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When U.S. President Lyndon Johnson unexpectedly announces in March of 1968 that he will not seek reelection, the Democrats scramble to find an acceptable alternative. They settle on the “stolid, predictable, no-nonsense” (6) Hubert Humphrey, Johnson’s vice president. The Republicans nominate Richard Nixon, who chooses little-known Maryland governor Spiro Agnew as his running mate. Chaos unfolds at the Democratic National convention, where Chicago police brutally suppress left wing protesters who fear Humphrey will continue the war in Vietnam. Meanwhile, Republicans see an opening to make law and order a central pilar of their platform. Despite violent protests near the site of their own convention in Miami Beach, FL, the convention itself is a tame affair, with Nixon easily winning the nomination over challengers Nelson Rockefeller and Ronald Reagan. His nomination of Agnew for vice president, however, is a complete surprise to the delegates, the press, and Agnew himself, about whom very little is known: “Spiro Agnew had gone from obscure local official, to fluke governor of Maryland, to the nominee for the vice presidency of the United States in less than six years” (12). Nixon, however, sees Agnew’s nomination as a “politically expedient” way to fend off a third-party challenge from former Alabama governor George Wallace. Wallace’s overt racism is a threat to the Nixon’s more subtle “southern strategy,” which seeks to increase political support among southern white voters by appealing to their racial grievances.
While Republicans frame Agnew as an honest and hardworking man of the people, the Democrats focus on his lack of experience. Agnew’s confrontational style of taunting hecklers, hippies, and protestors, plays well with the news media and his supporters. His occasional racist remarks and half-hearted apologies, while potentially damaging to an establishment politician, are on-brand for Agnew whose persona is built on his “outsider” status. To change his approach mid-campaign would be seen as weak and equivocating, and once in office Agnew’s temperament never changes.
While the scandal that forced Agnew to resign is largely forgotten, its legacy, had it not been overshadowed by Watergate, would “be remembered as the most astonishing and sordid chapter visited upon a White House in modern times” (17-18). There are two distinct aspects to the Agnew story: The first is the vice president’s obfuscation strategy of diversion, claims of a witch hunt, and victimhood—tactics which continue well into the 21st century. The second is the virtue and heroism of individual civil servants who perform their jobs with integrity despite threats from the highest levels of government.
In April of 1968, before Nixon has even secured the Republican nomination, the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. sends parts of the country into upheaval, including Baltimore which experiences “full-fledged riots.” As governor, Agnew responds with force, filling the streets the thousands of police, state troopers, and National guard troops. The riots continue for six days until Agnew convenes a meeting with African American community leaders. Rather than seek cooperation and conciliation, however, Agnew scolds the leaders, blaming them for the riots. The meeting is broadcast on live TV so Agnew can appear tough on crime. Despite widespread criticism for his disrespectful treatment of Black community leaders, Nixon appreciates Agnew’s “toughness” and sees it as essential to winning parts of the south against the upstart Wallace. Nixon’s instincts pay off, and the Nixon/Agnew ticket wins the presidential race by a narrow margin. Agnew becomes a rising star in the Republican Party, “a politician whose appeal to the conservative base would quickly outstrip even Nixon’s own” (25). Nixon’s knowledge of government—referred to as “wonkiness”—is a stark contrast to Agnew’s bruising, “flamethrower” tactics, which play well at rallies. Despite accusations of dividing the country, Agnew does not care, rhetorically demolishing liberals and political opponents with equal glee. His tactics earn him political condemnation and assassination plots.
Agnew’s harshest attacks are reserved for the press, who he believes treat him unfairly. He characterizes them as a group of “elites” who wield disproportionate power over the dissemination of news: “He was attacking the institution of the free press itself” (33). Nixon and many Republican legislators support Agnew’s attacks. With threats of government censorship looming and the Nixon administration, in an “unprecedented” step, requesting transcripts from network news commentaries on the Vietnam War, news organizations push back. Agnew, however, is unswayed, refusing to be “intimidated.” One result of Agnew’s attacks against elite, east coast journalists is a rise in antisemitism, manifesting here as a conflation of communism, anti-Americanism, and Judaism. Partly as a result of Agnew’s combative style (among a host of other factors), Nixon and Agnew win the 1972 presidential election in a landslide, and Agnew is touted as a frontrunner for the 1976 Republican presidential nomination.
Shortly after the 1972 election, the Watergate scandal begins to unfold, and Nixon scrambles to cover up his involvement, firing top aides H.R. Haldeman, John Ehrlichman, and John Dean. One casualty of the Watergate investigation is first-term Maryland Congressman William Mills. Mills becomes inadvertently tied to the scandal when his campaign receives a donation from Nixon’s reelection organization, the same organization paying out “hush money” to the Watergate burglars. Insisting he has done nothing wrong but unable to prove his innocence, Mills dies by suicide. Apart from the Watergate connection, Mills’s suicide also reveals the pervasive corruption not uncommon in Maryland state politics. Following that trail of local corruption are three assistant U.S. attorneys: Barney Skolnik, Tim Baker, and Ron Liebman. With a directive from Baltimore’s U.S. attorney to investigate and root out political corruption in Baltimore County, the team of young lawyers soon “gain […] authorization from a federal grand jury to blanket the county with more than two dozen subpoenas” (44). The subpoenas target several architecture and engineering firms who received large government contracts. Hoping to unsettle their “marks,” the team issues all of its subpoenas at once, to “try and give the tree as big a shake as we could” (45). A final target is Baltimore County itself, from which they demand two years of records relating to how government contracts were awarded. They soon find evidence of bribery and kickbacks that lead to Baltimore County manager Dale Anderson. The liaison between the firms seeking contracts and Anderson—the scandal’s “bag man”—is Baltimore County official, William Fornoff. Suspecting Anderson and Fornoff are the tip of the iceberg, the team of prosecutors vow to “follow the facts, to follow the money, wherever it might lead” (49).
As Maddow and Yarvitz chart Spiro Agnew’s unlikely rise to power, one dominant theme that emerges is the public’s yearning for strength and straight talk, no matter its degree of veracity or offensiveness. Agnew’s scolding of liberals and Black leaders during one of America’s most politically and racially divisive periods only earns him stronger support among his political base. These voters see social turmoil not in terms of inequity to be addressed but rather in terms of law breakers who need to be punished. Agnew’s unapologetic rhetoric, in which he blames community leaders for the violence without ever addressing the root cause, earns him both critics and fans—chief among the latter are Nixon and his speechwriter, Pat Buchanan. Buchanan sees in Agnew a brawler who understands the power of television, and Nixon, who famously lost the 1960 presidential race in part because of his discomfort with the medium, appreciates a V.P. who can manipulate it in his favor.
Agnew also understands the political power of divisiveness. Politics for Agnew is not a deliberative process driven by compromise but a battle of us-against-them. He believes it is a zero-sum game in which victory can only be achieved by obliterating the enemy. To Agnew, those enemies are liberals, protestors, and an elite, educated, and privileged class to which he believes will never belong. Agnew’s skill at firing up his base and pitting them against the rabble-rousing “enemies” of traditional, working-class America is formidable. Implicitly and explicitly, the author draws parallels to Donald Trump to show that such hardball tactics never go out of style, nor do they lose their effectiveness. Like Agnew, Trump—whose primary medium is social media rather than television—postures as a no-apologies tough guy. He positions himself in opposition to the supposedly weak-kneed liberals whose acknowledgment of America’s past crimes is seen as needlessly apologetic and even treasonous. Ironically, while Agnew, a son of Greek immigrants, was truly working class, serving in the military and putting himself through law school, Trump was of the very elite, East coast pedigree Agnew despised. Both politicians, however, demonstrate an intuitive understanding of the deep and resonant power of American mythology and the need of its citizens to believe in it. When liberals are framed not just an opposing party but an evil force hellbent on destroying everything that a country holds dear, it becomes very easy to win loyal followers.
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