To coincide with the thirtieth anniversary of the Watergate break-in, John Dean, White House counsel in the Nixon administration, recently announced he will publish today, on June 17, 2002, a 31,000-word e-book in which he reveals the true identity of “Deep Throat,” Bob Woodward’s and Carl Bernstein’s pseudonymous source within the Nixon administration. If Dean’s book lives up to his promise, this revelation will bring an end to one of the most intriguing political parlor games of all time.
There are, of course, many theories about Deep Throat’s identity. Everyone from Henry Kissinger to Diane Sawyer to John Sears to W. Mark Felt have been floated as possibilities. And so, as we enter what may well be the final round of the Deep Throat guessing game, I would like to put forward my own personal theories as to Deep Throat’s identity.
Linda Lovelace:
Perhaps all the theories about Deep Throat have been too clever by half. Perhaps Woodward and Bernstein simply opted to hide their source in plain sight — after all, who would guess that Deep Throat was, in fact, the lead actress in the film of that title? Consider: Dean’s book announcement followed the death of Lovelace by a mere week. Coincidence? I think not.
Marilyn Vos Savant:
The weekly “Ask Marilyn” columnist for Parade Magazine boasts that she is in the Guinness Book of World Records for having an IQ of 228. Surely, if anyone could have intuited the shenanigans going on inside the Nixon White House, it was she. Am I right? Or am I right?
J. Edgar Hoover:
“Wasn’t he dead at the time of Woodward and Bernstein’s meetings with Deep Throat?” you ask. To which I reply, witheringly, “Don’t be so naive,” and hope that that shuts you up.
Hal Holbrook:
The avuncular character actor gave a memorable performance as Deep Throat in the film All the President’s Men. But perhaps Holbrook wasn’t acting at all. Perhaps he actually had funneled information to Woodward and Bernstein in real life. Go ahead. Try and disprove it. Why should the burden of proof fall on me?
Richard Nixon:
On a dark, rainy evening in the spring of 1973, President Richard Milhous Nixon, tormented by self-loathing, picks up the phone and places a call to the Washington Post. The rest, as they say, is history, my friend.
Me:
I will acknowledge that the fact that I was born in late 1973 may make certain readers dubious. Some may find it implausible that a fetus could have placed so many long-distance telephone calls to Woodward and Bernstein, or have known quite so much about the inner workings of both the Pentagon and the White House. I can, of course, confirm or deny nothing. But I will note that my mother says I was quite precocious.