Watergate broke slowly upon us. It was simply a nuisance story throughout the presidential campaign of 1972 and still appeared as barely a blip on our national radar as winter gave way to spring in 1973. But several events occurring in a short period of time that March spurred the Senate to convene a special panel to investigate the break-in and its connections to the Nixon administration. As all the networks began to cover the steady parade of witnesses appearing before the seven senators and their counsels, the public became spectators to the proceedings. Soon many of us became addicted.

But as thorough as these hearings appeared to be, all the facts seemed open to question because the only serious charges tying the break-in to the Oval Office came from one man, John Dean. Further, his account of events was sharply disputed by others of greater stature within the White House.

That summer, at the age of twentythree, I took a vacation with my seventy-eight-year-old grandmother. At the end of that trip we found ourselves visiting relatives in Virginia just outside Washington. Being so close and so caught up in the hearings, I made plans to attend if at all possible.

Since I assumed there would be a long wait to get into the Senate caucus room in the Old Senate Office Building (and since I wasn’t even sure where this building was), I decided to drive into Washington on Monday, July 16, to see what I was up against. I was just going to assess the situation in preparation for the real visit I would make the following day.

So it was that, twenty-five years ago this summer, I arrived on Capitol Hill shortly before 10:00 A.M. The weather was beautiful, clear, and warm. I spotted a parking space and decided to take advantage of it. A congenial passerby pointed out the building and the door I needed to enter. Once inside I was surprised at the absence of any crowd. In the foyer I spotted a newsperson doing her report on camera, a minor CBS reporter I had seen a few times on television, Connie Chung.

Continuing my efforts at reconnaissance, I asked a guard where the hearing room was. He pointed up the stairs, and to my utter disbelief I realized there was no line to get in. Like a kid at Christmas, I bounded up the Steps and into the room. I had made it on my first try.

I took a seat in the next to last row as the main actors in this national soap opera began to arrive. We applauded some but saved our main ovation for the chairman, Sen. Sam J. Ervin, Jr., of North Carolina. Must have been a Democratic crowd that day, I remember thinking.

The morning’s testimony was disappointingly unexciting, but when the panel broke for lunch I didn’t