Resignation
Posted on February 1, 2023 by Alan Brickman
That summer, it seemed all Roger and Julie did was watch the hearings, sometimes twice because they were rebroadcast each evening, and argue about everything else. At times, it felt as though the only thing holding their relationship together was the pleasure they shared at watching the downfall of Richard Nixon. As much as they wanted to, they could not quite feel joyful watching Nixon's henchmen, alternately comic and scary, get grilled about their stupid break-in and all the attendant lying, hush money, obstruction of justice, and what was revealed to be years of paranoid vindictive criminality, while the Republicans on the Committee tried gamely–and unsuccessfully–to maintain some shred of integrity, while not becoming unduly tainted themselves in the process.
“You know,” said Roger to Julie, who for some reason was sitting as far away as she could on the other end of the couch in Roger's living room, “If it wasn't for these hearings, we'd have no idea of the ridiculous number of psychopaths Nixon surrounded himself with. And with Himmler and Eichmann right in the middle of everything.”
Julie was half listening, and after a few seconds said, “What? That's not their names! It's… It's … Haldeman, I know that one. But who's the other one? Erhlichman, right? Something like that.”
“No,” said Roger, smiling and trying to extend his joke. “They found a bunch of old Nazis hiding out in South America who were excited about the chance to work in the Nixon administration. I was surprised that Himmler was still alive.”
“Ha, ha” said Julie, “Hilarious. Nazi jokes, just terrific.”
“Hey, it's Nixon we're talking about, remember? Him and Kissinger, John Mitchell, the rest of 'em. They're all Nazis. It's like the Fourth Reich!” He shifted his weight on the couch and turned to look straight at Julie, who was not smiling. “Is something wrong?”
“Not really, I'm just tired.” She pointed at the television. “And I guess all this is just depressing, watching American democracy, you know, fair elections and the rule of law, go right down the drain. And I don't appreciate all your juvenile little jokes about it.” She shook her head and looked at the floor.
“Come on,” said Roger, deciding to ignore the “juvenile jokes” remark. “The system is working, isn't it? The morons at the break-in got caught, the cover-up's been exposed, and the longer the hearings go on, the worse it looks for all of 'em.”
“Maybe,” Julie said with a shrug.
But then over the coming few weeks, the system did seem to work. The articles of impeachment, the indictments, and at last, just tonight, August 8, 1974–they should make it a national holiday–Nixon's self-serving and self-pitying resignation speech, with him stepping down effective tomorrow. When Roger saw it on the news, he hurried to Julie's house and banged on her door. “Julie, did you hear?! Nixon resigned! Two steps ahead of the sheriff. The impeachment sheriff!” He was breathing hard. “Come on, there are celebrations all over town, people are pouring into the streets. Let's go!”
Julie was not in a celebratory mood, but acquiesced, knowing this was a historically
significant moment. They figured the best place to go would be “The People's Republic
of Cambridge” so they headed to Harvard Square. It's impossible to park there on a
good day, and when they turned off Memorial Drive, they could only inch along because
the streets
were jammed with people jubilant about the news. There were signs, costumes, drums,
guitars, singing, fireworks. It took Roger and Julie almost an hour to get through
the Square, and they ended up parking somewhere in North Cambridge and walked down
Mass. Ave. and through the Cambridge Common.
In the middle of the park, they ran into Roger's three closest friends. George was dressed as Uncle Sam and was carrying a pitchfork. Steve was carrying a sign that said, “Nattering Nabobs of Negativism Say Yes to Impeachment!” Josh had his Nikon camera and was photographing everything. Roger hadn't seen his friends in a long time–too long, he thought–in large part because Julie didn't really like any of them, and they didn't much like her either.
George was acting crazy, and was probably drunk. “Roger!” he yelled, then turned to Julie and nodded grudgingly. “Fuckin' Tricky Dick bites the dust, right?!” He waved his arm at the crowd. “And the people rejoice! I love it.”
Steve said to Josh, “Come on, take a picture.” They all gathered for the shot, jostling each other and laughing. Julie stayed at the edge of the frame, scowling.
Roger was elated, shaking hands and hugging people, chanting and singing along, throwing his arms up in the air and cheering. The Common was getting more and more crowded. Julie remained dour and was starting to get angry. She pulled Roger aside at one point and said, “I'm not into this. I want to go home.”
“Well I don't,” said Roger, sounding more annoyed than he was. “Look, here are my keys. Take the car and I'll catch up with you later.” She snatched the keys in a quick motion. Roger leaned in to give her a kiss but she turned away and walked out of the park.
George saw this exchange and put his arm around Roger's shoulders. “Fuck her,” he said.
“Come on, George. I know you don't like her, but she's my girlfriend.”
“Okay, okay,” said George. “Let me put it another way. Fuck her and the horse she rode in on.” He slapped Roger on the back. “Let's hang here for a while, then go back to my house and get stoned. Or should I say more stoned.”
They stayed in the park until after midnight. Someone started a bonfire and that's when the cops moved in and broke things up. Roger and his friends walked back to George's house, which was on the other side of the Square, just past the high school. They smoked pot and drank beer, and, because George had taped Nixon's speech, they played it over and over, and it became more pathetic but also funnier with each viewing. At one point, all four of them, now very drunk and very stoned, recited Nixon's words along with him, and fell on the floor laughing.
Roger got in a cab as the sun was coming up, and dropped into bed as soon as he got
home. He slept fitfully for a few hours, then got up and cooked himself breakfast.
Sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and eggs, he turned on the TV with the sound
off and called Julie. The news showed Nixon getting in a helicopter on the White House
lawn. He had
his arms raised in that spastic-looking V with his shoulders hunched. Julie picked
up.
“So, how long did you hang out with your idiot friends? Lemme guess. When you left the park, you went back to George's and got stoned.”
“No,” said Roger. “We caught a late flight to D.C. to meet with Gerald Ford to make sure he has at least one clue about what to do when he's sworn in. Not a genius, that one. We're at the White House now, they're putting Nixon on a helicopter, probably taking him to an asylum somewhere to convalesce.”
Julie was silent for a few seconds. “Is this all just funny to you, Roger? One big goof?”
“Hey Julie, lighten up, will ya'. The Nixon White House is now officially a thing of the past, and I'm happy about it. I was under the impression you were too.”
“You know what?” said Julie, her voice ice cold. “I think you'd like it in Nixon's White House more than you think. You have your own little Committee to Re-Elect the President with your friends. George is your G. Gordon Liddy. Loud, macho, self-important, cruel. And Steve? Remember that time he took the cash off my dresser? Taking money just like Spiro Agnew. I wouldn't trust either of them as far as I could throw 'em.”
“Hey,” said Roger. “He was broke and desperate at the time, and he copped to it and paid you back.”
“So what?!” said Julie. “An untrustworthy little shit, just like Agnew. Josh is always taking photos and asking too many questions like he's with the FBI. Plus, he's a shameless gossip who never respects confidence. In other words, he's your John Dean. And I have no doubt he'd rat you out in a heartbeat, Mr. President.”
“So I'm Nixon in your little formulation? Thanks a lot. And who are you, Sam Ervin? Howard Baker? Or better yet, the Judiciary Committee, ready to impeach my ass?”
“Maybe. Look, I'm about to go out, but you know what, Roger? I'm not really sure at this point why you and I are still together.”
“Look, Julie, I don't know where this is coming from or what your problem is, but I'm hanging up now so you can take some time and figure out what you want. I'll call you later.” Click.
Roger instinctively knew that this was just the set up and that she was planning to break up with him. He decided right then he'd beat her to the punch.
He had to admit their relationship had been pretty unsatisfying for some time. And he thought it was funny that he would actually have the chance to be like Nixon and “resign” before being “impeached.” He waited about half an hour to make sure she'd be out and dialed her up again. When the answering machine came, on he left the following message: Good evening. This is the 37th time I have spoken to you from this office, where so many decisions have been made that shaped the history of this nation. Throughout this long and difficult period, I have felt it was my duty to persevere, to make every possible effort to complete my term as your boyfriend. In the past few days, however, it has become evident to me that I no longer have a strong enough political base to justify continuing our relationship. I would have preferred to carry through to the finish, but the interest of the nation must always come before any personal considerations.
I have never been a quitter. To leave a relationship before my term is completed is abhorrent to every instinct in my body. To continue to fight through the months ahead for my personal vindication would almost totally absorb the time and attention of both of us. Therefore, I shall resign from our relationship effective at noon tomorrow. In turning over direction of the relationship to a new boyfriend of your choosing, I know that you will be in good hands. I also do so with a profound sense of the weight of responsibility that will fall on his shoulders, and the understanding, patience, and cooperation he will need from all Americans.
So, let us all now join together in affirming our commitment to helping your new boyfriend succeed for the benefit of the nation. In leaving, I do so with this prayer: May God's grace be with you in all the days ahead.
Roger hung up the phone and looked into the mirror on the far wall. He raised his arms in a V and hunched his shoulders. He tried to scowl, but he couldn't stop smiling.