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Sunday, Nov 8, 2009
Ex-newsie Hughes knew how to enter a locked building, for sure. Yes, legally. No, don't ask how. He's not going to tell you. No way. Just forget about it.
Hughes arrived in Washington's DuPont Circle neighborhood at 6:34 a.m. By 6:35 he had obtained a copy of the New York Times via overt, legal channels. Only 25 minutes left to accomplish the dead drop by the 7 a.m. deadline. He reached for his pen and scanned the area for a flat surface that bore no evidence of DuPont Circle's pigeon over-population.
How had it come to this? What drove Hughes to these lengths? How could he work necessary background material into a narrative that was flowing like pigeon --
Flashback: Tuesday, June 18, 2002, 7:55 p.m. A message from Salon reader R. Prichard: "Have you read David Obst's 'Too Good to be Forgotten'?"
No, Hughes had not.
Another message: Obst "explain[s] that ... things in the book ["All the President's Men"] were fabrications that simply couldn't have been true -- such as the method of arranging meetings with Deep Throat."
It was then that Hughes realized that this assignment was about to suck him back into a place in his life he had just pulled himself out of -- the library.
As soon as he took Obst's book off the shelf, he realized something was terribly wrong.
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What the ...?
Hughes stared at the back cover of David Obst's "Too Good To Be Forgotten" with growing incredulity.
He read the blurbs -- the promotional quotes from famous authors. One was from Taylor Branch, the Pulitzer Prize-winning historian of "Parting the Waters" and "Pillar of Fire" who was completing the third and final volume of his epic biography of Martin Luther King.
What did Branch say about Obst? "Surprisingly lucid."
Surprisingly lucid? That's the kind of thing you say about Charles Manson.
"Doubtless the most compelling book," Branch continued, "about David Obst yet written in this century."
The most compelling book about Obst? More like the only book about Obst ... ever.
Obst received a scathing review on his own book cover. Obst chose to put this review on his own book cover. What did this say about Obst's judgment?
Hughes looked at the quote from P.J. O'Rourke: "David Obst is as crazy as the period he writes about."
That -- that was not good.
O'Rourke continued: "His stories make me both proud and ashamed to be part of his generation."
Proud and ashamed. A mixed review at best.
Opening the book, Hughes wondered what Obst could teach him about Deep Throat.
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It was worse than Hughes thought. Much worse.
Obst, Woodstein's literary agent, wrote that he was surprised that Deep Throat showed up in the manuscript of "All the President's Men," since DT wasn't in the book proposal.
Hughes wondered whether Obst was surprised that the characters of Woodward and Bernstein showed up in the manuscript, too, since their original proposal was to write about the criminals, not about themselves -- about what their sources told them, not about their sources.
Hughes was also surprised that Obst was surprised that Woodstein's hired researcher was surprised to see Deep Throat in the book. The researcher "had no idea where the character of Deep Throat had come from." Few people do. Woodward and Bernstein only told Ben Bradlee. It was, like, this big secret.
"I decided that Deep Throat must be a composite," Obst wrote. Must? Not might possibly? Hughes raced through the text, searching for Obst's reason. He could not find it.
As part of his investigation, Obst had called Seymour Hersh, the man who would be America's most famous investigative reporter if it weren't for Woodward and Bernstein, to find out whether composite characters were ethical. Hughes wondered why Obst called Hersh -- the third most famous investigative journalist after Woodward and Bernstein. Obst could have walked up to any decent 7-year-old -- Hughes thought of his nephew, who had just finished the first grade -- and asked whether it was OK to make things up and act like they're true. No, Hughes' nephew would reply, it is not. Hersh, America's No. 3 investigative reporter thanks to Woodward and Bernstein, also gave the right answer.
Hughes glanced at the back cover. Hersh gave Obst his best blurb quote, writing: "To understand this period, 'Too Good To Be Forgotten' is a must read." Hughes wondered why Hersh chose the word "understand." Hughes wished Michelle could be happy with the bronze.
Hughes had to admit, however, that Obst raised some very easy questions. About Deep Throat's use of the New York Times to contact Woodward, Obst wrote: "... Bob got his paper in the front lobby of his building. The papers were unmarked and stacked in a pile. How did Deep Throat know which one was Bob's? Moreover, how did Deep Throat get a hold of Woodward's paper?" Hughes could only imagine the difficulty of finding a copy of the Times -- especially in a building where there was a big stack of them in the lobby -- and of actually delivering that paper to someone in that building.
Obst asked how Deep Throat got into the building -- with a key from Woodward?
Well, Hughes thought, that's one way.
Apparently, Obst rejected this possible scenario, since he wrote that "poor Deep Throat would have to wait in the early hours outside Bob's apartment for the Times delivery man to arrive, politely ask him if he could borrow a paper, mark page 20 with his clock, put the paper back in the pile, and hope that Woodward would instinctively pick the marked paper." (Page 246) Have to? Wouldn't it be easier just to take any old copy of the Times and put it where Woodward might trip over it?
Hughes felt within him a growing determination to prove it could be done.
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June 22, 2002, 6:36 a.m. Hughes opened his newly acquired New York Times to Page 20 and drew a circle around the page number.
The marking process had raised questions in the mind of another author who, like Obst, concluded that Deep Throat was a composite. Adrian Havill, in "Deep Truth: The Lives of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein," wrote: "This author also doesn't know how Bob's paper could have been 'marked with a clock.'" (p. 79)
Hughes pondered this mystery. How, he asked himself, would Deep Throat mark the paper if he wanted to meet with Woodward at, for example, 2 a.m.? Hughes drew a circle on the newspaper page. Within that circle, he drew a big hand pointing toward 12 o'clock. Next, he drew a little hand pointing toward 2. Hughes felt this was one mystery that could be solved by him, by many of his acquaintances, and by some of the most intelligent residents of Washington's zoo.
Time was running out. Hughes had never been to Woodward's old apartment building. He had the address, but he wasn't sure exactly where it was. He thought it might be west of the DuPont traffic circle. He found the correct street and headed west. The building numbers went the wrong way as, apparently, did Hughes. Quickly, he reversed course. He crossed the traffic circle. On the other side, he soon located the correct street. This time, he went down it the correct way.
Time -- Hughes needed time to get into the building. He did not have some wussy key furnished by some well-placed connection on the inside who, like, wanted him to get in.
As he approached the target, Hughes reminded himself to clock exactly how long it took to gain entry. Little did he know that he would not have time to do so much as glance at his watch, because the moment he arrived at the door ...
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... out walked a blonde dressed for action -- physical action, if Hughes understood the language of tee shirts, shorts and running shoes.
The blonde was looking straight at him. She held open the locked security door.
For him.
Hughes was sure of it.
She waited for him to make the next move.
Hughes answered her unspoken message by casually extending his hand. As if he did this all the time.
"Thank you," he said.
Once Hughes's hand reached the door, the blonde walked out of his life forever.
6:45 a.m. Hughes was on the inside.
He looked up and saw a man behind a big desk and a little smile.
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The man at the front desk of Woodward's old apartment building remained silent as Hughes approached.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hughes spotted trouble. A binder open on the desk. A visitor sign-in sheet? Would he have to identify himself? He was so close. He had come so far -- farther than necessary, since he went the wrong way down that street. Was it all for nothing?
Hughes decided to face his fear. He walked right up to the binder.
