Inherit the mint; how Edward Bennett Williams made legal prostitution respectable - excerpt from 'The Man to See: Edward Bennett Williams - Legendary Trial Lawyer, Ultimate Insider

Washington Monthly, Oct, 1991 by Evan Thomas

With rising indignation, Connally demanded that Williams subpoena Nixon's attorney general, John Mitchell, to support him. "No!" Williams insisted. "No Watergate! We don't even want to mention Watergate to the jurors. They'll blow up the courthouse." Connally worked himsel up into a state. "They have spent five million dollars if they've spent a dime to ruin me! Let them blow up the courthouse!" To defuse the moment, Williams used Tigar as a foil. Tigar, who liked to boast about all the militant radicals he had defended, joked, "You're the second client I've represented who wanted to blow up the courthouse." Williams cracked, "Yeah, but the first one did it before the indictment." All three men had a good chuckle. "Okay," said Williams, "you can look at your family from the stand once during your testimony and say that you would never lie. But that's it. No matter how unjust you think this is, the jury won't. So don't be arrogant."

Not all of the facts facing Connally could be easily explained away. As part of the cover-up, the prosecutors contended, Connally had given the $10,000 back to Jacobsen and told him to put the money away in a safe-deposit box. Jacobsen would then testify that he had been given the money by the milk fund, but when Connally refused to take it, he had put the cash away to be used for someone else's "campaign contribution." But there was a catch, Jacobsen would testify. The first batch of bills that Connally gave him were too new. They came into circulation after Jacobsen received $10,000 from the milk producers. Just before the prosecutors were scheduled to open the safe-deposit box to see if the money was there, Connally had hurriedly substituted a new stack of old bills. According to Jacobsen, he had moved very fast, finding the money in just a few hours. Naturally, the prosecutors wanted to know where Connally had come up with $10,000 in old bills in such a hurry.

Suspicion centered on a millionaire rancher named Rex Cauble, an old friend and frequent contributor to Connally's past campaigns. Connally's phone records showed a number of calls to Cauble on the day in question. Furthermore, bank and travel records showed Cauble withdrawing $7,500 and flying to Houston just as Connally was arriving there. Questioned about the bank draft by prosecutors, Cauble maintained that he had heard a female friend complain that she had never owned a Lincoln Continental. To surprise hr, he had bought her a Mark IV. Not believing this tale for a minute, the prosecutors hoped to refresh Cauble's memory and use him as a witness against Connally. "Cauble was potentially dynamite," said Tuerkheimer. But five days before the trial the Texas high-roller suddenly clammed up and refused to cooperate. There wasn't enough time to take him before a grand jury and use the leverage of a perjury indictment. S the prosecution never called him to the stand.

What had happened? A basic Williams rule was to get as many witnesses as possible under the defense tent. Usually this was accomplished by paying their lawyers (perfectly legal) or at least arranging for their representation. In this case, Williams got his old buddy William Hundley. The former Justice Department lawyer was now a criminal defense lawyer, renting space in Williams's building and taking many of his cases as referrals from his landlord. Hundley was as accommodating as ever. He told Cauble to keep his mouth shut.