Oregon daily emerald., July 23, 1973, Page 7, Image 7

More than you ’ll
ever want to know
about Ervin finances
By WILLIAM GREIDER
(C) 1973, The Washington Post
WASHINGTON—Now it can be told.
According to official documents ob
tained by the Washington Post, Sen. Sam
Ervin Jr., chairman of the Senate
Watergate committee, encountered the
very same problem in his 1968 reelection
campaign that plagued President Nixon in
1972—too much money.
The North Carolina senator, the
documents reveal, had so much money he
didn’t know how to spend it all. He was
fighting off contributors who wanted to
give him more cash. He was giving away
funds to other Democrats. He even made a
pro rata refund to campaign donors, 20
cents on the dollar.
But Ervin still wound up with extra cash.
Some folks wouldn’t take their money
back. So he sent the leftover money to a
church, a nursing home and a hospital.
Of course, campaigning in North
Carolina is considerably cheaper,
especially if your name is Sam Ervin. The
senator’s election financing, even counting
the leftovers, came to a grand total of
$30,931.92.
No wonder his eyebrows wiggle when the
Watergate witnesses talk about secret
suitcases stuffed with hundreds of
thousands of dollars.
Sen. Ervin also did not shred the records
after his 1968 campaign. Nor did he send
his campaign treasurer on a long vacation
abroad.
Instead, he filed lengthy reports with the
proper authorities, the State of North
Carolina and the secretary of the state.
The reports are available for inspection, if
anyone cares to know that Mr. and Mrs. E.
Russell Midkiff of Mount Airy, M.C., sent
$5, or that Harry Lee Orders of Glen
Alpine, N.C. gave $2 (and got 40 cents
back, in postage stamps), and so forth.
In fact, the Ervin campaign of 1968 may
be a classic case of over-accounting—
more information than the law requires or
anyone wants to know. But a careful
reading of the Ervin reports reveals
certain insights into how the successful
politician operates. For instance:
Sen. Ervin likes to start the day with a
hearty breakfast. The one he ate at the
Red Room of the Hotel Sir Walter in
Raleigh, N.C. on Aug. 18, cost $2, and he
spent $2.69 for breakfast at the Lake Drive
Motel in Chicago on Aug. 27 (where Ervin
was attending the Democratic National
Convention).
But he prefers a light lunch. One cost 50
cents at the Howard Johnson’s in Winston
Salem on Aug. 17, hardly enough to buy a
soda.
Ervin campaigns mostly by automobile,
accompanied by his staff aide, Rufus
Edmisten, as driver. They like to stop for
gas at Stuckey’s roadside stations (the
ones that sell the pecan pralines). Ac
cording to the documents, the senator and
Edmisten often share the same lodgings at
overnight stops.
Sen. Ervin, the documents also reveal, is
a moderately big tipper, especially con
sidering the spartan style of his cam
paign—a dollar to the bellboy at the Hotel
Sir Walter, $1.25 to the porter at the
Charlotte airport, $2at O’Hare in Chicago.
Lest anyone question his trip to Chicago
for the convention, the senator added a
footnote to explain those expenditures:
“Two of the contributors of amounts
largely in excess of expenses incurred by
the candidate in attending the Democratic
National Convention expressly authorized
the candidate to pay the cost of attending
the convention out of their contributions.’’
Ervin had three opponents in the
primary election that year and he received
$9,110 in contributions. That was a
problem which was to plague him
throughout the year—how to spend all that
money. He concedes in his own report that
he only managed to expend $3,346.08 by the
May 4 primary.
Still, the money rolled in for the fall
general election. Ervin gave $5,000 to the
State Democratic Committee. He gave $75
to the Drexel Community Fair, $25 to the
Young Democrats of Alexander County,
and $250 to the Watauga County
Democratic Executive Committee, as well
as other organizations of local Democrats.
These expeditures, as Ervin explained in
his lawyerly way, were “to aid in
defraying the cost of printing campaign
material, political advertising and other
activities tending to promote election of
the candidate.”
Still the surplus continued. He finished
with contributions of $20,931.92 which he
personally received. But he was unable to
spend $3,855.60 of it. Two campaign
committees set up in his behalf, one for the
eastern end of the state and the other for
the west, each got $5,000 from the
Democratic senatorial campaign com
mittee in Washington.
The Western committee, according to an
affidavit by its treasurer, Ben Whisnant
from Ervin’s home town of Morganton,
managed to spend all its money. The
eastern committee, according to its
treasurer. Jack Spain of Greenville, still
had $110.56 left on election day. So it sent
the money back to Washington.
One reason Ervin had trouble spending
money is that he did not buy any television
time during the whole campaign. The
Ervin strategy, it appears from the
documents, was uncannily simple. He and
Edmisten would drive down the road and,
whenever they saw some voters, they
would stop and chat.
In his own affidavit, however, senator
Ervin insisted that he did the best he could
to expend the funds. The report says:
“Although affiant (that’s Ervin) did not
solicit any campaign contributions for use
in his quest for renomination and re
election as a United States senator, and
although he declined to accept many
contributions tendered to him by sup
porters, various contributions were
voluntarily made to him by persons
sharing his political philosophy.”
That left him with a post-election
problem—what to do with the $3,855.60 still
on deposit at the Wachovia Bank and Trust
Co. in Morganton.
Senator Ervin sent refund checks to 111
contributors. However, he could not locate
on John B. Williams III, who was ap
parently an overseas serviceman who sent
$5. In addition, several checks came back
from the post office, marked “return to
sender.” Furthermore, six contributors
refused their rebates.
Senator Ervin disposed of the
money. Eight dollars to the First
Presbyterian Church of Morganton, $300 to
the Cornelia Dixon Nursing Home of
Wilmington, $350 to Grace Hospital of
Morganton.
His voluminous report does not describe
everything about the campaign however.
It doesn’t say, for instance, that the
senator won the election with 69 per cent of
the vote, defeating a Republican lawyer
from Salisbury,N.C., named Bob Sommers.
The report also doesn’t indicate the
Ervin re-election committee spied on his
opponent, but the senator’s aide, Rufus
Edmisten, assured a reporter that it did
not. “As a matter of fact,” said Edmisten,
‘ ‘we never did know much about the fella. ”
STOLEN KISSES
TUCS, JU.Y 24 . R|fl . \QO ?l.C. $JOO
5CNEWT FOR CANTERBURY C6NTPR
WealfuAern,^ ^
Cool summer i
Sample Garments
Ribbons
Near campus at
1128 A Alder
cottons
Buttons
Butterick
Patterns
V
f
Open 9:30-5:30 Mon. thru Sat.
German
AUTO SERVICE
VOLKSWAGEN
& PORSCHE
/dtrmtn
L_
DATSUN A TOYOTA
EXPERT WORKMANSHIP AND SAVINGS
2045 FRANKLIN BLVD.
Bos. Ph. 342-2912 Eugene, Oregon 97403
Cox’s new
shredder:
clean, quiet
By PETE BOWLES
<C> 1973, Newsday
WASHINGTON—Keeping up
with the times, the office of
special Watergate prosecutor
Archibald Cox has purchased a
shredding machine that, ac
cording to its advertising,
“shreds cleanly with a quiet
hush.’’
A spokesman for Cox, James
Doyle, said the machine, a Cross
cut 200 costing $620, will be used
to destroy “investigative
material which we no longer
need” that possibly could “affect
the rights of individuals” if it fell
into the wrong hands.
Asked if Cox was trying to stay
ahead of the competition—
namely former White House
aides who destroyed vital
Watergate documents, Doyle
said: “We certainly are not
planning to use the machine or
the burning to destroy evidence.
Any suggestion that we would do
that is ridiculous.” He said the
acquisition of the machine
represents “a serious effort to
eliminate the improper
disclosure of loose documents.”
A brochure on the Cross-cut
200, which is manufactured by
the Shred Master Corp. of
Freeport, L.I., boasts that it:
“turns paper into micro-bits
instantly!” It goes onto say that
the machine, which also shreds
microfilm, is “the ultimate in
security. It shreds paper into tiny
confetti-like bits...makes
everything completely
unreadable.” The Cross-cut 200 is
about 18 inchqg square and is
three feet tall.
V.
|Haldeman was'Welcome,1
iEhrlichman was* Wisdom 1
By MICHELE McLELLAN
(C) 1973, The Los Angeles Times
WASHINGTON—Secret code names have cropped up in
the senate Watergate hearings, but they are nothing new to
the White House. Their use to describe people, projects and
places can be traced at least back to the Franklin D.
Roosevelt administration.
It has been brought out in the hearings that such labels as
“Ruby,” “Gemstone” and “Sedan Chair” were used at times
to camouflage questionable activities.
But according to White House Deputy Press Secretary
Gerald Warren (also known as “Weightlifter”), such names,
or “voice call signs,” usually are devised by the Secret
Service and are used primarily for radio communication
when the President travels.
Most recently a name beginning with the letter “W”
denoted high rank in the White House staff. Under this sytem,
former presidential counsel John Ehrlichman was dubbed
“Wisdom,” and press secretary Ronald Ziegler
“Whaleboat.” President Lyndon Johnson’s domestic affairs
counsel, Marvin Watson, was also known as “Wisdom.”
In some instances assigned code names hardly resemble
the bearer. Stern, forbidding former White House chief of
staff H.R. Haldeman was given the name “Welcome.”
President Nixon’s code name has not been made public.
But the presidential homes are referred to by code, with the
Key Biscayne estate called “Sword Fish” and the San
Clemente home “Storm King.”
In the Johnson administration, the LBJ ranch was known
‘Volcano.” President Johnson, who had been vice
as
president in the John F. Kennedy administration, and Mrs.
Johnson retained their code names from the Kennedy years:
“Volunteer” and “Victoria.”
One Johnson staffer, a bachelor coded as “Wildcat,” used
to call the White House switchboard regularly for messages,
so the story goes. Didn’t seem to be too popular, and
following repeated calls, with no messages received, the
switchboard operator finally quipped: “No, Wildcat. And
from now on your code is Pussycat.”
During both the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, the
White House was called “Castle,” while the executive
residence area was “Crown”. The presidential plane and the
White House gargage were referred to as “Angel” and
“Carpet.”