“The government at Washington does live. It lives in the pages of our Constitution and in the hearts of our citizens and there it will always be safe.”—Spiro T. Agnew, in a televised address resigning the office of Vice-President of the United States, October 10, 1973, after pleading no contest to one count of income-tax evasion
(Yes, the American government even survived Agnew and the man who chose him as a running mate, Richard Nixon—a pair who share the dubious distinction of being the only President and Vice-President to step down from office because of corruption charges.
Perhaps nothing demonstrates the shallowness and intellectual bankruptcy of American conservatives in the 1960s and 1970s more than their fervent embrace of Agnew. You have to ask—what did they see in him?
Given enough time, even if you don't agree with or particularly like them, you can understand the qualities in other past and present Republicans that struck a chord with the right-wing faithful: Buckley’s zest for ideological combat, Goldwater’s extreme candor, Reagan’s grandfatherly affability, Quayle’s puppy-dug peppiness, Palin’s cheerleader vibe, even Cheney’s 30-plus-years of experience in the executive and legislative branches, not to mention business. But Agnew?
Nixon’s D.H. (Designated Hitman) had only his multiple resentments, usually voiced in alliterations created by someone far more creative, speechwriter (later New York Times columnist) William Safire.
Anyone who got to know him well enough couldn’t stand the guy. Capitol Hill lawmakers resented his attempts to influence their votes. Nixon aides groaned every time he requested more office space, more face time with the boss, more responsibilities that he could later retail to the public to show he really was effective, in the event he ever decided to succeed the President.
Even Nixon, more often than not, didn’t have much use for “Ted.” As he looked nervously at his second-term prospects, he thought seriously of giving his Veep the ol’ heave-ho in favor of John Connolly, the Tory from Texas he lured away from the Democrats as his Secretary of the Treasury.
And then, Nixon noticed how well Agnew’s attacks on the media played with conservatives. This was a group that didn’t quite embrace Nixon as their own boy. Oh, Nixon wasn’t Nelson Rockefeller, but with his turn toward wage-and-price controls, his lip service to hot-button social issues such as abortion, even his creation of the Environmental Protection Agency (you can just hear them—another regulatory body?), he didn’t really have their hearts, the way Goldwater or Reagan did. Agnew could be his sop to this group.
Tricky Dick might have chafed at how Dwight D. Eisenhower had used him during his Vice-Presidency and how he had even tried to throw him overboard, but now he had to give it to the old man: Using the Vice-President to brush back liberals allowed the occupant of the Oval Office to stay seemingly above the fray while someone else did his dirty work. So Agnew stayed.
Until, that is, the long arm of the law began to catch up with him, and it was discovered that he had been involved in kickback schemes dating back to when he was a county executive and governor. Living dangerously, he’d continued the practice even after becoming Vice-President. Me, I never understood this: by this time, hadn’t Agnew been collecting so much money that people would begin to see he was developing a permanent stoop to bend down to pick up all that stray moolah that contractors were throwing at him?
In the end, Agnew decided to call it a day and plea bargain his way out of office—but not before delivering a speech that did him no favors. Glutton for punishment that I am, I read his resignation speech so that I could spare you the bother, faithful reader. Boy, what a trip, as they used to say in Agnew’s time.
He started the speech claiming he wasn’t going to resort to “a paroxysm of bitterness,” then fell immediately into that. He claimed that he’d been undone by individuals whose accusations hadn’t been “independently corroborated or tested by cross-examination,” but his own nolo contendere (no contest) plea negated that possibility. That plea, he said, was made to “still the raging storm” blowing at a time of war in the Mideast and Watergate at home – though any perception that he had committed this kind of selfless, patriotic act was going to dissipate the second that prosecutors released a 40-page document describing his corruption.
Agnew lived out his remaining two decades with the same lack of dignity he had exhibited during the Vice-Presidency and while leaving it. He’s the only Executive Branch official whose memoir reads like the title of a Mario Puzo novel (Go Quietly…Or Else). Ten years after resigning, the state of Maryland made him cough up $268,000 as reimbursement and penalty for his actions while governor. That, plus his disbarment, made it imperative that he find other employment—which he did a year later, by teaming up with John Mitchell and other Nixon honchos to sell military uniforms to Saddam Hussein. For two decades, he refused to speak to Richard Nixon, then showed up at his funeral—perhaps gloating that he’d outlasted his political master.
Once out of office, it seems, nobody had any use for him anymore—nobody, that is, except Frank Sinatra. The only reason I can come up with for why the most significant American entertainer of the 20th century offered friendship to the Vice-President of the United States was that the singer, too, resented the media and the liberal Democrats (especially the Kennedys) who no longer had any use for him.
Now, the Chairman of the Board could sometimes, in his interpersonal relations, be a bit rough around the edges, but you could also not ask for a more loyal and generous friend. Only weeks before the resignation, when Agnew was ready to throw in the towel, the singer had stiffened his spine so much that the Veep gave a thunderous speech to the effect that no way was he going. And now, when the evidence of his crimes was so overwhelming that nobody would give Agnew the time of day anymore, Sinatra not only helped pay off his legal bills, but made him a part of his entourage.
For a neat little vignette on this stage of the ex-Veep’s life, I recommend that you get your hands on All in Good Time, by Jonathan Schwartz. The great DJ of the American Songbook relates at one point in his elegant memoir how he met Agnew while out with the Chairman of the Board. Schwartz quickly noticed how the disgraced politico did nothing to disguise his visible appreciation for the DJ’s attractive girlfriend, coveting the woman, perhaps, almost as much even as he'd craved bullion in public life.
How characteristic—even out of the spotlight, Agnew retained his creepiness.)
Perhaps nothing demonstrates the shallowness and intellectual bankruptcy of American conservatives in the 1960s and 1970s more than their fervent embrace of Agnew. You have to ask—what did they see in him?
Given enough time, even if you don't agree with or particularly like them, you can understand the qualities in other past and present Republicans that struck a chord with the right-wing faithful: Buckley’s zest for ideological combat, Goldwater’s extreme candor, Reagan’s grandfatherly affability, Quayle’s puppy-dug peppiness, Palin’s cheerleader vibe, even Cheney’s 30-plus-years of experience in the executive and legislative branches, not to mention business. But Agnew?
Nixon’s D.H. (Designated Hitman) had only his multiple resentments, usually voiced in alliterations created by someone far more creative, speechwriter (later New York Times columnist) William Safire.
Anyone who got to know him well enough couldn’t stand the guy. Capitol Hill lawmakers resented his attempts to influence their votes. Nixon aides groaned every time he requested more office space, more face time with the boss, more responsibilities that he could later retail to the public to show he really was effective, in the event he ever decided to succeed the President.
Even Nixon, more often than not, didn’t have much use for “Ted.” As he looked nervously at his second-term prospects, he thought seriously of giving his Veep the ol’ heave-ho in favor of John Connolly, the Tory from Texas he lured away from the Democrats as his Secretary of the Treasury.
And then, Nixon noticed how well Agnew’s attacks on the media played with conservatives. This was a group that didn’t quite embrace Nixon as their own boy. Oh, Nixon wasn’t Nelson Rockefeller, but with his turn toward wage-and-price controls, his lip service to hot-button social issues such as abortion, even his creation of the Environmental Protection Agency (you can just hear them—another regulatory body?), he didn’t really have their hearts, the way Goldwater or Reagan did. Agnew could be his sop to this group.
Tricky Dick might have chafed at how Dwight D. Eisenhower had used him during his Vice-Presidency and how he had even tried to throw him overboard, but now he had to give it to the old man: Using the Vice-President to brush back liberals allowed the occupant of the Oval Office to stay seemingly above the fray while someone else did his dirty work. So Agnew stayed.
Until, that is, the long arm of the law began to catch up with him, and it was discovered that he had been involved in kickback schemes dating back to when he was a county executive and governor. Living dangerously, he’d continued the practice even after becoming Vice-President. Me, I never understood this: by this time, hadn’t Agnew been collecting so much money that people would begin to see he was developing a permanent stoop to bend down to pick up all that stray moolah that contractors were throwing at him?
In the end, Agnew decided to call it a day and plea bargain his way out of office—but not before delivering a speech that did him no favors. Glutton for punishment that I am, I read his resignation speech so that I could spare you the bother, faithful reader. Boy, what a trip, as they used to say in Agnew’s time.
He started the speech claiming he wasn’t going to resort to “a paroxysm of bitterness,” then fell immediately into that. He claimed that he’d been undone by individuals whose accusations hadn’t been “independently corroborated or tested by cross-examination,” but his own nolo contendere (no contest) plea negated that possibility. That plea, he said, was made to “still the raging storm” blowing at a time of war in the Mideast and Watergate at home – though any perception that he had committed this kind of selfless, patriotic act was going to dissipate the second that prosecutors released a 40-page document describing his corruption.
Agnew lived out his remaining two decades with the same lack of dignity he had exhibited during the Vice-Presidency and while leaving it. He’s the only Executive Branch official whose memoir reads like the title of a Mario Puzo novel (Go Quietly…Or Else). Ten years after resigning, the state of Maryland made him cough up $268,000 as reimbursement and penalty for his actions while governor. That, plus his disbarment, made it imperative that he find other employment—which he did a year later, by teaming up with John Mitchell and other Nixon honchos to sell military uniforms to Saddam Hussein. For two decades, he refused to speak to Richard Nixon, then showed up at his funeral—perhaps gloating that he’d outlasted his political master.
Once out of office, it seems, nobody had any use for him anymore—nobody, that is, except Frank Sinatra. The only reason I can come up with for why the most significant American entertainer of the 20th century offered friendship to the Vice-President of the United States was that the singer, too, resented the media and the liberal Democrats (especially the Kennedys) who no longer had any use for him.
Now, the Chairman of the Board could sometimes, in his interpersonal relations, be a bit rough around the edges, but you could also not ask for a more loyal and generous friend. Only weeks before the resignation, when Agnew was ready to throw in the towel, the singer had stiffened his spine so much that the Veep gave a thunderous speech to the effect that no way was he going. And now, when the evidence of his crimes was so overwhelming that nobody would give Agnew the time of day anymore, Sinatra not only helped pay off his legal bills, but made him a part of his entourage.
For a neat little vignette on this stage of the ex-Veep’s life, I recommend that you get your hands on All in Good Time, by Jonathan Schwartz. The great DJ of the American Songbook relates at one point in his elegant memoir how he met Agnew while out with the Chairman of the Board. Schwartz quickly noticed how the disgraced politico did nothing to disguise his visible appreciation for the DJ’s attractive girlfriend, coveting the woman, perhaps, almost as much even as he'd craved bullion in public life.
How characteristic—even out of the spotlight, Agnew retained his creepiness.)
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