ALVIN SNYDER

My Selected Works

The Mary Poppins department of government. The Washington Post
A first-person account on how the world was told about the downing of this flight. The Washington Post.
Before TV satellites, Nixon surrogates were sent packing to Peoria, Bozeman, and Duluth, to spread the word. The Christian Science Monitor
Cuban Americans Are Best Equipped To Duke It Out With Castro. The Miami Herald.
Books
An insider's perspective during the crucial years of the Cold War, from the front lines of pitched battles with the Soviets to win hearts and minds.
Magazine Article
Newpaper Articles
The U.S. plays "Hugger-Mugger" during the Cold War. The Washington Post.
Newspaper Article
The terms "au pair" and "nanny" are not interchangeable. The Washington Post.
It was an ugly two weeks for TV News The Washington Post
With each new administratiion, the White House Office of Communications grows ever larger and seemingly less effective Scripps-Howard News Service
Knight-Ridder News Service
Newpaper Article
The U.S. itself is not an equal opportunity employer The Christian Science Monitor

TV Guide Article
President Nixon's
Resignation

TV Guide Article by Alvin Snyder 8/6/94. Depicted above are two pages of the four page article. The full text of the article follows:

The Final Minutes
A White House insider’s intimate look
at a vividly historic moment as
Richard M. Nixon resigns the Presidency
By Alvin Snyder
TV GUIDE August 6, 1994

In a small room adjoining the White House Oval Office, Lillian Brown was preparing to put a second application of makeup on Richard Nixon’s face because the accumulation of salt from his tears was giving her a problem. Tears began to well up again in Nixon’s eyes. They were wet and pink and had deep circles under them. In less than 15 minutes he would go on television, at 9 P.M./​ET, Aug. 8, 1974, to announce his resignation as President of the United States. It was 20 years ago this week. I was there in my capacity as special assistant to the President and television consultant for the Nixon family.

“Mr. President, do you want to wait for a moment?” Lillian asked. Nixon closed his eyes and reclined in his chair. “Let’s get on with it,” he answered.

He talked about his daughters, Julie and Tricia. It seemed to put his mind at rest. He said how much he liked to walk on the beach at San Clemente. “It will be good getting back to California,” he sighed.

Nixon was proud of his girls. He had once gotten angry when the CBS News program 60 Minutes failed to carry a full hour of Tricia’s TV tour of the White House. He didn’t know that Tricia ducked out early from the taping because she had a date that night in New York with her fiance, Edward Cox.

The President walked into the Oval Office at 8:53 P.M., with aide Stephen Bull, Secret Service agent Richard Keiser, and White House photographer Ollie Atkins trailing behind. Nixon was calm, almost serene, and emotionally drained. His dark-blue suit jacket was wet under the arms with perspiration, but he seemed now to be in control of the moment. The White House press office still had not officially disclosed the nature of the President’s speech.

“Hey, you’re better looking than I am,” he said to one of the TV cameramen as he sat down behind his desk. “Blonds, they say, photograph better than brunettes. That’s true? You are blond, aren’t you?”

“No sir,” responded the cameraman.

I walked over to his side to introduce the CBS News pool producer, who would be responsible for providing the President’s speech to all the TV and radio networks that evening. “Mr. President, this is Bill [Headline] from CBS, and he will...”

“I know, alright,” Nixon interrupted softly. “Yes, I know. Have you got an extra camera in case the lights go out?” he quipped.

Lillian came over to peer at Nixon under the television lights. She dabbed his forehead and eyes with a tissue, dusted the spots with a powder brush, and checked his upper lip, where she had earlier applied a specially prepared antiperspirant to keep him dry under the hot television lights. It hadn’t worked too well in the past.

Nixon turned to me. “Can we get these [TV] lights properly?” he asked, looking straight ahead, putting up his right hand to shade his squinting eyes. “I…my eyes always have….You’ll find when they get past 60…”

A CBS technician turned the lights slightly to cut down the glare. “That’s enough,” said the President. “Thanks.”

The photographer, Atkins, bounded from one corner of the room to another, snapping pictures in rapid succession.

“My friend Ollie always wants to take a lot of pictures of me. I’m afraid he’ll catch me picking my nose,” said the President in a mock Southern drawl.

“Now you can take a long shot,” Nixon suggested to Atkins. “But that’s enough right now.”

As the President’s TV consultant, I checked his overhead lamp to be certain the script was well-illuminated. “Yes, I can see it,” he said.

Headline asked Nixon to talk into the microphone. “Oh, you want a level, don’t you?” Nixon asked. He became serious, reading now from his resignation speech.

“Good evening. This is the 37th time I have spoken to you from this office in which so many decisions have been made that shape the history of our nation.” He looked up from the script and winked with a smile. “Need any more?”

“Please.”

“Each time I have done so to discuss with you some matters that I believe affected the national interest…OK?”

“That’s fine, fine,” said Headline.

Ordinarily he would have his stage manager cue the President to start speaking. Headline would do it himself on this historic night.

He looked for a visual symbol to hold in his hand and fished out an expense reimbursement check from his jacket.

As airtime quickly approached, the President wanted the room cleared. “Only the CBS crew will be in the room during the this,” Nixon ordered, sweeping his left hand across his chest. “Only the crew.”

Atkins asked if he could come back after the speech to take his standard official photograph.

"No, no, there will be no picture,” snapped the President. “Not after the broadcast. You’ve taken your picture.”

Atkins appealed with body language for just one more shot. Nixon relented.

“Just take it right now,” said Nixon. “This is right after the broadcast, got it?”

“Watch the TV camera, sir,” Nixon looked up. Atkins snapped several more pictures.

“I’m not going to make the other photographers mad by giving you too many,” Nixon said. “Now that’s enough, OK?”

Secret Service agent Keiser had no intention of leaving the room and did not wish to provoke a confrontation. He was doing his best to hide from Nixon’s view behind a TV camera.

Nixon scanned the room, but it was difficult to see anyone standing behind the lights. “Is there any Secret Service in the room?”

“Just one, Mr. President, answered Bull.

“Out!” Nixon snapped, waving his arm. Keiser stepped out from behind the TV camera in full view of the President.

“You don’t have to stay, do you?” asked Nixon.

“Yes, sir,” replied Keiser, firmly.

“You’re required to?”

“Yes, sir.”

Once again laughing, the President responded, “I’m just kidding you.” Nixon stood up and walked over to the side of his desk to stretch his legs.

“One minute and a half to air,” I said.

On his way out of the Oval Office, Nixon’s press secretary, Ronald Ziegler, turned to Headline to whisper an appeal. “Because of the nature of this event, please try to be as kind to the President as you can with your cameras,” said Ziegler. Headline thought that was a meaningless request, because regardless of how anyone might have felt about Nixon, a great human tragedy was taking place, and it was an emotional moment for everyone participating in the event.

Bull reminded Nixon not to hit the microphone with the script when he turned the pages. “They’d like you to move the pages away from the microphone,” cautioned Bull.

“Well, if I can,” laughed Nixon.

Not a word was spoken for the next one minute and 15 seconds.

Keiser stared at Nixon. Here he was trying to protect the President, he mused, but there was Nixon suffering the greatest hurt of his life, and Keiser could do nothing to help him.

“Five seconds. Stand by.”

Headline raised his right hand, his expense check clutched tightly in it. He lowered to cue the President.

“Good evening. This is the 37th time I have spoken to you from this office…”

I quietly opened a side door, and Headline and I slipped out.

Nixon seemed to grow stronger as his speech progressed. The familiar beads of perspiration did not break out on his upper lip, even as he got the most difficult thing he ever had to say: “I shall resign the Presidency effective at noon tomorrow.” In the CBS News control room, normally filled with gallows humor, there was dead silence, broken only by a gasp from one of the crew members.

As we reentered the Oval Office after the speech, Nixon was walking slowly out of the room. He paused and turned around to say good-by.

“Have a Merry Christmas, fellas,” he said wearily. It was August.

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