When the phone rang at the The New York Times on a Saturday afternoon 40 years ago, I picked it up after a couple of rings.
"Foreign desk," I said.
There was an excited, agitated man on the other end: "I need to speak to Neil Sheehan, I need him right away, and it's urgent. I have to talk to him."
Ariane Wu/Center for Investigative ReportingRobert Rosenthal worked with The New York Times team on the Pentagon Papers series in 1971.
I was on the periphery to one of journalism's most important moments. The Times was a few hours away from printing the first installment of the Pentagon Papers in the edition of June 13, 1971.
And for weeks, I had been part of the team secretly cloistered at the Hilton Hotel. I knew where Sheehan, the lead reporter on the project, was, but I wasn't about to say where.
"Who is this, please?" I asked.
"This is Daniel Ellsberg, and I need Sheehan. It's urgent."
At that moment, I had no idea who Ellsberg was, but I knew he was very agitated, and I thought it might be important. Times editors were huddled around a desk a few feet away from me. There was an intense air of excitement and anticipation around all of us. No newspaper had ever done what The Times was about to do: publish a multi-part series based on still-classified "top secret" documents.
I interrupted the editors.
"There's a guy on the phone who's incredibly excited and he says he has to talk to Sheehan, and he said his name is Daniel Ellsberg," I said.
Two of the editors took a step back and began waving their arms in a circular motion, saying, "No. No. No." I saw one of them mouth, "It's the source."
I remember thinking, "Holy shit."
"Tell him you don't know where he is and hang up," one of them said.
A few hours later, I watched as a team of foremen in the pressroom wheeled in the pages of type that had been set secretly for the Sunday edition's first installment.
When the papers came off the press, I grabbed a few, took a cab from the West 43rd Street Times building and went to the Hilton on 6th Avenue. I was so excited I could barely breathe as I knocked on the door of a room where Sheehan and other reporters and editors on the project were waiting for the bulldog edition.
They all grabbed at the A section as I tossed them on a bed. They all read quietly, shaking their heads. Months of work were in their hands. They were looking for typos, checking out the headlines, reading work they all almost knew by heart.
By Sunday night, there was almost zero reaction to the first day's installment. The mood was fairly grim at the Hilton. Monday's installment with the headline, "Vietnam Archive: A Consensus to Bomb Developed Before '64 Election, Study Says," also did not generate much reaction.
But from the Nixon White House, a reaction was coming.
Late on the afternoon of June 14, a telegram was sent to The Times. I was in the third-floor wire room of The Times newsroom. This was where all the stories came in from the wire services and from Times correspondents around the nation and world. The room chattered with clacking keys, and sheets of paper spewed from dozens of machines.
The Times may have been told a telegram was coming from Attorney General John Mitchell. For some reason, I was right there and watched as the type came pounding across the page addressed to "Arthur Ochs Sulzberger, president and publisher of The Times."
The telegram said The Times on June 13 and 14 had published "information relating to the national defense of the United States and bears a top secret classification. As such, publication of this information is directly prohibited by the provisions of the Espionage Law. ..."
The telegram concluded:
"Accordingly, I respectfully request that you publish no further information of this character and advise me that you have made arrangements for the return of these documents to the Department of Defense."
This was another holy shit moment. I tore the telegram off the machine and ran to the foreign desk and handed it to Jim Greenfield, foreign editor of The Times.
The Supreme Court ruled in favor of The Times, and after 15 days, the series resumed.
Sulzberger was on his way to London. Within a few minutes, Greenfield said, "Come with me," and I was riding an elevator to the publisher's office on the 11th floor of The Times. Sulzberger was due to land at Heathrow Airport, and Tony Lewis, the London bureau chief, was sent to the airport, where he was waiting for Sulzberger with an open phone line.
I sat in the room holding a phone with Tony Lewis on the other end. In the room were Greenfield; Harding Bancroft, executive vice president of The Times; Managing Editor A.M. Rosenthal, who is not related to me; Times Vice Presidents James Goodale and Sydney Gruson; and others.
The argument about whether to publish or not, and what advice to give Sulzberger, was explosive. I remember some of it, but mostly I remember thinking, "Oh my God, I can't believe I'm sitting here. The Kingdom and the Power. The Kingdom and the Power."
I was 22 years old, and this was a graduate school education you could not find anywhere.
Sulzberger's plane finally landed. I don't recall who took the phone from me; it may have been Bancroft or Goodale. Downstairs in the newsroom, word had spread that the Nixon administration was trying to halt publication of the Pentagon Papers. This was truly a historic moment. The foreign desk was surrounded by pressmen, wearing ink-stained coveralls and little hats they'd made out of newsprint. Deadlines were going by. The press run had actually been stopped.
The decision was made to publish. Everyone crowded into the elevator. It was silent and you could smell the tension and the lingering cigarette smoke.
Abe Rosenthal knew my father very well. He had been his journalism professor at City College in New York. He was in front of me in the elevator. He could barely turn, but he did. He looked me in the eye and said, as he punctuated every word with a poke to my chest, "Don't ever ... repeat ... a word ... you heard tonight ... to a living person... not even your father."
I think I nodded. Remembering that moment makes me wide-eyed today.
We reached the third floor.
Rosenthal strode into the newsroom. He pumped his fist in the air and yelled, "We are going to publish!" The pressmen cheered. I felt a rush of adrenaline going up and down my spine. I got chills.
The next morning, the headline in The Times read: "Mitchell Seeks to Halt Series on Vietnam but Times Refuses." The third installment of the Pentagon Papers headline was, "Vietnam Archive: Study Tells How Johnson Secretly Opened Way to Ground Combat."
That Tuesday, U.S. District Court Judge Murray Gurfein ordered The Times to halt publication of the Pentagon Papers. On June 30, the Supreme Court ruled in favor of The Times, and after 15 days, the series resumed. During those days, Ellsberg had eluded the FBI, and papers across the country published versions of the study.
As a very young man, I learned values during those months that have framed my entire career. Investigative reporting, and the role of journalism, is crucial to democracy and, if done well, has value to every American.