Bob Woodward: Still hungry after all these years

Thirty years after Watergate, he's still in business

Bob Woodward is a busy man. That may come as a surprise to some. Woodward may be the world's most famous journalist, but for many people – especially in Britain – his fame is connected with one story: the break-in at the Watergate building and the ensuing scandal that eventually led to the resignation of President Richard Nixon.

That story – famously portrayed in the 1976 movie All the President's Men, an adaptation of the book of the same name by Woodward and Carl Bernstein – broke 30 years ago this summer. Since then, as well as bolstering his reputation as a first-class reporter on many important stories, Woodward has written bestselling investigative books and risen to the position of assistant managing editor at his newspaper.

But what may surprise people who do not regularly read The Washington Post is that Woodward, now 59, still cranks out front-page investigative reports at a prolific rate. Since the events of 11 September, he has broken a number of important stories and has just co-authored an exhaustive and compelling eight-part series examining the thoughts and actions of George Bush and his war cabinet in the first 10 days after the terrorist attacks.

"It's a great job, being a newspaper reporter," says Woodward, in low, measured, authoritative tones. "You get to make entries into people's lives when they are interesting and get out when they are not. I have always enjoyed that.

"I don't know how you do a study of comparative excitement. It's my job. [The Post] gives me time to work on a story. They give me days or weeks or a day – or whatever it is. I have time... It's a great place to work."

In fact, these days, Woodward can ask for as much time as he wants, or anything else. Despite half-hearted claims to the contrary, he is a reporter in a unique position and has almost unequalled access to high-level sources simply because of who he is and whom he works for. For the recent series, Woodward and his colleague Dan Balz were granted on-the-record interviews with Bush, Dick Cheney, the Vice-President, Donald Rumsfeld, the Defence Secretary, and dozens of others in the top level of the government.

It was not always so. In the summer of 1972, Woodward, a Yale graduate and former naval officer, was working for the Post's less glamorous Metro, or local news, section. At 9am on 17 June, he received a phone call that would change his life.

It was the news desk. There had been a break-in at the headquarters of the Democratic National Committee. Five men had been arrested and were due to appear in court. Could he come into work?

That Saturday, Woodward, his colleague Carl Bernstein and six other reporters worked on a front-page story that appeared under the single byline of the crime reporter Alfred Lewis. The rest, we know.

The movie of Woodward and Bernstein's book – in which they are portrayed by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman – reveals their efforts to reveal that the break-in, and a range of other nefarious incidents, was ordered by Nixon. What it does not make clear is that from the very beginning – when they discovered on the first day that the five burglars kitted out with Playtex rubber gloves were former employees of the CIA – the pair had stumbled unknowingly on to an obviously massive story.

Woodward claims that the so-called access journalism he practises now is no different from what he has always done. "Watergate, if you will, was access journalism," he says. "Getting and pursuing sources who had information that explained what was going on. Sometimes it is very unofficial and secretive. Sometimes it's open... Sometimes it's a mixture of both."

Unsurprisingly, in the often bitchy and envy-fuelled world of journalism, Woodward has his detractors. Some claim he is too close to his sources and that he is used as a mouthpiece by agencies such as the CIA and FBI. He says he guards against that by checking the information he receives with other sources. "I work all the time [to avoid] being trapped by a preconception of what the story is. I prefer to let the data and the facts tell the story."

He adds: "On our recent series we had some information. We wanted to check it. We ended up sending Cheney a three-, four-, five-, six-page memo of questions for him to respond to."

Over the years there have also been accusations that he embellishes his stories. One such claim relates to his famous source Deep Throat – named after the contemporary pornographic film – whose identity remains known to only Woodward, Bernstein and the Post's former editor Ben Bradlee. Most seasoned observers believe it was a senior FBI officer.

In All the President's Men, Woodward says that he would signal a meeting request to Deep Throat by moving a flowerpot to the rear of the balcony of his sixth-floor apartment in north-west Washington. If Deep Throat wanted to contact him, he would circle the number on page 20 of a copy of The New York Times delivered to Woodward's apartment, with a hand-drawn clock showing the time to meet at a pre-arranged location.

In his book Deep Truth, Adrian Havill reports that he visited Woodward's former flat – which faces inward on to a courtyard – and declares it impossible for anyone to see on to the balcony. Woodward cannot have been telling the truth, he says. In the best investigative traditions, I tracked down the flat and, with the help of the initially bemused current tenant, did my own test to see if it was possible to see a flowerpot from the ground. A new fence has been built, preventing access to the courtyard. I think it's fair to say the test was inconclusive.

These days Woodward lives in the upmarket Georgetown district with his wife, Elsa Walsh, a writer for The New Yorker, and a three-legged dog. He has two children. His life, he says, is not disturbed by his celebrity. "I go about my business. It's not really relevant to me or most of the people I speak to. Don't be locked in a 1970 view of journalism or me. That was a long time ago."

In fact, colleagues and associates say he quietly enjoys the attention he receives. At his home, hung with modern art, he regularly hosts drinks evenings for the Post's trainee reporters.

Woodward is a busy man. In half an hour he is due to appear on CNN. There is time for one more question. When does he think the identity of Deep Throat will emerge? "Not this afternoon. OK, gotta go."