Having neglected to elect survivorship benefits for his wife upon retiring from the CIA, Hunt raised the possibility of returning to active duty for a short period of time in exchange for activating the benefits upon his proposed second retirement in a May 5, letter to CIA General Counsel Lawrence Houston.
An April request to retroactively amend his election was rebuffed by the agency. Also in the summer of , Colson authorized Hunt to travel to New England to seek potentially scandalous information on Senator Edward Kennedy , specifically pertaining to the Chappaquiddick incident and to Kennedy's possible extramarital affairs. Hunt's White House duties included assassinations-related disinformation.
E. Howard Hunt - Wikipedia
In September , Hunt forged and offered to a Life magazine reporter two top-secret U. The intention was to link Bremer with the Democrats. Hersh writes that, in a taped conversation, "Nixon is energized and excited by what seems to be the ultimate political dirty trick: the FBI and the Milwaukee police will be convinced, and will tell the world, that the attempted assassination of Wallace had its roots in left-wing Democratic politics. Hunt organized the bugging of the Democratic National Committee at the Watergate office building.
Gordon Liddy , along with the five burglars arrested at the Watergate, were indicted on federal charges three months later. Hunt put pressure on the White House and the Committee to Re-Elect the President for cash payments to cover legal fees, family support, and expenses, for himself and his fellow burglars. Kalmbach , John Mitchell , Fred LaRue , and John Dean eventually became entangled in the payoff schemes, and large amounts of money were passed to Hunt and his accomplices, to try to ensure their silence at the trial, by pleading guilty to avoid prosecutors' questions, and afterwards. Prosecutors had to follow up once the media reported.
Hunt also pressured Colson, Dean, and John Ehrlichman to ask Nixon for clemency in sentencing, and eventual presidential pardons for himself and his cronies; this eventually helped to implicate and snare those higher up. Hunt eventually spent 33 months in prison at Federal Correctional Complex, Allenwood and the low-security Federal Prison Camp at Eglin Air Force Base , Florida, on a conspiracy charge, arriving at the latter institution on April 25, Hunt eventually applied for a presidential pardon but was turned down by Ronald Reagan in Sprague who compiled the photographs in and , and subsequently turned them over to Jim Garrison during his investigation of Clay Shaw.
Weberman and Michael Canfield compared photographs of the men to people they believed to be suspects involved in a conspiracy and said that two of the men were Watergate burglars E. Howard Hunt and Frank Sturgis. The Rockefeller Commission reported in that they investigated the allegation that Hunt and Sturgis, on behalf of the CIA, participated in the assassination of Kennedy.
Shaneyfelt, "a nationally-recognized expert in photoidentification and photoanalysis" with the FBI photographic laboratory, had concluded from photo comparison that none of the men was Hunt or Sturgis. In , journalist Mary La Fontaine discovered the November 22, arrest records that the Dallas Police Department had released in , which named the three men as Gus W.
Abrams, Harold Doyle, and John F. As part of his suit, Hunt filed a legal action in the United States District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia in September requesting that Szulc be cited for contempt if he refused to divulge his sources. Howard Hunt". He denied knowledge of any conspiracy to kill Kennedy. According to Marchetti, the memo said in essence, "Some day we will have to explain Hunt's presence in Dallas on November 22, The second article, by Joseph J.
Liberty Lobby stipulated, in this first trial, that the question of Hunt's alleged involvement in the assassination would not be contested. In , however, the case was overturned on appeal because of error in jury instructions. On retrial, the jury rendered a verdict for Liberty Lobby. Former KGB archivist Vasili Mitrokhin indicated in that Hunt was made part of a fabricated conspiracy theory disseminated by a Soviet " active measures " program designed to discredit the CIA and the United States.
Kelley and was apparently being suppressed. After Hunt's death, Howard St. John Hunt and David Hunt stated that their father had recorded several claims about himself and others being involved in a conspiracy to assassinate President John F. In the April 5, , issue of Rolling Stone , St. John Hunt detailed a number of individuals purported to be implicated by his father, including Lyndon B. According to St. John Hunt, it was he who suggested to his father the idea of a memoir to reveal what he knew about the Kennedy assassination, but the Hunt Literary Estate refutes this as scurrilous.
The foreword to American Spy was written by William F. Publishers Weekly called American Spy a "breezy, unrepentant memoir" and described it as a "nostalgic memoir [that] breaks scant new ground in an already crowded field". There are no real secrets in this book. As history it is bunk. Goulden of The Washington Times described it as a "true mess of a book" and dismissed Hunt's allegations against Johnson as "fantasy".
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Following his release from prison in , Hunt lived in Biscayne Park, Florida. On January 23, , he died of pneumonia in Miami, Florida. He was portrayed by Ed Harris in the biopic Nixon. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Howard Hunt. Hamburg, New York , United States. Miami, Florida , United States. Watergate complex. Nixon Resignation speech Inauguration of Gerald Ford. Watergate burglars.
McCord Jr. Frank Sturgis. White House. Haldeman E. Howard Hunt Egil Krogh G. It was called Witches Island. It was a rambling affair, with a horse paddock, a chicken coop, the Cold War bonus of a bomb shelter, and a fishing pond across the way.
E. Howard Hunt
Howard wanted Saint to attend a top-flight prep school and one night took him to a dinner at St. Pretty soon Saint was banging his knees together under the table. He ended up settling for a lower-tier boarding school called St. James, near Hagerstown, Maryland. His second year there, in , after being repeatedly molested by a teacher, he broke down and told his mother what was going on. She told his father. And rumor had it that E. Howard came up to St. James with a carload of guns to make the teacher disappear.
John was ever seen again. That same year, his father retired from the CIA after being relegated to the backwaters for his role in the Bay of Pigs. He went to work as a writer for a PR firm. He was bored and missed the hands-on action of the CIA.
He signed on. He really thought he was going places. A round the time of St. Costner said that he could arrange for E. Unbeknown to St. John, however, Costner had already met with E. Howard once. John got involved, and he knew better how to handle the situation. For one thing, he knew that his stepmother wanted to forget about the past. In fact, E. Consequently, she and her sons often found themselves in conflict with St.
How dare you do this? Is this going to ruin the Hunt name? The Hunt name is already filled with ruination. So when Saint arrived in Miami to talk to his dad, the two men spent a lot of time waiting for Laura to leave the house.
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Saint painted the living room and built a wheelchair ramp. In the mornings, he cooked breakfast. In the afternoons, he plopped a fishing hat on E. They drank coffee together. And watched lots of Fox News. And when Laura finally left, they talked. Afterward, another meeting was arranged with Costner, this time in Los Angeles, where the actor had fifty assassination-related questions all ready to go. The actor declined comment for this article. There would be no advance. John called Costner. A hundred dollars? But the flight alone could kill him. What are we going to do with all that money?!
And that was the end of that, for good. It looked like what E. Howard had to say would never get out. O ne evening in Eureka, over a barbecue meal, St. John explains how he first came to suspect that his father might somehow be involved in the Kennedy assassination. I saw that picture and I fucking — like a cartoon character, my jaw dropped, my eyes popped out of my head, and smoke came out of my ears.
It looks like my dad. He chews his sandwich. But, I mean, his alibi for that day is that he was at home with his family. I remember I was in the fifth grade. We were at recess. I was playing on the merry-go-round. We were called in and told to go home, because the president had been killed. And I remember going home. I have no recollection of him being there. And then he has this whole thing about shopping for Chinese food with my mother that day, so that they could cook a meal together.
John pauses and leans forward. He was always looking at things like he was writing a novel; everything had to be just so glamorous and so exciting. So my dad in the kitchen? Chopping vegetables with his wife? That fucker never did jack-squat like that. Not that it was all bad back then, in Potomac, at Witches Island. Howard played the trumpet, and his son was into music too, so sometimes the pair went down to Blues Alley, in Georgetown, to hear jazz.
Back home, E. And then, sometimes, during the stomping Harry James horn solo, E. Howard would jump to his feet, snapping his fingers like some cool cat, pull back his shirt sleeves, lick his lips and play the air trumpet for all he was worth. It was great stuff, and St. John loved it. But the best was yet to come. I t was well past midnight on June 18th, You gotta wake up! Howard was dressed in his usual coat and tie, but everything was akimbo. He was a sweaty, disheveled mess. He disappeared into the darkness.
Saint changed out of his pajamas. Upstairs, he found his father in the master bedroom, laboring over a big green suitcase jumble-filled with microphones, walkie-talkies, cameras, tripods, cords, wires, lots of weird stuff. His father started giving him instructions. Saint went to the kitchen and returned with Windex, paper towels and some rubber dishwashing gloves. Then, in silence, the two of them began wiping fingerprints off all the junk in the suitcase.
After that, they loaded everything into E. Howard heaved the suitcase into the water, and it gurgled out of sight. The next day, dressed in one of his prep-school blazers, he drove to a Riggs Bank in Georgetown and met his father inside the safety-deposit-box cage. The boy made it home without picking up a tail. Then his father had him get rid of a typewriter. Saint put the typewriter in a bag, hoofed it across the Witches Island property onto the neighboring spread and tossed it into the pond where he and his brother David used to go fishing. You could get in trouble. Soon his mother would be killed in a plane crash, and his father would be sent to jail, and Nixon would resign, and his own life would fracture in unimaginable ways.
Y ears later, when saint started trying to get his father to tell what he knew about JFK, he came to believe the information would be valuable. Also, like many a conspiracy nut before him, he was more than a little obsessed. I was the physically challenged one. Born with a club-foot, suffering from petit mal epilepsy and dyslexia, and stuttering so badly I could barely speak, I was nothing for my father to be proud of. As the first-born male in the family, my father had high hopes for me. I was an utter disappointment.
A poor student, unable to keep still, an inferior athlete, I was thin and not competitive. I had double vision, due to a lazy eye, so I wore glasses. I needed constant tutoring and was at best a D student. It didn't help that English was the fourth language I was exposed to, and that by the time I was nine, I had already been raised in many conflicting cultures, namely Japanese, French, and Latin American. I became the dreamer, lost in my own world, turning inward to find what I couldn't on the outside. I embraced my mother's Native American heritage, learning Indian spiritualism, and developed a gift for music, writing my first song at age ten.
When she died I was just beginning to establish the close relationship I had always craved with my mother, but which seemed forever out of reach. David, nine years younger than I, was afforded only the leftover scraps of attention. He was perhaps the most needy, and the youngest to feel the devastation brought by Watergate and the death of our mother.
At the tender age of 9, he lost everything that he hadn't yet realized he had. Shipped off to live in Miami with his Godfather, the ex-Bay of Pigs leader Manuel Artime, he quickly found solace and purpose in the glamorous life of rich Miami cocaine dealers. After years of family separation, he soon lost all memory of the mother that had cradled him in her arms and sang to him softly.
Whereas I and the other children have memories of our mother crystallized in time that never ages, David has nothing. For each of us, growing up in this family carries different pains and perspectives. I can't know what it meant to be my sisters or my brother, and it is in this realm that truth shows its variables and shades. The fact that my father chose to share details of his knowledge of historical events to no one but me may seem ironic and far-fetched to some.
But in , when Watergate exploded, my father had already trusted me in helping him with sensitive and illegal tasks: like destruction of evidence, and hiding large sums of unreported cash from the White House. The proverbial Pandora's Box was opened and the ghosts of the covert past were unleashed.
Watergate led to all things conspiratorial. By its very nature Watergate was part of a much larger conspiracy, already in place, running smoothly, and functioning as if it were standard procedure. The cast of players, already wallowing in the murky world of black-bag jobs, plausible deniability, money laundering, and assassination plots, were there to be assembled. Fueled by paranoia, driven by greed, sustained by fear, those that were in a position to uphold our nation's values ultimately destroyed the almost blind trust that a nation's people had bestowed upon its government.
Watergate was the critical event that showed the emperor had no clothes. From the coup in Guatemala, through the Bay of Pigs invasion, the assassination plots against Cuban president Castro, the militant Cuban exile groups and Mafia lords, through the Kennedy assassination and into Watergate, one thread that ran through all these events was a man, my father, E. Howard Hunt. Certainly he was one of a cast of hundreds, perhaps thousands, going about their jobs on a need-to-know basis.
Sometimes, the left hand doesn't need to know what the right hand is doing. In a business where information is power, nobody has all the keys, all the answers, and the truth that they know is, again, a matter of perspective. Presidents Bush and Reagan both used deniability in their defense. He paved the way for those that followed him into that office not to repeat the same mistakes. This of course doesn't mean not to commit crimes, but rather to cover your ass more effectively.
My father's importance in these events can best be underscored by reading the Nixon Presidential transcripts of June 23, On that tape, Nixon said "Hunt will uncover a lot of things. You open that scab, there's a hell of a lot of things This involves those Cubans, Hunt, and a lot of hanky panky that we have nothing to do with ourselves It's going to make the CIA look bad, it's going to make Hunt look bad, and is likely to blow the whole Bay of Pigs thing.
Haldeman wrote in his memoir, The Ends of Power, that when Nixon referred to "the Bay of Pigs thing," he was actually referring to the Kennedy assassination! It's hard now, in retrospect, to think how I felt about the events that were unfolding with dramatic and merciless ferocity back in , like a freight train out of control, unstoppable, smashing everything in its path.
I think I must have been in shock, unable to contemplate or verbalize the meaning of what was happening both to my family and to the country. That my father had been in the American intelligence services for 27 years was something I had learned in when I was