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A listener note, this episode previously aired in 2022.

Wondry.

Thank you. It's June 22. It's June 17, 1972 in Washington, D.C.

It's a Saturday morning, and Bob Woodward is lying in bed in his one-room apartment.

Morning light begins drifting into his bedroom, but Woodward remains sound asleep.

He needs the rest.

It was another long and grueling week for the 29-year-old reporter for the Washington Post.

And Saturday is for one of the few times he can actually catch up on sleep so he can recharge

and get back to covering crime

and corruption. But this morning, Woodward isn't so lucky. He's in the middle of a dream when

his phone rings unexpectedly. Woodward's eyes shoot open. He groans and brushes his brown hair

from his eyes. Then he sits up and reaches for the receiver.

This is Woodward.

Oh, hey, Bob. Did I wake you up?

Woodward suppresses a groan.

It's the city editor at the post, and that can mean only one thing.

Woodward is about to get an assignment,

one that's going to get him out of bed and bring him into the office. No, I wasn't sleeping, just waking up a bit. You sure? You sound a little groggy.

...