From an economic perspective, the budget bill made some sense. It imposed spending discipline by setting firm caps on discretionary spending and requiring additional government spending on programs like Medicare and Social Security to be offset by cuts in other areas. For every dollar in revenue increases that Dad accepted, the Democratic Congress agreed to two dollars in spending cuts.
From a political perspective, however, the budget agreement was a disaster. Dad’s decision to break his “no new taxes” pledge fractured the Republican Party. The White House did a poor job of communicating the rationale behind the deficit deal. It seemed to me that there was not a full-scale effort to defend the deal. I’m not sure why. Perhaps senior advisers did not want to attract any more attention to Dad’s broken pledge. If so, that was shortsighted.
In retrospect, the White House should have conducted a full-throated public relations campaign to explain the budget decision. By taking the issue to the people, a President can build up public support and change minds in Washington. Unfortunately, George Bush did not do that for the budget agreement of 1990, and the bitterness that resulted from his broken pledge damaged his standing within his party.
Ultimately, many economists would later credit Dad’s decision with laying the foundation for the explosive economic growth of the 1990s. Sadly for President George Bush, the positive economic news did not appear until right after the 1992 election.
—
THE DEFICIT REDUCTION deal obscured many other domestic accomplishments of Dad’s presidency. He fulfilled a campaign promise by signing the Americans with Disabilities Act, a landmark piece of legislation that has enabled millions of Americans with physical disabilities to participate more fully in society. I saw the positive impact of the law firsthand. When I was comanaging partner of the Texas Rangers, we designed the new Ballpark in Arlington to include wheelchair ramps and handicap-accessible seating so that all fans could cheer on the Rangers. Dad also signed the Civil Rights Act of 1991—a fitting complement to the open-housing bill that he supported in 1968—which allowed greater access to courts for victims of racial discrimination without endorsing quotas. And he signed the Clean Air Act Amendments of 1990, the most significant environmental legislation in two decades. The bill applied market forces to reduce the problem of acid rain in the most economically efficient way possible. And it worked. In 2002, the Economist magazine called the bill “the greatest green success story of the past decade.”
In one of his most satisfying personal achievements, he issued an executive order establishing a program to recognize and encourage volunteer organizations. Adopting a line from his inaugural address, he called the initiative Points of Light. Every day, the White House recognized a volunteer who had done something to improve his or her community with a Daily Point of Light Award. By the end of the Bush administration, more than a thousand points of light had been recognized. Dad didn’t stop there. When he left office, he turned the Points of Light initiative into a private organization, now chaired by my brother Neil, that continues to encourage volunteerism. In 2013, President Barack Obama invited Dad to the White House to present the five-thousandth Point of Light Award to a couple from Iowa who started an organization to provide food and water to children in need.
Like Presidents before him, Dad also had an opportunity to influence the third branch of government, the judiciary. He replaced Supreme Court Justices William Brennan and Thurgood Marshall, two of the most liberal Justices of the twentieth century, with David Souter and Clarence Thomas. Souter, a former New Hampshire Supreme Court Justice recommended by John Sununu and Senator Warren Rudman, unexpectedly turned out to be almost as liberal as Brennan and Marshall. Clarence Thomas, an African-American who had grown up in rural poverty in Pin Point, Georgia, before working his way through Holy Cross College and Yale Law School, emerged as one of the most consistent and principled Justices of the Supreme Court.
To join the Court, Justice Thomas endured one of the most unfair confirmation proceedings in the history of the Senate. The focus of the hearings quickly turned away from his legal qualifications and judicial opinions to vicious personal smears. Democrats in the Senate called a parade of witnesses to impugn the nominee’s character with lurid details about alleged sexual harassment—a shameful display that Clarence Thomas rightly described as a “high-tech lynching.” During the hearing, the pressure to withdraw the nomination was enormous. I knew George Bush would never abandon a good man like Clarence Thomas. I remember talking to him after watching the coverage of the hearings on TV.
“This Thomas stuff is getting pretty nasty,” I said.
“You know what, son,” he said, “the worse they treat him, the more determined I am to get him confirmed.”
Dad meant what he said. After a lot of lobbying and hard work, the Senate confirmed Justice Thomas fifty-two to forty-eight, with eleven Democrats voting in his favor.
Watching my father’s experience with Supreme Court nominations proved beneficial when I had the opportunity to appoint new Justices. I learned that it is essential for a President to fully vet nominees. Early in my presidency, I directed my counsel’s office to research potential Supreme Court nominees. When Justice Sandra Day O’Connor announced her resignation in 2005, I invited five jurists for one-on-one interviews at the White House Residence. I had reviewed their judicial philosophies; what I really wanted to learn was their character and whether their philosophy would change with time. While all the candidates were outstanding, I was especially impressed by Judge John Roberts, a generous and humble man who had argued dozens of cases before the Supreme Court and was widely considered one of the best lawyers of his generation. I first nominated John for Justice O’Connor’s seat and later resubmitted his nomination for Chief Justice Rehnquist’s seat after the Chief Justice died. For Justice O’Connor’s seat, I chose Sam Alito, a soft-spoken and brilliant judge whose love of the law was matched only by his passion for the Philadelphia Phillies. Both men have done me proud during their time on the Court.
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DURING DAD’S FIRST term, most people assumed that he would run for reelection. He loved the job, and he was excelling at it. Yet the decision was not automatic. His primary concern was the impact that another campaign would have on our family. One reason was my brother Neil. Neil had served on the board of directors of the Silverado Banking Savings and Loan. Like hundreds of other savings and loan associations, Silverado had overextended its lending, become insolvent when interest rates increased, and required federal taxpayer money to repay depositors. The media and Dad’s political adversaries depicted Neil as the “poster boy” for the savings and loan crisis. He appeared before a congressional committee to answer hostile questions. The Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation opened an investigation and eventually filed civil charges (which were later settled out of court).
Dad was crushed. He ached for his middle son. As he later wrote, it killed him to see Neil singled out because he was the President’s son. George Bush was willing to take all the heat that came with being President. But when his job affected his children, that was a different story. One day when he and I were fishing in Maine, he told me out of the blue, “Son, I’m thinking about not running again.”
“Why, Dad?” I asked.
“Because of what Neil is going through,” he said.
“I know it’s tough,” I said, “but you’ve still got work to do and the country needs you.”
He didn’t answer. It was clear that he was seriously considering giving it all up to ease the pain on his son.
I got a taste of Neil’s struggles one day at the gym in Dallas. I overheard somebody say, “There’s the President’s son—he’s about to get indicted.” I was hot. I walked over to the guy and blurted, “I’m not about to get indicted, and neither is my brother, and I’d appreciate it if you’d get your facts right instead of spreading gossip.” The stranger was taken aback. He stammered an apology. My personal encounter with the Silverado crisis was f
leeting. For Neil, it felt like it lasted for an eternity.
I remembered Neil’s experience years later when I was deciding whether to run for President. I was very reluctant to expose my family, especially our daughters, to the kind of treatment that Neil had received. Ultimately, like Dad, I decided that our family was strong enough to endure the scrutiny. The presidency attracts a spotlight, and one of the toughest things for any President is to watch that spotlight shine harshly on the people you love.
Dad had another reason for hesitating to run for reelection: his health. In 1989, Mother had been diagnosed with Graves’ disease, a thyroid condition that can cause weight loss and serious eye problems. Two years later, Dad started experiencing an irregular heartbeat and exhaustion. When Laura and I came for a state dinner with the Queen of England in May 1991, I was shocked to see Dad looking so tired and worn. He never complained, but I could tell that he was suffering. It was the first time in my life that my father had ever looked old. Strangely, doctors concluded that he also had Graves’ disease. They did their best to treat the illness, but it took time for him to adjust to the medication. It seemed like he never had quite the same energy level again. That was a serious problem for someone serving as President and running for reelection. Yet George Bush was a competitor. As he had explained in his 1988 convention speech, he saw the presidency as a mission—and he was determined to complete it.
Around the summer of 1991, I started to worry about the reelection campaign. The American people were focused on the economy. And in the middle of a recession, that was not a good issue for the sitting President—especially one who had angered his own party by breaking his most memorable promise.
In addition to the economy, I worried about the political mood of the country. Between his eight years as Vice President and four years as President, George Bush had been in the public spotlight for a long time. The American people would naturally be looking for a fresh face. The demographics of America were shifting. As baby boomers in their thirties and forties became more politically active, leaders from the World War II generation started to seem increasingly out-of-date. Even among Bush supporters, the energy level and enthusiasm was not nearly as high as it had been in 1988.
To convince the country that he deserved another four years, Dad would need an active, forward-looking message. Tragically, his top strategist, Lee Atwater, had died of brain cancer in 1991. No one of Lee’s talent had stepped forward to guide the reelection campaign. The perils of the political landscape became clear in November 1991 when Dick Thornburgh, Dad’s former Attorney General and a popular former Governor of Pennsylvania, unexpectedly lost a Senate race in Pennsylvania. In retrospect, that should have been an alarm bell about the dangers that were ahead for George Bush.
The last thing any family member should do is burden the President with complaints or concerns, but in the early fall of 1991, I told Dad that I was worried about the reelection effort. I knew that he shared my misgivings when he asked me to take on a sensitive assignment. He wanted me to analyze how to improve the functioning of the White House and to make recommendations about how to structure the 1992 campaign. He sent a letter to all his senior advisers telling them to meet with me and share their candid thoughts. At first I was startled that he had asked me to take on such an important project. Then I was deeply touched by his confidence in me.
I took the job seriously. Several times I traveled from Dallas to Washington to interview all of the top White House and campaign officials. What became clear is that many senior advisers felt disconnected from the President. They felt that the President was isolated and that the lack of access to him was weakening morale. The consensus of the interviews was that Dad should change the way the White House was operating, starting with the Chief of Staff.
In late November 1991, Mother, Dad, and I had dinner in the family dining room of the White House. Over the first course, a nice soup, I gave him a summary of the interviews that I had conducted. Dad took it all in and didn’t say much during the main course. Finally, during dessert, he said that he agreed with the conclusion that the White House needed to be reorganized and that he needed to find a new Chief of Staff. Then he asked, “Who do you think should tell John Sununu?”
I was surprised by the question. “Why don’t you talk to him?” I asked.
He said, “I’d rather it be someone else.” We ran down a list of possible names, none of whom he wanted to handle it.
Finally, in spite of my misgivings about the awkwardness of a President’s son delivering such a message, I said, “Dad, look, if no one else can do it, I can talk to Sununu anytime you’d like.”
To my amazement, after a long pause, he said, “Fine.”
Over the years, there has been widespread speculation about my conversation with John Sununu. I merely told John he should go see the President, have a heart-to-heart discussion, and give him the opportunity to make a change if the President so desired. I don’t know what transpired after that, but I do know that a few days later John went to talk to Dad at Camp David. Shortly after Thanksgiving 1991, John Sununu—an able man and a loyal friend to George Bush—stepped down as Chief of Staff.
I’ve always wondered why Dad didn’t approach his Chief of Staff himself. I’ve never asked him. The experience taught me a lesson. When I became Governor and President, I resolved to either make personnel changes myself or to have a close confidant (not a family member) who could speak on my behalf make them. When I decided to reorganize my White House five years into my presidency, I told my dear friend and Chief of Staff Andy Card that I felt it was time for a change. And when I decided to replace Secretary of the Treasury Paul O’Neill and Secretary of Defense Don Rumsfeld, I asked my Vice President, Dick Cheney, to deliver the message.
At that same White House dinner, Dad and I began to discuss how to organize the 1992 campaign. Unlike in 1988, I did not plan to be in Washington for the 1992 campaign. I was busy with the Rangers back in Texas. I suggested to Dad that he ask Jim Baker, who had been with Dad in every one of his national campaigns, to leave his post as Secretary of State and run the 1992 campaign. Dad was reluctant to ask his friend to leave the State Department and step back into the political arena. I understood his decision, but with Atwater gone and Baker off the political playing field, my concerns about the reelection intensified.
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THE YEAR 1992 did not get off to an auspicious beginning for George Bush. He started the year with a long trip through Asia, where he was negotiating several important trade agreements. The final stop was Japan. After a day of meetings, he and Mother attended a banquet with Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa. Dad hadn’t been feeling well all day, but he was too polite to cancel on his host. Everything went fine until about halfway through the meal, when nausea overtook him. His head drooped and he passed out, falling sideways from his chair and vomiting on the Prime Minister. The Secret Service raced over, as did Mother with a napkin. Dad quickly regained consciousness.
“Why don’t you just roll me under the table and you can go on with the banquet?” he cracked.
He went back to his hotel while Mother stayed and delivered Dad’s toast. The incident made international news—and provided plenty of fodder for late-night comedy skits.
There was nothing funny about the problem brewing back in New Hampshire. In December 1991, the political commentator and TV show host Patrick J. Buchanan had announced that he was challenging Dad in the New Hampshire Republican primary. Buchanan had never held any elected office and seemed to be running in part to boost his TV ratings. A few months earlier, it had seemed inconceivable that any Republican would challenge George Bush. Buchanan’s entry in the race showed how badly Dad’s position among Republicans had slipped. Polls in early 1992 showed that Buchanan could pick up more than 30 percent of New Hampshire Republicans—a significant protest vote. I had seen protest candidates run in New Hampshire before: Eugene McCarthy in 1968, Ronald Reagan in 1976, and Ted Kennedy in 1980. Every time, the
incumbent was significantly wounded.
Buchanan’s basic message was that George Bush had betrayed the conservative legacy of Ronald Reagan—a legacy that Republican politicians continue to invoke today, even though some of them overlook the details of Ronald Reagan’s record. He attacked the President not only for breaking his “no new taxes” pledge but also for signing the civil rights bill.
Buchanan described the contrast with Dad in his announcement speech. “He is a globalist and we are nationalists. He believes in some pax universalis; we believe in the old republic. He would put America’s wealth and power at the service of some vague new world order. We will put America first.” Buchanan opposed the Gulf War, which he saw as a sellout to “the Israeli defense ministry and its amen corner in the United States.” The message echoed the isolationist position of the America First Committee, which opposed American involvement in World War II. It also reminded me of the Texas far-right movement that I had encountered in the 1960s and 1970s, and it was a forerunner of today’s Tea Party. And yet, one out of every three Republicans in New Hampshire was supporting Buchanan.
After initially ignoring the primary challenge, Dad’s political advisers decided that the President should go to New Hampshire to counter Buchanan’s attacks and reassure Republican voters. At one town hall, he delivered an underwhelming line to New Hampshire voters: “Message: I care.” No doubt he did care, a lot. And he laid out a proposal for modest tax reductions that would help ease some of the pain. Beyond that, Dad was banking on what his economic advisers had assured him of—that the economy was growing and that jobs reports would improve soon. So far, the results had not appeared. On primary night, Buchanan garnered more than 37 percent, which the media spun as a repudiation of George Bush.
41: A Portrait of My Father Page 20