Sailing to Oblivion: June 8, 2017

“At first, they don’t ask you to do anything illegal. It’s just complicated and the average person wouldn’t understand. The press would twist it. Best keep it under wraps.”

We were jogging, a close friend, who happened to be a legal scholar, and I. We had been transfixed by the Watergate hearings and each of us had just finished reading John Dean’s book Blind Ambition, the story of how he ended up in prison for four months on account of his role in the Richard M. Nixon administration.

My running mate was explaining how someone, even a brilliant young attorney, could become enmeshed in an ethical quagmire such as the one that surrounded the Nixon White House.

“Next, they say,” my mentor continued, “you’ve stuck with us so far, and we need your help now. It’s not illegal, so don’t worry. We just wouldn’t want the press to find out about it.”

My ears perked up and I paid closer attention.

“Next, they tell you that they appreciate the help you’ve given them so far, you’ve been a good team player and all. They’d like you to do something that’s not illegal. They just want to avoid any messy litigation that could result in bad press while it’s being resolved. Better keep it amongst ourselves.”

We stopped for him to tie a shoe and I enjoyed the brief opportunity to see the morning sun beginning to illuminate the eastern façade of our state capitol, a stirring sight. We started up again and I urged him first to slow a bit and then continue with his cautionary advice.

“By then,” he said. “you’ve entered into dark world of questionable legality. They remind you how valuable you’ve been and how they could beat any charges in court. They just need your valuable help one more time. These are some important and powerful politicians you're working with. You’ve gone this far so don’t let them down now.”

We began to climb the hill on Markham Street on which faced the schools for the deaf and blind, Arkansas landmarks. I struggled to breath, but managed to listen as he continued with, it seemed, no effort.

“Finally,” he said, “they tell you that you’re as deep into this as they are and you all need to stick together. It is time to ‘circle the wagons,’ so to speak.” He stopped talking and pointed for us to veer right and head up Kavanaugh Boulevard,

As we passed one charming house after another, he continued. “When the hammer finally falls, and it always does, you find out too late that you are the only one burdened with a paper trail and nobody now even knows your name.”

It was a brisk fall morning. The air was clean and fresh. I had my future ahead of me and I was ready. I was young, trim, tanned, successful, physically fit, and considered by some—at least by my wife—as not too hard on the eyes, the kind of young man who brings top dollar at a cell block auction.

The next week I walked off a job paying the equivalent of $115,000 per year in today’s dollars, much more in most states. As it turned out, I probably didn’t have to, but to this day, as we prepare to view the June 8, 2017 version of the so called “Watergate Hearings,” I’m reminded of John Dean, the uphill run on that fall morning, and the path I chose. I don’t regret a thing.

Sometimes the path to the
finish line isn't a straight one.