He is back among us. And, as always, in a memorable manner, both painful
and poignant, sometimes illuminating, usually self-serving. The once
too-familiar face of Richard Nixon re-enters the homes of America this
week for 90 minutes of dramatic television. The only U.S. President to be forced from office makes his first
extensive accounting of his tumultuous presidency. He does so not in a
court of law, as did his highest aides. Nor at a Senate impeachment
trial—he resigned to avoid that. Instead, nearly three years after a
helicopter lifted him off the White House lawn and into seclusion at
his San Clemente retreat, he appears in a four-part TV series, The
Nixon Interviews. One obvious reason: he will get $600,000 and a share
of the show’s worldwide profits. Another reason: his hope that he can
change the people’s perception of him, perhaps even resume a
responsible role in public life. For David Frost, 38, British show-business celebrity, talk-show host and
interviewer, who stands to make at least $ 1 million, the program
represents a coup. He outbid a U.S. television network and countless
other news organizations to sign the exclusive contract with Nixon,
then patched together a network of his own. Whatever the motives of the fallen President and the enterprising TV
showman, the historical perspective is extraordinary. For the first
time, Nixon is facing a lone inquisitor who is under no restrictions
on what he can ask about those presidential years. A public that may
have grown quite weary of Richard Nixon can hardly deny its fearful
fascination with, and continuing curiosity about, the man who became
and still remains America’s antihero. Confronted with the precise, tough questions on Watergate he had long
evaded, would Nixon continue to stonewall? Or would he break under the
pressure of so public a forum and the interrogator’s grilling? Would he
finally do now what he might have done some four years ago: admit with
genuine humility that he had conspired with his aides in a vain effort
to keep the scandal from destroying his presidency? Or would the
politically inexperienced Frost prove a patsy and let Nixon filibuster
with those same skillful diversions that always seemed to be answers
but never were? After 20 hours of an agreed-upon 24 hours of taping, from which the four
90-minute shows would be edited, there was real fear among Frost’s team
of researchers and production experts that Nixon had indeed snowed
their man. Those early tapings had ranged across Nixon’s tough Viet Nam
War policies, his attempts to stifle dissent at home, his pioneering
drive to reach out to China, his opening of the long road toward
strategic arms limitations with the Soviet Union, his peace initiatives
in the Middle East, abuses of power, and Spiro Agnew. Through it all,
the resilient Nixon sometimes ate up valuable minutes with long, dull
answers. But there were also many astute replies, carrying a ring of
self-assurance and authority. Declared one technician on the California
TV set after a Nixon performance: “If he keeps talking like that, I may
vote for him.”
