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President Richard Nixon and Pat Nixon welcome South Vietnam's President Nguyen Van Thieu and his wife Nguyen Thi Mai Anh to a working dinner at the San Clemente home on April 2, 1973. Charles Tasnadi/AP hide caption

itoggle caption Charles Tasnadi/AP

After owning the estate for 35 years, retired Allergan CEO Gavin S. Herbert is selling the former home of President Richard Nixon for $75 million.

The estate is large. Its main residence is 9,000 square feet and the entire compound boasts over 15,000 square feet of living space. The Wall Street Journal has details:

The tranquil lot overlooks a popular surfing beach. It has flower and vegetable gardens, neatly trimmed hedges, and palm and cypress trees.

The home is designed in a Spanish Colonial style—white stucco and red-tile roof, and living spaces around a central courtyard with a fountain. An outside staircase leads to an office with a fireplace that Mr. Nixon added. The dining room overlooks the home's ornamental and English gardens on the opposite side.

The Orange County Register lists all the spaces on the compound. They include "a pavilion with a grand main room, bar, guest suite and den, a two-bedroom guest house, pool and pool terrace, lighted tennis court, gazebo on the bluff, expansive lawns, vegetable and succulent gardens, a greenhouse, catering facility, four staff residences, security annexes and a private well for landscaping water."

Nixon bought the estate in 1969 for $1.4 million, just six months into his presidency, according to The Journal. He named it La Casa Pacifica. During his presidency, Nixon hosted his family as well as world leaders. After resigning from office in 1974 because of the Watergate scandal, Nixon retreated to the estate, where he wrote his memoir.

The OC Register notes that Herbert, along with partners, bought the estate from Nixon in 1980, after the former president moved to New York. The Wall Street Journal says Herbert's life-long love of gardening led him to volunteer as head gardener for the estate even before he owned it.

Gathered in the living room of the president's home at the Western White House in San Clemente on Jan. 6, 1971 are Richard Nixon and guests. From left to right are Bob Hope; Tricia Nixon; Pat Nixon; Gerald Ford, then minority leader of the House; Dolores Hope, Nixon; Betty Ford; Henry Kissinger; and Arnold Palmer. Anonymous/AP hide caption

itoggle caption Anonymous/AP

Sierra Leone poured a lot of money into the battle against Ebola.

The government earmarked $18 million of treasury funds and public donations to combat the disease, which has claimed around 3,800 lives there.

That's an admirable commitment. But there's just one problem. A third of that money appears to have disappeared.

That was the finding of a February government audit, which determined that $6 million is unaccounted for and may have been used to pay "ghost" workers who do not exist. The audit also determined that there is no documentation for an additional $10.2 million.

The sad state of affairs in Sierra Leone is hardly a rare occurrence. According to Berlin-based Transparency International, a global anti-corruption coalition, on average a quarter of the total amount of money allocated for humanitarian assistance is lost to crime.

"There is a high risk of corruption," says Craig Fagan, TI's head of global policy, "because the countries that need it the most are the most susceptible." They're often impoverished and lack strong and open governments and the necessary systems of checks and balances to keep corruption at bay. In the case of Sierra Leone, it was internal money that went missing.

But it doesn't matter if the aid is from local or international sources, he says. It's all at risk of being lost to theft or mismanagement: "This is a problem with funds from all sources," including money from local and foreign government agencies, the United Nations and charities.

Global humanitarian efforts to help people devastated by the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami were marked by corruption, according to a 2006 TI working paper. So were relief efforts to combat a drought in Kenya in 2011. And it's not just a problem overseas.

The New York Times reported in 2006 that $2 billion in tax dollars sent to aid New Orleans after it was leveled by Hurricane Katrina in 2005 was sucked away by waste and fraud.

The answer to the problem is simple: Keep good records! Of course that's easier said than done, but one good example, says Fagan, is the Foreign Aid Transparency Hub, an online tracking service set up by the government of the typhoon-prone Philippines. It tracks the status and amounts of foreign relief aid — cash and in-kind — donated to the country.

Moreover, humanitarian groups are banding together to share information about their programs. The International Aid Transparency Initiative is an online resource for organizations to publish financial and other data on their projects. Begun in 2011, it now has 324 members, including the African Development Bank, European Investment Bank and United Nations Children's Fund.

Fagan credits Sierra Leone for at least making an effort to keep tabs on the funds, noting that a government audit found the missing millions. But now, he adds, it's a question of whether it will follow through with an investigation to determine whether the missing money is attributable to crime or mismanagement and will bring to justice any criminals involved.

If past is prologue in Sierra Leone, then justice may not be in the offing. A few years ago, Fagan relates, after a cholera epidemic struck the country, a similar government audit of assistance funds "found holes in the money trail. But no one was ever held accountable."

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This Passover holiday marks the end of an era for an iconic matzo factory in New York City.

Streit's has been baking matzo — the unleavened bread that Jews eat during the eight days of Passover — in the same factory on the Lower East Side for 90 years. But the company announced it will move production to a new, modern factory after the holiday.

That's a blow to Streit's loyal customers, who insist it tastes better than other brands.

"The supermarkets don't have the stuff, you could come here," says Hedy Weinberger, who says she's been doing her Passover shopping at Streit's factory for more than half a century. "And you smell the matzo," says Weinberger. "You're gonna miss that."

"It was sort of the last holdout in the neighborhood," says Megan Schlow, who's lived on the Lower East Side for 30 years. "It was, I guess, sort of inevitable."

Streit's did hold out — for decades, even as other Jewish-owned businesses moved away from the neighborhood – which was the "capital of Jewish America," as the Library of Congress put it, at the turn of the 20th century. These days, the kosher butchers and grocers have been replaced by high-end restaurants, bars and apartments. But Streit's stayed put, in a factory carved out of four tenement apartment buildings.

i

Edwin Caballeros loads fresh-baked matzos into a packaging machine at the Streit's factory in New York, March 4, 2015. Seth Wenig/AP hide caption

itoggle caption Seth Wenig/AP

Edwin Caballeros loads fresh-baked matzos into a packaging machine at the Streit's factory in New York, March 4, 2015.

Seth Wenig/AP

Founder Aron Streit moved the company to Rivington Street in 1925. The matzo is still baked in ovens that date from before World-World II. The factory is now way too small by modern standards. So the company spends hundreds of thousands of dollars a year just to ship matzo to its own off-site warehouse.

"We could absorb some of the cost," says Aron Yagoda, Streit's great-grandson, and one of several cousins who own and run the business today. "But the real problem is we can't fix the ovens anymore. And every day we come in, it's a blessing the ovens even turn on."

Shortly after Passover, the company will shut off these ovens for good. But co-owner Aaron Gross insists the Streit family recipe will move with them.

"We're the butt of a lot of jokes with matzo," says Gross. "It's the bread of affliction. People say it's tough to eat for eight days. But we have many consumers that [say], forget Passover. They eat it because they choose to eat it."

Still, there are reasons to worry that something may be lost in the move.

"The water we use is New York City water, which is the best water in the world," longtime employee Tony Zapata says in an interview from the documentary film, Streit's: Matzo and the American Dream. "You want Jersey water?" asks Zapata. "Fine — you buy matzos from Jersey. That's on you. We have quality."

He's alluding to Manischewitz, the biggest matzo company in the world, based in New Jersey. To see if anyone else could tell the difference, we enlisted taste-tasters: Sarah Lowman, a food writer and educator who writes the blog at Four Pounds Flour, and Annie Polland, senior vice president at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum. And we gave them Matzo No. 1.

i

A worker stacks matzo wafers at Streit's matzo factory on the Lower East Side of New York, May 2012. Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images hide caption

itoggle caption Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images

A worker stacks matzo wafers at Streit's matzo factory on the Lower East Side of New York, May 2012.

Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images

"That's a good snap," Lowman says. But Polland isn't impressed. "As my grandmother would say, this is as dry as my life," she says of the first option.

Then we gave them Matzo No. 2. "It has a little bit of a toasty flavor," Polland says. Lowman agrees. "It tastes more like a cracker, No. 2," Lowman says, "whereas [No.] 1 kind of just tastes more like dry flour."

Matzo No. 2 – as they both guess correctly — is Streit's.

Polland says the closing of the factory is a real loss for the neighborhood.

"For so long, for decades, Jews have been coming back here at springtime to kind of do this Passover shopping," Polland says. "And Streit's was like a central part of that pilgrimage, if you will. So I think it not being here, there's something really sad about it."

But as Lowman points out, the Lower East Side has changed many times before. And Streit's isn't going out of business. "We aren't really losing this product, or this family, or this business," she says. "It's still very much a part of New York history and Jewish history in America."

Streit's owners won't say exactly where in the New York area they are planning to move. But if they do it right, they say that next Passover, their customers won't even notice the difference.

matzo

jewish food

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Passover

This Passover holiday marks the end of an era for an iconic matzo factory in New York City.

Streit's has been baking matzo — the unleavened bread that Jews eat during the eight days of Passover — in the same factory on the Lower East Side for 90 years. But the company announced it will move production to a new, modern factory after the holiday.

That's a blow to Streit's loyal customers, who insist it tastes better than other brands.

"The supermarkets don't have the stuff, you could come here," says Hedy Weinberger, who says she's been doing her Passover shopping at Streit's factory for more than half a century. "And you smell the matzo," says Weinberger. "You're gonna miss that."

"It was sort of the last holdout in the neighborhood," says Megan Schlow, who's lived on the Lower East Side for 30 years. "It was, I guess, sort of inevitable."

Streit's did hold out — for decades, even as other Jewish-owned businesses moved away from the neighborhood – which was the "capital of Jewish America," as the Library of Congress put it, at the turn of the 20th century. These days, the kosher butchers and grocers have been replaced by high-end restaurants, bars and apartments. But Streit's stayed put, in a factory carved out of four tenement apartment buildings.

i

Edwin Caballeros loads fresh-baked matzos into a packaging machine at the Streit's factory in New York, March 4, 2015. Seth Wenig/AP hide caption

itoggle caption Seth Wenig/AP

Edwin Caballeros loads fresh-baked matzos into a packaging machine at the Streit's factory in New York, March 4, 2015.

Seth Wenig/AP

Founder Aron Streit moved the company to Rivington Street in 1925. The matzo is still baked in ovens that date from before World-World II. The factory is now way too small by modern standards. So the company spends hundreds of thousands of dollars a year just to ship matzo to its own off-site warehouse.

"We could absorb some of the cost," says Aron Yagoda, Streit's great-grandson, and one of several cousins who own and run the business today. "But the real problem is we can't fix the ovens anymore. And every day we come in, it's a blessing the ovens even turn on."

Shortly after Passover, the company will shut off these ovens for good. But co-owner Aaron Gross insists the Streit family recipe will move with them.

"We're the butt of a lot of jokes with matzo," says Gross. "It's the bread of affliction. People say it's tough to eat for eight days. But we have many consumers that [say], forget Passover. They eat it because they choose to eat it."

Still, there are reasons to worry that something may be lost in the move.

"The water we use is New York City water, which is the best water in the world," longtime employee Tony Zapata says in an interview from the documentary film, Streit's: Matzo and the American Dream. "You want Jersey water?" asks Zapata. "Fine — you buy matzos from Jersey. That's on you. We have quality."

He's alluding to Manischewitz, the biggest matzo company in the world, based in New Jersey. To see if anyone else could tell the difference, we enlisted taste-tasters: Sarah Lowman, a food writer and educator who writes the blog at Four Pounds Flour, and Annie Polland, senior vice president at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum. And we gave them Matzo No. 1.

i

A worker stacks matzo wafers at Streit's matzo factory on the Lower East Side of New York, May 2012. Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images hide caption

itoggle caption Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images

A worker stacks matzo wafers at Streit's matzo factory on the Lower East Side of New York, May 2012.

Timothy A. Clary/AFP/Getty Images

"That's a good snap," Lowman says. But Polland isn't impressed. "As my grandmother would say, this is as dry as my life," she says of the first option.

Then we gave them Matzo No. 2. "It has a little bit of a toasty flavor," Polland says. Lowman agrees. "It tastes more like a cracker, No. 2," Lowman says, "whereas [No.] 1 kind of just tastes more like dry flour."

Matzo No. 2 – as they both guess correctly — is Streit's.

Polland says the closing of the factory is a real loss for the neighborhood.

"For so long, for decades, Jews have been coming back here at springtime to kind of do this Passover shopping," Polland says. "And Streit's was like a central part of that pilgrimage, if you will. So I think it not being here, there's something really sad about it."

But as Lowman points out, the Lower East Side has changed many times before. And Streit's isn't going out of business. "We aren't really losing this product, or this family, or this business," she says. "It's still very much a part of New York history and Jewish history in America."

Streit's owners won't say exactly where in the New York area they are planning to move. But if they do it right, they say that next Passover, their customers won't even notice the difference.

matzo

jewish food

foodways

Passover