Scenario of the Shake-Up

Gerald Ford's Sunday shake-up had its roots in the very beginning of his Administration and was a belated attempt to deal with several high-level personality and policy clashes.

Even as Ford prepared to take over the Administration from Nixon in August 1974, some members of his informal "kitchen cabinet"--which included former Defense Secretary Melvin Laird, former Presidential Aide Bryce Harlow, former Pennsylvania Governor William Scranton, Michigan Senator Robert Griffin, and then NATO Ambassador Donald Rumsfeld--had some advice. They urged that Ford relieve Henry Kissinger of his job as head of the National Security Council to devote full time to his duties as Secretary of State. No matter how able, they argued, he could not do justice to both, and his dual role tended to "rupture the process" of policymaking. Ford, emphasizing the need for "continuity" in foreign relations, rejected their advice.

Also, when he was still Vice President, he expressed his personal misgivings about working with Defense Secretary James Schlesinger. He told the New Republic's John Osborne in April 1974 that if he became President, he might not keep the caustic Schlesinger in his Cabinet because he did not think the Secretary could deal with Congress. Ford, as well, felt uncomfortable with Schlesinger. But, apparently for the sake of continuity, he made no change.

As Ford's Administration progressed, Kissinger's two-hat burden and Schlesinger's abrasiveness became more troublesome to the President, and in a way, the two problems began to merge. Last March, when Kissinger's Middle East shuttle collapsed just as South Viet Nam and Cambodia began to fall, the Secretary lashed out at Congress for not responding with more arms and money for Southeast Asia. Ford's advisers again warned that Kissinger was overworked and overwrought. But rather than rein in Kissinger, Ford joined him in an unproductive attack on Congress.

At the same time, relations between Kissinger and Schlesinger, two strongwilled, independent men, grew tenser. They had been squabbling since the Yom Kippur War of October 1973, when Kissinger charged that Schlesinger tried to stall the massive resupply of U.S. weapons to the Israelis. A year later, Kissinger promised to consider sending Pershing missiles to Israel; Schlesinger, who had not been consulted when Kissinger made the promise, contended that reopening production lines for the missile was impractical. More seriously, they increasingly disagreed on detente, notably on just what concessions could safely be made to the Russians to gain an agreement on limiting offensive nuclear weapons (see box page 20).

Each suspected the other of using guerrilla tactics. Schlesinger aides complained that their boss would present persuasive views at National Security Council meetings chaired by Kissinger or send reasoned position papers to the White House, but because all national security proposals flowed through Kissinger, arguments were emasculated by the time they reached Ford. Kissinger assistants, in turn, claimed that Schlesinger would seem to concur in policy sessions, then disclose contrary views to reporters. At one NSC meeting attended by Schlesinger and some of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Kissinger threw a copy of Aviation Week on the table and, shouting, demanded to know who had leaked a story headlined SOVIET TREATY VIOLATIONS DETECTED. Schlesinger, a strong advocate of tighter measures to prevent cheating on weapons agreements, claimed not to know.

Sometimes Schlesinger did not speak out publicly but, according to some Ford advisers, conveyed his message through his two main supporters in the Senate, Washington Democrat Henry Jackson and New York Republican James Buckley. Says a Buckley aide: "Kissinger's office was keeping the book on Schlesinger. There was a minor industry in the State Department of putting the blocks to him." The suspicions were mutual. Early this year Kissinger told Nelson Rockefeller he was convinced that Schlesinger was out to get his job as Secretary of State. Kissinger and Schlesinger began finding reasons to skip their once-a-week scheduled breakfasts. The last was held on Sept. 12.

The impression of a divided Government became embarrassing to Ford. And he faced other problems within his Administration. Both Kissinger and Rockefeller were complaining about the way CIA Director William Colby was candidly answering questions by congressional committees about the CIA's assassination plots against Cuba's Fidel Castro, its failure to destroy potential biological weapons and its illegal snooping on the mail of domestic political extremists. Publicly, Ford claimed that Colby was carrying out his directions, as befits an "open" Administration; privately, Ford was irritated.

Above all, the politics of trying to discourage a challenge from Ronald Reagan grew urgently important to Ford. Finally, he moved to tackle all of those problems in a burst of decisive action. His maneuvering unfolded on the following eventful days: Oct. 16. Ford's unofficial group of advisers, who had been meeting periodically with him and a few senior White House aides for more than a year, held another of their straight-talking, "you've got problems, Jerry" sessions. Ford was told by Harlow, Laird, Griffin and others that he was not conveying a take-charge image in foreign policy. The conflicting signals on SALT and detente from Kissinger and Schlesinger were confusing the public.

Oct. 20. Schlesinger convened a press conference and scathingly denounced cuts of $7.6 billion made by the House Appropriations Committee in the Pentagon's proposed $97.8 billion budget for next year. He called the cuts "deep, savage and arbitrary." The outburst angered Ford, confirming his belief that Schlesinger did not understand congressional lobbying. It is one thing for a President to lambaste Congress; that's politics. But department heads are supposed to get along with the legislators who shape their budgets. Schlesinger, moreover, was seeking higher defense spending than even Ford wanted--and the committee chairman, Democratic Congressman George Mahon, was a close friend of Ford's.

That same day, Ford's 1976 campaign advisers, including Republican Senators Hugh Scott and Robert Dole and Ohio Political Pro Ray Bliss, met just after David Packard resigned as finance chairman of the President's election campaign. The disarray in the campaign worried them, and they sent word to the White House that Ford must start acting more "presidential."

Oct. 25. By now Ford had decided to move on all of this advice. Apparently consulting no one--with the possible major exception of his chief of staff, Rumsfeld--Ford had sketched out the shifts. Kissinger would have to give up his NSC post, which would be filled by his NSC deputy, Brent Scowcroft; Schlesinger would be replaced at Defense by Rumsfeld; Colby would lose his CIA job, giving way to George Bush. Ford apparently told no one when he planned to announce the new appointments.

The President summoned Kissinger, who had just returned from his trip to China, and Rumsfeld to the Oval Office. The two wary antagonists sat on a yellow sofa by the fireplace, facing the President. "I want to talk to you two about some thoughts I have," Ford began gently. He looked at Rumsfeld, told him that he wanted him to take Schlesinger's job. Rumsfeld, who told intimates later that the offer surprised him, said he needed time to consider such a big assignment.

Addressing Kissinger, Ford said that he must leave the NSC position. Kissinger too expressed surprise but, when told that Scowcroft would succeed him, raised no objection. The President only tentatively raised his idea of replacing Colby with Bush.

Oct. 26. Ford golfed with Congressman Mahon, who made no mention of Schlesinger's attack on the budget reductions. Mahon had defended the cuts in answer to Schlesinger, and the Secretary had called him later to explain that he had meant no personal criticism. Mahon seemed to brush off the incident.

Oct. 28. At his regular weekly meeting with Ford in the Oval Office, Vice President Rockefeller raised the sensitive issue of his future. He told Ford that he wanted to drop off the 1976 ticket and thus remove himself as a political issue. Undoubtedly relieved, Ford made no attempt to dissuade Rocky. The Vice President said he would submit a letter making his intention public, although the timing was not decided.

Ford's intention, however, was to have Rockefeller announce his withdrawal first and to reveal the other changes later. That would not only separate the political and staff issues but give conservatives a reason to be so pleased with Rocky's demise that the Schlesinger dismissal might seem only a sop to the party's moderates and liberals.

Nov. 1. At 8:20 on a Saturday morning, the red and white lights outside Schlesinger's Pentagon office were aglow. White meant he was in; red meant he had visitors (green indicates he is on the phone to the White House). His budget aides were with him, organizing arguments against the Defense Department taking as big a share of Ford's promised $28 billion expense reductions as the President wanted. At 9:45, the green light flashed; Schlesinger had called Ford to ask if he could explain some of the dangers of drastic cuts. Ford agreed.

At 11:30 Schlesinger met Ford and some of the President's top budget officials at the White House. The Defense Secretary was discouraged to find that Ford's men were insisting on sharp cuts by the Pentagon. As the talks continued, Schlesinger turned testy. He also brought up another matter: one of his aides, Robert Ellsworth, wanted to quit as head of the Pentagon's International Security Affairs Agency because he felt the State Department was ignoring his advice. Schlesinger suggested making Ellsworth a Deputy Secretary of Defense, which would place him on an equal, No. 2 ranking with the Pentagon's William Clements. Ford, who had already offered Ellsworth the presidency of the Export-Import Bank, was noncommittal. Although the cool meeting lasted for 90 minutes, Ford gave no hint that he planned to fire Schlesinger.

By Saturday afternoon, both the White House and the Pentagon started getting press inquiries about rumors of high-level shifts: Newsweek began inquiring about the possibility that Kissinger was losing his NSC position. Quite truthfully, Press Secretary Ron Nessen turned back initial inquiries with the comment, "I haven't heard about that." Schlesinger relayed through spokesmen his belief that no plan was afoot to scuttle him, since he had just spent time with the President and the topic did not arise.

The rumors messed up Ford's announcement plans. By Saturday night the inquiries were so persistent that Ford decided he must inform Schlesinger and Colby that they were through. "It was the humane thing to do," a top White House aide later explained. Presidential Counsellor John Marsh called Schlesinger to ask him to meet with Ford the next morning, without explaining why. He also left a similar message for Colby. Nov. 2. As Colby sat down with Ford promptly at 8 a.m., the President tried to be friendly. He conceded that he was moving abruptly in asking Colby to step down so quickly and implied that he realized this was going back on his earlier promise to let Colby retire with dignity and honor after the inquisitorial ordeal of investigations was over. He wanted to act now, Ford explained, as part of a reorganization of his entire national security team. Colby was offered the NATO ambassadorship, but declined. A professional to the end, the CIA director made no attempt to change Ford's mind. As Colby left, he saw Schlesinger waiting to enter the Oval Office. After explaining that Ford had just fired him, Colby said with a sympathetic smile: "Good luck, Jim."

The meeting between Ford and Schlesinger was not acrimonious, but both men were uncomfortable. Ford said he needed his own team, that he had to end the public feud between Schlesinger and Kissinger. He kept referring to Schlesinger's "resignation." Schlesinger was irritated by the repetition of the word. "I haven't resigned, sir, you are firing me," he corrected the President.

Ford told Schlesinger that he wanted Rumsfeld to replace him but that Rumsfeld had not yet agreed. Schlesinger was offered the presidency of the Export-Import Bank and, alternatively, the ambassadorship to NATO. He turned down both and left after 30 minutes --stunned. (Learning later that his job had been offered to others, NATO Ambassador David Bruce, 77, a distinguished career diplomat who has no plans to retire, was outraged.)

At Schlesinger's home in Arlington, Va., a post-firing wake turned into an impromptu party. Army Secretary Martin Hoffmann--who was a Princeton roommate of his new boss, Rumsfeld --dropped by. So did Colby and his wife, who seemed radiant at the prospect that her husband would soon be out of the harsh spotlight. General Vernon Walters, deputy director of the CIA, arrived with a box of chocolates and a battery-operated car for the youngest of Schlesinger's eight children. Schlesinger's wife Rachel cooked a 22-lb. turkey. Before carving it, Schlesinger asked: "Where do I apply for food stamps?" Later, as Colby left, Schlesinger clapped him on the back and said: "Who would ever have thought that Dick Helms would survive the both of us?" (It was under Helms, rather than either Schlesinger or Colby, that the CIA committed many of its much-criticized transgressions; Helms remains Ambassador to Iran.)

At the White House the President concluded his painful morning chores and flew off as scheduled to resume his meetings with Egyptian President Anwar Sadat in Jacksonville. But he had other unfinished business as well. He put in a call on the presidential scrambler telephone to Elliot Richardson, U.S. Ambassador to Britain.

At his office in London, Richardson stopped editing some proofs for a book on the responsiveness of government to the people that he hopes will be published this spring and took the ten-minute call. Ford ran through his list of proposed changes and said that Commerce Secretary Rogers Morton wanted to leave his job at year's end. Would Richardson be interested in that position? Another interim possibility was offered. (Richardson has not said what it was, but Administration sources suggested that he recently was sounded out for the CIA post.) Ford wanted Richardson to return to offset any distress among Republican moderates over Rocky's removal from consideration and to enhance another vice-presidential prospect.

Richardson asked for time to consider. He returned to his embassy residence in Regent's Park and talked to his wife Anne. Somewhat reluctant to move again and give up her activity with two British singing groups (including a Bach choir), she nevertheless was willing. Richardson tapped longtime associates by telephone. One warned that Ford was unlikely to win another term, so why should Richardson take up a lackluster post like Commerce in a failing Administration? Others advised that Richardson should accept the job to get back into the thick of the political action in Washington. Richardson decided to do so.

By Sunday afternoon, Rockefeller had prepared his letter renouncing a place on the 1976 ticket. He called Ford in Jacksonville to find out when to deliver it. Ford suggested that it be released at 3 p.m. the next day. Later on Sunday Ford became convinced that the rumors of the shifts, particularly the firing of Schlesinger, could not be contained. The President recognized that his plan for Rocky's announcement to precede the news of the Schlesinger-Colby firings was lost. To make the best of the matter, he decided to call a televised press conference for Monday night.

Nov. 3. Monday-morning headlines blared the Schlesinger and Colby firings. When Rockefeller reached his office at 10 a.m., an urgent message from the White House asked him to rush his letter over earlier than planned--by 10:30 a.m. The surprising Rockefeller withdrawal was immediately announced to reporters. By the time Ford went on TV at 7:30 p.m. E.S.T., the only real news was the substitution of Richardson for Morton.

Ford insisted that he had executed the shake-up on his own. State Department sources agreed that Kissinger, for one, had argued for nearly a week against the Schlesinger dismissal. Claimed another Cabinet officer about Kissinger: "Hell, he'd beaten Schlesinger on the substantive issues, and he still respected his intellect. But he can barely talk with Rumsfeld, and now Rummy's in Defense. Henry hasn't gained anything."

Yet there were solid doubts in Washington last week over whether Ford had acted alone in the not very astute scheme. The suspicions centered on Rumsfeld. His professions of surprise and reluctance seemed a bit overdone. When a visitor asked Kissinger whether Rumsfeld really had seriously hesitated about wanting the Pentagon post, the Secretary of State snapped: "Yes, and Richard Nixon didn't want to be President." It seemed obvious that last week's sensations have not ended the White House intrigues.

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