But what can I say? Some Jews are meshuga.”
“I get that, but do you think it’s possible Dad voted for Nixon for reasons that had nothing to do with Israel?”
“No.”
Mom’s certitude was comforting, but I had to be sure.
“Here’s the thing,” I began, “Nixon was a master of the culture wars. One of the things I took away from Nixonland was that he split the Democratic coalition. Remember the silent majority and those construction workers who beat the shit out of hippies?”
“Yeah, that was really terrible. I saw it on TV. Horrible.”
“Well, those hippies and those construction workers were both reliable Democratic constituencies, and OK, maybe they really were split over the war in Vietnam, but Nixon found a way to ratchet up the heat on culture war stuff.”
“Michael, your father didn’t vote for Richard Nixon.”
“But how can you be so sure? You didn’t know Dad in 1972. Before you met him, Dad was Don Ho’s road manager, and he was doing all those USO shows for Bob Hope. He wasn’t exactly working for team counterculture.”
“The first time I met your father’s family, your aunt asked me if I was a Democrat. I think she asked me that before we even sat down. I remember thinking: that was weird.”
“Except, maybe her question wasn’t all that weird in those days,” I said.
I explained that another thing I took away from Nixonland was just how traumatic the political volatility of that era was. People weren’t just peacefully realigning into the camps they occupy today. There was a lot of political violence, a lot of anger, a lot of broken friendships, and a lot of families split in half by the wedge issues of the day.
“When I was growing up,” I continued, “it would’ve been weird to ask someone about their politics. But that was the ‘80s and ‘90s for you. Back in ‘72, I get the sense that things were much more like they are today.”
“You know, I guess I never really thought about it that way, but that sounds right,” Mom said.
“So we can’t really say for sure who Dad voted for in ‘72, but you don’t think he voted for Nixon?” I pressed.
“Let’s put it this way: his family would’ve disowned him, and if I thought he had voted for Nixon, I wouldn’t have married him. Come to think of it, I guess we were all a little meshuga back then.”
I felt relieved. Mom’s answer wasn’t definitive, but it was as close as I was going to get to answering this particular question. Then another question popped into my mind.
“Hey Mom, what were you doing in ‘72?”
“Oh god. I was teaching elementary school in the San Fernando Valley.”
“Pacoima?”
“No, this was before Pacoima. This was the West Valley, which was pretty rural in those days. My students were mostly white and very poor. Their parents actually voted for George Wallace in ‘68, if you can believe that?”
“After reading Nixonland, I can believe anything about this country.”
“Yeah, well I was a young teacher, and I couldn’t believe there were George Wallace voters in Los Angeles. The guy was a segregationist for Christ’s sake!”
“I take it your students weren’t exactly McGovern fans in ‘72?”
“Fans? These kids didn’t even know there was an election. Their parents filled their heads with a bunch of racist crap, and to be honest, the school system wasn’t really interested in educating them.”
“Yikes.”
“You got that right. But I said, screw it. I built a lesson plan around elections. The basics like democracy, checks and balances, the Electoral College. They actually loved it so much I took them on field trips to the local campaign offices for Nixon and McGovern.”
“What was that like?”
“The Democrats weren’t great. They didn’t really have anything to say to the kids and when I asked if we could get some buttons or bumper stickers, they tried to charge us for that stuff. I guess they were broke.”
“What about the Republicans?”
“Believe it or not, the Nixon people were lovely. They talked to the kids and gave us tons of buttons and bumper stickers. I wanted to barf, but I just smiled.”
“Sounds like the Nixon people were well-funded?”
“Yeah, in retrospect it should’ve been a sign that McGovern was screwed. But the kids didn’t care who won. They were fascinated by politics. After they learned about the First Amendment, they staged a protest. I was really proud of them.”
“What were they protesting?”
“The cafeteria food. It really was awful. I remember they made some great signs and marched around the school. Then their parents found out they were protesting, and they went to the principal to complain about me.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“I was always getting in trouble at that job. But this was the worst time because the parents were calling me a Communist.”
“A Communist? For teaching their kids about democracy, civics, and free speech?”
“Yeah, can you believe that? But it was a different time. People were nuts back then.”
“Actually, it kinda sounds like 2022.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. What can I say? Nixon really did a number on America.”
Intermission: All the President’s Men
In 1976, two years after Larry and Linda were married, Warner Bros. released All the President’s Men. The movie was based on the 1974 book of the same name by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward, the two Washington Post beat reporters whose investigation into what seemed like a nothing-burger of a burglary ended up bringing down Richard Nixon. If you can believe it, the film, which depicts two handsome reporters pounding the pavement, drinking too much coffee, asking basic questions, and typing, grossed $70 million at the box office—a metric fuck-ton of money in those days.
The following year, in 1977, All The President’s Men was nominated for eight Academy Awards, including Best Picture. Dad did the sound for the Oscar broadcast (a gig he did for decades). Meanwhile Mom, who probably didn’t realize she was one month pregnant with me, sat in the audience at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, where she rooted for All The President’s Men to win. Unfortunately, the Academy voters picked Rocky, a story about an underdog boxer, over a film about two underdog reporters who worked their butts off to save American democracy.
But Mom wouldn’t be denied her fandom. A few months later, Mom was deep into her second trimester and stuck at home. She watched All The President’s Men over and over again on TV. Years later, she introduced me to All The President’s Men, a movie I’ve seen dozens of times. After I asked Mom about the wedding rehearsal fiasco and who she and Dad voted for in ‘72, we reminisced about one of our favorite films.
Mom is partial to the scene where Attorney General John Mitchell threatens Washington Post publisher Katharine Graham.
“You tell your publisher, tell Katie Graham she’s gonna get her tit caught in a big wringer if that’s published.”
My favorite scene is where Woodward and Bernstein complain that they haven’t had any luck yet, and Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee replies, “get some.”
Of course, none of this is relevant to the next part of my story, which is why I put it in the intermission. But as you stretch your legs, use the bathroom, or grab a snack, I recommend watching All The President’s Men. They don’t make movies like this one anymore!
Part Two: PA at a Funeral
Richard Nixon died April 22, 1994. Five days later, on April 27, his state funeral was held at the Nixon Library in Yorba Linda, California.
This time, Dad got the gig! And why not? He had already done the sound for the dedication of the Nixon Library in 1990, a gig he got by working on Reagan’s first and second inaugurals, as well as the 1988 Presidential Debates. The best sound man in the world had finally done what he only dreamed of doing back in 1974—he had broken into the big time of Presidential events. (Dad would go on to do every Presidential Debate until his death in 2015, as well as the inaugurations of George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton twice, and Barack Obama twice).
“Michael, how about you work with me on the funeral,” Dad asked? “I need a PA, and it’s short notice.”
I was a junior in high school, but by then I already knew the PA job well. Run errands, run fresh walkie-talkie batteries to the crew, and try not to run your mouth. At sixteen, that last one was sometimes a challenge for me.
“Is America really going to do a state funeral for Tricky Dick?” I demanded.
Then I rattled off just a few of Nixon’s sins. Red-baiting. Dog-whistling in Dixie to carry out his Southern Strategy. The Enemies List. Lying about his secret peace plan in the 1968 election. Expanding the war to Cambodia and Laos. Lying about the war again in 1972. The war on drugs. And of course, Watergate.
Dad could’ve pointed out some of the good things Nixon had done, like going to China, détente with the Soviets, the EPA, OSHA, and giving Hunter S. Thompson endless amounts of fantastic gonzo material. But instead, Dad patiently explained that it was important to honor a former President, even a disgraced one.
I don’t think I believed that then, and I’m not sure I believe that now. But I know my dad always felt that Presidential events—debates, inaugurations, and even state funerals—were about country, not party. In Dad’s mind, the content of any President’s message wasn’t nearly as important as the fact that an American President’s message was being broadcast live around in the world in stereo.
Not that Dad’s patriotism made a dent in my teenage cynicism. I agreed to be Dad’s PA because it was a day off from school, a chance to make a few bucks, and maybe witness a little history. Unfortunately, I don’t remember much about the day. Here’s what I do recall.
While we were setting up, I cracked some jokes about “bugging” Nixon’s casket for “old times sake.” Nobody laughed. Dad sent me to get donuts.
Later on, I got into a heated debate with some members of the United States Marine band about video games. I argued that Mortal Kombat II was better than Street Fighter II, but the Marines wouldn’t hear it. They did, however, eat the remaining donuts.
When the public arrived, I remember being shocked that so many people who didn’t even know Richard Nixon would show up to his funeral. The crowd was overwhelming conservative. They seemed to have a good day honoring their hero, but I did hear some grumbling about the high prices The Nixon Library charged for snacks and bottled water.
I saw U.N. Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali coming out of the VIP bathroom. Later, on the ride home, I probably annoyed Dad a lot by saying Boutros Boutros-Ghali over and over again because, let’s face it, it’s a very fun name to say.
Finally, for the first and only time in my life, I saw every living U.S. President—Clinton, George H.W. Bush, Reagan, Carter, and Ford—gathered in the same place. That felt historic, and pretty cool!
Unfortunately, I can’t call my dad to interview him about what he remembers from that day. So I did the next best thing. I searched for a recording of Nixon’s funeral on YouTube. There were lots of copies to choose from, including four hours of commercial-free, ticker-free CNN coverage. But I went with a different video of the funeral.
The video below is a master tape of the Nixon funeral. The camera is wobbly and the audio is unmixed. Viewers back home wouldn’t have seen this footage. Oddly enough, this copy is the property of The Clinton Library.
I spent a few hours with the video of Nixon’s funeral. I was trying to remember what teenage me would’ve thought of the event, but mostly I just thought about my dad and how hard he worked to give his kids backstage passes to history.
Eventually, I gave up trying to remember what teenage me was thinking. Instead, I thought about Nixonland.
Watching his funeral on YouTube, I had to hand it to Nixon. The poor Quaker kid from Orange County had come a very long way. At various points in Nixon’s career, many of the attendees at his funeral had sought to defeat him, but here they were honoring him. And if they weren’t shedding any tears at his passing, their presence gave Nixon what he had always sought: respect.
To me, Senator Bob Dole nailed it when he credited Nixon with being a generation ahead of everyone else in politics, adding, “I believe the second half of the 20th century will be known as the Age of Nixon.” I suspect Nixonland author Rick Perlstein would cosign that and perhaps add that Nixon has shaped much of the 21st century too.
I groaned when California Governor Pete Wilson talked about working as young aide for Nixon, then credited his old boss with convincing him to run for Congress. If you don’t know, Wilson was the face of California’s Prop 187, a vicious 1994 anti-immigrant law that bigots continue to use as their model to this day.
Then I watched Bill Clinton eulogize Richard Nixon. Some people like to say history repeats itself. Others like to say history doesn’t repeat itself, but sometimes it rhymes. I don’t know if either of those aphorism are true. But watching the only President with hippie bona fides praise the counterculture’s arch nemesis showed me that, at the very least, history has one hell of a sense of humor.
Stick around and chat about the story!
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I really enjoyed Nixonland. Is there a history book you’re fond of?
Talking to my mom about what she was doing in 1972 was an eye-opener. If you were around in ‘72, what were you up to?
What do you think: does history repeat itself, does it rhyme, or is history’s sense of humor some next-level shit?
Are you a fan of All the President’s Men, or do you hate cinema?
According to Christina, my Nixon impression is “OK.” Can you do any impressions of political figures? What’s the trick to your impression?
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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Jews_in_politics#:~:text=In%201960%2C%2083%25%20voted%20for,a%20Protestant%20with%20Jewish%20roots.
Great post! You'll love the sequel, "The Invisible Bridge." Tells...the rest of the story.
In 1972, I was 10 years old and incredibly embarrassed that our car sported a "Nixon now more than ever" bumper sticker. My dad was a staunch anti-Communist having had to run from the Russians and leave his native home of Hungary, so he supported Nixon. It wasn't cool in the neighborhood to be a Nixon-supporter and one day we came out to find that someone had taken a knife to the bumper sticker and torn it up. So I agree, things are pretty similar now.