Part III: My Friend John [Ehrlichman]
In which I learned about the limits of our friendship
This story was first published in March of 2018 on my WordPress site. Because I’m in the middle of a major move to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where I lived from 1979 until 1985, I’ve decided to bring back some of my older pieces referencing that era. I hope that you’ll enjoy them.
Back in Santa Fe for the summer, Blake and I moved into a rambling adobe house in a small compound off Canyon Road. That summer between junior and senior year turned out to be an emotional roller coaster, ultimately leading to our final breakup in the first month of our senior year.
I asked Christy if she could recommend me for house-sitting jobs to her friends. I couldn’t afford much for rent since I had already paid for my room on campus, but I didn’t want to live where I would constantly be reminded of all the friendships that had been destroyed in the wake of my relationship with Blake. Nor did I want to see Blake any more than I had to.
Christy offered to rent me their guest quarters for a small sum. It was mutually advantageous since they were traveling a lot. My dad agreed to help me pay for it and also offered to come and beat up Blake. I accepted the money.
In retrospect, I was a disaster zone. That year, and the ones that followed, were filled with countless missteps and poor judgment on my part.
Although I was not consciously trying to become somebody else, that is exactly what I was doing. I had always been a granola girl—crunchy, exactly what one would expect of a Colorado girl. I was an athlete, outdoorsy, and natural. I wore my hair long, often in a French braid, wore no makeup, and donned colorful casual clothing. I didn’t smoke, drank little, and had been a dedicated student. Blake was my male equivalent—or so I thought—my destined match. Some said we looked like we belonged together, which I mistakenly believed meant that we did.
The demise of our relationship had not been sudden; it likely began to erode the day it started in the first week of our freshman year, though I only became aware of it during the first semester of our junior year, for reasons I would not understand until many years later. Blake ended up transferring to Annapolis for a semester, ostensibly to figure things out away from me. We had only half-broken things off, and I went to see him over spring break, during which time we decided to make another go of it. Looking back, that was a grave mistake. We spent the following summer tormenting each other with petty jealousies, and then the dam broke. At first, it was a trickle of leaked lies, secrets that I was among the last to know, and then it was a flood.
After that, I broke it off for good. I’d probably read one too many Greek tragedies at that point, predisposing me to dramatic expressions of mourning. I cut my hair short, started wearing a lot of black, and began my new less-than-healthy lifestyle as a smoker. I moved from one unsuccessful relationship to another. Confused and angry, I did everything to distance myself from who I had been with him.
In this condition, living in the guest quarters at the Ehrlichmans’ turned out to be less than ideal. Unlike when I had stayed there as a house sitter, this time John and Christy were home much more often. I felt like they were too aware of me and my comings and goings. Christy was offended by my newfound habit of smoking and had made it clear that she didn’t want me doing it anywhere in the vicinity of the house, even outside. I had also become a bit of a partier, coming home at odd hours of the night—or not at all—and I didn’t always come home alone. John and Christy worried about me, which was something I didn’t really want. I felt cramped and watched over, and I sensed that they felt intruded upon, so I decided to move back on campus for my last semester.
One highlight of that semester was when my mother visited and finally met John in person. They seemed to genuinely like each other, and why not? They had so much in common: a couple of years apart in age, both with five children, each divorced, both having lived through many of the same things. The age-set effect is a powerful cultural binder. In the end, meeting John and talking to him humanized him for her just as it had for me; she shifted her perspective on the Watergate criminals. Even good men can falter, especially the ambitious ones.
After moving out, I didn’t work for John and Christy very much. I was too busy with my senior thesis and all the other activities of my last semester, but I remained on good terms with them. I invited John up to campus when I learned that a prosecutor from the Watergate hearings would be giving a talk on Executive Privilege. John wanted to be there. He and I sat together in the front row. When the speaker entered, he and John met eyes and nodded in recognition.
John’s presence transformed the event from a predictable discussion, where the prosecutor spoke to an audience that fully agreed with him, into one that challenged attendees to consider alternative perspectives. We were forced to examine executive privilege in the context of Watergate from the perspective of the accused and convicted. Nixon had repeatedly invoked executive privilege to prevent the testimony of his closest counselors—not to protect them, but to protect his office. Throughout the discussion, John was courteous, even gracious, in his interactions with the college’s guest. Many people later said that he had really made it a great moment for them.
John and Christy were there for me in meaningful ways throughout the remainder of the year, inviting me over for dinner and even attending my graduation ceremony—something my own father didn’t do. After graduation, I moved to Toronto to live with my new love, Will*, but that move was short-lived, and I returned to Santa Fe before the summer was over. Upon returning, I stayed with a guy I had met during my last semester, a handsome alum named Tom* who was several years older than I. I ran into him after I got back into town and mentioned that I was looking for a place to live, and he offered a spot at his place. He was living in a cabin up in an arroyo near the college. It was a wonderful place, but it had no electricity and no heat, so with winter coming, we were forced to find somewhere else to live within a couple of months.
I asked John and Christy if we could rent their guest quarters. They agreed, and for a brief time, Tom and I played house there. I was not in love with him, and he turned out to be untrustworthy. I fled Santa Fe, seeking refuge with my mother in Denver, leaving Tom behind at Christy and John’s. When he finally moved out of the Ehrlichmans’ a few months later, he left their place a mess. I ended up owing them money, and they never forgave me for leaving them in the lurch. That was the end of my friendship with them. I tried to make amends, but never succeeded.
Christy and John divorced in the early nineties, and John moved to Atlanta. He remarried. By that point, I had completely lost touch with both of them. Then in 1999, two years after my own father died, I heard that John had also passed away—at the same age as my father, seventy-three. I felt sad that I had lost touch with him. He was not a great man, but he was a man; he had his flaws, just as I have mine. He was my friend for a time, and I will always cherish that.
I leave you with a final thought from John, a lesson for today, for children, adults, and for those who counsel them:
“I abdicated my moral judgments and turned them over to somebody else, and if I had any advice for my kids, it would be never—to never, ever—defer your moral judgments to anybody: your parents, your wife, anybody.” [NYT, 1999]
THE END
Note: This story is a recollection of events that took place more than four decades ago. In creating this narrative, I have constructed dialogue that approximates real conversations that I might have had. Doing this exercise, reminds me of just how thin the line is between fact and fiction.
*Pseudonym