J.
Edgar Hoover, civil libertarian? According to one of his top aides, yes.
For
a time in the 1960s, Cartha DeLoach was the third-ranking executive in the
Federal Bureau of Investigation, and the Bureau’s point man with the White
House. Watching his boss dicker with President Lyndon B. Johnson on what the
FBI could and couldn’t do under the Constitution was for DeLoach both
instructive and edifying:
If one great story about the FBI in Hoover’s day remains untold, it is that a titanic war was being waged over whether the FBI would be turned into a partisan national police department. And in almost every case the man defending the Constitution and trying to limit the powers of the bureau was J. Edgar Hoover and the people trying to politicize the bureau were the politicians – from moderate conservatives such as Richard Nixon to liberal icons such as Bobby Kennedy (who as attorney general never saw a wiretap he didn’t like), and of course LBJ.
Hoover’s
FBI
doesn’t quite get around to telling this story; other FBI anecdotes draw more
attention. But it does give one a flavor for the book as a whole, as spirited a
defense of Hoover’s public service as you are likely to find – outside of
Hollywood hagiographies made to burnish the Director’s ego when he was still
alive.
Whether
you find his take credible or not, DeLoach’s book offers insight as to what
people running the Bureau were thinking when they did such things as eavesdrop
on Martin Luther King or conduct widespread surveillance against the Ku Klux
Klan in the 1950s and leftist radicals in the 1960s. It also offers fascinating
glimpses of other, non-hot-button issues that consumed FBI man hours while
DeLoach worked there.
Also
discussed: Was J. Edgar, you know, gay?
Not
if you believe DeLoach, responding in 1995 to Anthony Summers’ 1993 The
Secret Life Of J. Edgar Hoover and its allegation that Hoover was not only lovers
with his deputy director Clyde Tolson, but a cross-dresser besides:
Contrary
to what Summers would have you believe, neither Hoover nor Tolson was the least
bit effeminate. Both were tough and manly. Hoover was a bull dog. Tolson was a
strapping, healthy fellow in his youth. He played first base on the FBI’s
champion baseball team, and there wasn’t the slightest sign of weakness or
“prettiness” in his face. He was certainly more of a man than Mr. Summers, and
I’ve seen both at close quarters.
DeLoach
does score some points on the matter, too. He notes how Hoover’s leftist
critics enjoy labeling him gay because it’s the one socially safe outlet for
their own homophobia. If a man’s private life doesn’t hurt anyone else, it
shouldn’t matter to them, right?
But
then again, didn’t it matter to Hoover himself? I mean, what about all those
secret blackmail files the guy kept on everyone in public life?
DeLoach
dismisses this rumor, too. “I can say categorically that during all the years I
served at FBI headquarters, I never saw a main file on a legislator – except on
those that had been charged with a criminal act within the FBI’s jurisdiction,”
he writes.
One
criticism against Hoover DeLoach does endorse is that the man clung to power well
past his sell-by date. Hoover first took charge of the Bureau in 1924, back when
it was still the Bureau of Investigation. His last day on the job was May 1,
1972, the day before he died.
Simply
put, Hoover equated public life with life itself. The perks of office meant
everything to him. He had no succession plan because he planned never to leave
office:
He
was proud and vain, perpetually concerned with covering his own rear, and not
above abusing his powers. He could be petty and vindictive. He stayed in office
too long, and in so doing, he helped damage the reputation of the FBI he had
virtually invented and almost perfected.
DeLoach
doesn’t really explain this thought. A key problem with Hoover’s FBI is
lack of focus. DeLoach is not building a central thesis so much as
anecdote-sharing, pushing back against what he calls lies and misunderstandings
in a style too formal for conversation, too loose for anything else. The
stories he tells often have a superficial quality, or else, as when countering
the gay rumor about Hoover, a sense of being jammed in to satisfy a publisher’s
check list. It’s not a fluid narrative.
What
Hoover’s FBI does offer is a window as to what the thought processes
were like within Hoover’s closest circle. It is especially illuminating when it
comes to Hoover’s problematic relationship with the Southern Christian
Leadership Conference and its leader, Martin Luther King, Jr.
Simply
put, Hoover didn’t like King, an attitude which caused both men considerable
trouble. DeLoach claims this was not because of King’s role as an outspoken
activist for black equality and fair treatment, but rather because King once
claimed that FBI agents in the South were Southerners themselves “influenced by
the mores of the community,” i. e. racist.
Hoover,
DeLoach writes, viewed this as a cheap headline-grabbing ploy:
It
was an outrage – an affront Hoover neither forgot nor forgave. It was the
single wellspring of the director’s ongoing animosity.
DeLoach
didn’t like King, either, who carried on beyond closed doors, but not out of
FBI earshot thanks to wiretapping, with a bevy of women while playing a pious
minister for the cameras.
For
DeLoach, such spying was acceptable because it was approved by higher-ups, in
this case Attorney General Robert Kennedy, as concerned as Hoover and DeLoach
were regarding a pair of suspected communists who were high-ranking advisers to
King.
DeLoach
presents this angle as credible, especially as the 1960s went on and King’s
organization focused more on economic and political issues like President
Johnson’s war in Vietnam:
We
wanted to know if two men with communist ties were running the operation or if
King himself was still in charge. Why, we asked ourselves, would King allow
[Stanley] Levison to dictate strategy and write virtually all major policy
statements? And why would he assign a man with [Jack] O’Dell’s shady character
to a key position on his staff when he was in contact with black people of
greater skill and stature who were eager to help?
Yet
the verdict, as DeLoach notes much later, suggested no serious communist
influence in the SCLC. As with DeLoach’s later account of FBI spying on
left-wing radicals, he seems unconcerned about civil liberties when there was any
potential law-breaking to investigate. This may have been Hoover’s problem,
too.
DeLoach’s
book does offer fascinating glimpses of the Bureau in action. He gives a
marvelous account of the investigation into King’s assassination in 1968, and
how the culprit was identified. James Earl Ray was an escaped convict who used
multiple pseudonyms but blundered when he dropped his weapon near the scene of
the crime.
Controversial
as that arrest would be, it was more successful than the FBI’s handling of the
assassination of President Kennedy four-and-a-half years before. In that case,
Dallas FBI agent James Hosty got a threatening note from Lee Harvey Oswald, but
failed to follow up until Oswald was arrested for Kennedy’s murder. Worse,
Hosty destroyed the note at the command of his superior.
DeLoach
explains there was nothing nefarious in any of this. Rather, it was emblematic
of a CYA attitude at the FBI, promulgated by the boss:
Over
the years, FBI failures were never the fault of the director. The press always
blamed some poor bastard who’d given Hoover bad advice. I’ll say this: When he
asked us for recommendations, we never offered them without considering every
possible outcome that might bring official censure.
That
is about as far as DeLoach goes in the direction of criticizing Hoover. Actually,
Hoover figures surprisingly little in a book bearing his name. DeLoach has more
to say about working with Lyndon Johnson, who at one point floated the idea of
naming him Hoover’s successor.
While J. Edgar Hoover worked for the U. S. Attorney General as FBI director, he didn't always get along with the men who filled the position. DeLoach recalls Hoover calling Ramsey Clark, LBJ's third attorney general (above), the "Bull Butterfly" for his talent to annoy. When it came to Clark's predecessor, Robert F. Kennedy (below), Hoover told DeLoach recommending RFK's appointment to his brother, President Kennedy, was the "worst damn piece of advice I ever gave!" Top image from https://pastdaily.com/2019/02/26/ramsey-clark-1967-past-daily/. Bottom image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_F._Kennedy. |
In
some ways, Hoover was defined by his limitations. DeLoach notes that the
director was slow to recognize the existence of the Mafia because he couldn’t
conceive of such a criminal organization. “He didn’t know about it; ergo, it
did not exist,” DeLoach writes.
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