U.S.A. in Nicaragua, Murphy explained; the U.S. Army had trained his entire army officer corps, and his son was a Harvard man.
More important, he reminded Wilson, the dictator had turned his country over to the CIA in 1954, when it had needed help to overthrow the Guatemalan government, and Tacho had played a critical role in the Bay of Pigs as well. His only crime, Murphy said, was that he always supported the United States, and now Jimmy Carter wanted to destroy him because the hand wringers at the State Department claimed he was violating human rights. At that very moment, Murphy announced to dramatize his point, the Cuban—and Soviet-armed—Sandinista guerrillas were attacking the cities of Nicaragua. If Wilson didn’t use his leverage on the Appropriations Committee to try to protect Tacho, Carter would get away with cutting off all Somoza’s military and economic aid, at a moment when it might just do him in.
The zeal with which Wilson took up the challenge caught everyone, particularly the Carter White House and the State Department, utterly by surprise. By the time Charlie intervened, saving Somoza seemed to be a lost cause. The Appropriations Subcommittee had already sent the bill that cut Somoza’s funding to the House floor. The unwritten rules of the Appropriations Committee dictate that members don’t challenge the overall subcommittee bills once they have been reported out. But in a stunning political maneuver, Wilson took the Nicaraguan-aid issue to the floor, where he threatened to scuttle the president’s entire foreign-aid bill if Somoza’s money was not restored. He told his colleagues that Somoza had done “an enormous amount of dirty work for the U.S., that he was virtually an arm of U.S. intelligence.” It was hardly a popular cause. The columnist Jack Anderson had just labeled Somoza the greediest dictator in the world, to which Wilson responded, “No one is perfect, no one is pure.” Miraculously, Wilson won the first round. To the disgust of liberals, the media, and the administration, Somoza’s entire $3.1 million aid package was restored. A jubilant Representative Murphy insisted that Wilson accompany him to Managua over the July 4 recess to meet Tacho.
One of Wilson’s more endearing features is an ability to understand how ridiculous he often looks to those witnessing his antics. Many years later he would recall with humor the lavish dinner party Somoza threw for him. “Everyone was looking at me with enormous respect,” Wilson recalled, “as if I were Simón Bolívar. Tacho gave this great toast in which he credited me with being the only thing preserving freedom in the hemisphere. The entire oligarchy of Managua was there applauding. I will admit, it was kind of heady.”
After the toasts, Somoza invited Wilson into his private underground office in the bunker. “It was kind of Hitlerian,” Wilson recalls. Somoza would later spend his final days in Nicaragua in that bunker, vainly directing his army to bomb the cities of his country as the Sandinistas closed in on him. But that night Somoza, flushed with the victory in Congress, was brimming over with bravado.
The dictator was seated in front of a giant West Point flag. “I want you to know that dealing with Tacho Somoza is not a one-way street,” he said, leering as he took a thick wad of greenbacks out of his desk drawer. He mumbled something about campaign contributions.
“I almost shit,” Wilson remembers. “I said, ‘Well, not now. I don’t need any money now. Maybe in the future.’” The congressman says he was not about to take the money, but he couldn’t quite get himself to turn it down completely. “It just looked so tempting,” he says, remembering Somoza mentioning the figure of $50,000. “In those days that was a good bit of change, but I didn’t take the fucking money.”
Wilson says the rejection made for an awkward moment. In spite of this, the dictator managed to win him over. Wilson liked
More important, he reminded Wilson, the dictator had turned his country over to the CIA in 1954, when it had needed help to overthrow the Guatemalan government, and Tacho had played a critical role in the Bay of Pigs as well. His only crime, Murphy said, was that he always supported the United States, and now Jimmy Carter wanted to destroy him because the hand wringers at the State Department claimed he was violating human rights. At that very moment, Murphy announced to dramatize his point, the Cuban—and Soviet-armed—Sandinista guerrillas were attacking the cities of Nicaragua. If Wilson didn’t use his leverage on the Appropriations Committee to try to protect Tacho, Carter would get away with cutting off all Somoza’s military and economic aid, at a moment when it might just do him in.
The zeal with which Wilson took up the challenge caught everyone, particularly the Carter White House and the State Department, utterly by surprise. By the time Charlie intervened, saving Somoza seemed to be a lost cause. The Appropriations Subcommittee had already sent the bill that cut Somoza’s funding to the House floor. The unwritten rules of the Appropriations Committee dictate that members don’t challenge the overall subcommittee bills once they have been reported out. But in a stunning political maneuver, Wilson took the Nicaraguan-aid issue to the floor, where he threatened to scuttle the president’s entire foreign-aid bill if Somoza’s money was not restored. He told his colleagues that Somoza had done “an enormous amount of dirty work for the U.S., that he was virtually an arm of U.S. intelligence.” It was hardly a popular cause. The columnist Jack Anderson had just labeled Somoza the greediest dictator in the world, to which Wilson responded, “No one is perfect, no one is pure.” Miraculously, Wilson won the first round. To the disgust of liberals, the media, and the administration, Somoza’s entire $3.1 million aid package was restored. A jubilant Representative Murphy insisted that Wilson accompany him to Managua over the July 4 recess to meet Tacho.
One of Wilson’s more endearing features is an ability to understand how ridiculous he often looks to those witnessing his antics. Many years later he would recall with humor the lavish dinner party Somoza threw for him. “Everyone was looking at me with enormous respect,” Wilson recalled, “as if I were Simón Bolívar. Tacho gave this great toast in which he credited me with being the only thing preserving freedom in the hemisphere. The entire oligarchy of Managua was there applauding. I will admit, it was kind of heady.”
After the toasts, Somoza invited Wilson into his private underground office in the bunker. “It was kind of Hitlerian,” Wilson recalls. Somoza would later spend his final days in Nicaragua in that bunker, vainly directing his army to bomb the cities of his country as the Sandinistas closed in on him. But that night Somoza, flushed with the victory in Congress, was brimming over with bravado.
The dictator was seated in front of a giant West Point flag. “I want you to know that dealing with Tacho Somoza is not a one-way street,” he said, leering as he took a thick wad of greenbacks out of his desk drawer. He mumbled something about campaign contributions.
“I almost shit,” Wilson remembers. “I said, ‘Well, not now. I don’t need any money now. Maybe in the future.’” The congressman says he was not about to take the money, but he couldn’t quite get himself to turn it down completely. “It just looked so tempting,” he says, remembering Somoza mentioning the figure of $50,000. “In those days that was a good bit of change, but I didn’t take the fucking money.”
Wilson says the rejection made for an awkward moment. In spite of this, the dictator managed to win him over. Wilson liked
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