five men

The tallest of the suspects, who had given his name as James W. McCord, Jr., was asked to step forward. ---------------------------- [excerpt] ------------------ He was balding, with a large, flat nose, a square jaw, perfect teeth and a benign expression that seemed incongruous with his hard-edged features.


The Judge asked his occupation.


"Security consultant," he replied.


The Judge asked where.


McCord, in a soft drawl, said that he had recently retired from government service.  Woodward moved to the front row and leaned forward.


"Where in government?" asked the Judge.


"CIA," McCord whispered.


The Judge flinched slightly.


Holy shit, Woodward said half aloud, the CIA.








He got a cab back to the office and reported McCord's statement. 


Eight reporters were involved in putting together the story under the byline of Alfred E. Lewis. 


As the 6:30 P.M. deadline approached, Howard Simons, the Post's managing editor, came into the city editor's office at the south side of the newsroom.  "That's a hell of a story," he told the city editor, Barry Sussman, and ordered it onto Sunday's front page.




The first paragraph of the story read:  "Five men, one of whom said he is a former employee of the Central Intelligence Agency, were arrested at 2:30 A.M. yesterday in what authorities described as an elaborate plot to bug the offices of the Democratic National Committee here."




A federal grand jury investigation had already been announced, but even so it was Simons' opinion that there still were too many unknown factors about the break-in to make it the lead story. 


"It could be crazy Cubans," he said.




Indeed, the thought that the break-in might somehow be the work of the Republicans seemed implausible.  On June 17, 1972, less than a month before the Democratic convention, the President stood ahead of all announced Democratic candidates in the polls by no less than 19 points.


------------------------------- [end, excerpt:  All The President's Men, by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward] -------------------------







Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh


Me gotta go pole the pirogue down the bayou


My Yvonne, sweetest one, me oh my oh


Son of a gun, gonna have big fun on the bayou




Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and fillet gumbo
'Cause tonight I'm gonna see my ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o,
Son of a gun, gonna have big fun on the bayou




Thibodeaux, Fontaineaux, the place is buzzin'
Kinfolk come to see Yvonne by the dozen
Dress in style, go hog wild, and be gay-o
Son of a gun, gonna have big fun on the bayou




Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and fillet gumbo
'Cause tonight I'm a-gonna see my ma cher amio


Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun, gonna have big fun on the bayou


Oh, guitar!




{Instrumental}




Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and fillet gumbo


'Cause tonight I'm gonna see my ma cher amio


Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o,


Son of a gun, gonna have big fun on the bayou


____________________________


{"Jambalaya" - 1973, the Blue Ridge Rangers





written by Hank Williams, 1952}
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