All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings
Page 49
Dear Buck,
Yes, I knew that Carol was to be put down as ‘doubtful’ on my abortion position; but so is the rest of the garden club, the social register, and, ironically, most of my close friends. If Carol seems concerned please tell her “no problem”!
People do feel strongly over this very divisive issue; and she will cause me no concern at all, even if she beats on the White House gate—I really mean that. My problem is the longer I think about this very difficult issue the more strongly I feel about the human life side of the question. When I have real doubts, and I do, I look at Marshall.44 I wish the whole bloody issue would go away. It won’t so family members should all do their own thing without fear of embarrassing me. They should know that because they are related they’ll get ‘ink’ that otherwise they wouldn’t get; but that is life. As they say in Malta “gracek erg talket, sodak!”
Your concerned brother,
George
This is a personal letter not to be shared with Planned Parenthood or Save the Whales.
December 1st
Friday night aboard the USS Belknap, the flagship of the Sixth Fleet anchored off Malta. Ahead of us is the Slava, the Soviet cruiser that is bigger and more resplendent, though not nearly as effective of a fighting vessel as this one. It’s been some day.
We left last night, and I was awakened in the middle of the night on Air Force One, having taken a Halcyon sleeping pill, by John Sununu telling me that things were tough in the Philippines, and that Aquino had requested our help—no troops, but the use of our air force to keep the rebel forces from coming into the air and bombing the palace, etc. I gave permission, and Dan Quayle, Bob Gates45 are working the problem on the U.S. end.46 . . .
I dictate this as I go to bed the night before the Summit that has now taken on worldwide proportions. How do I feel? I feel confident. Our brief is good, and we’re going to offer him certain things on the economy. I will convince him that we want to move forward on defense; I will convince him that I can lead the alliance; but I will impress on him that he must stop screwing around with El Salvador47 and Cuba. If he really wants help, and he really wants progress to go forward, then we’ve got to move—not only on the economic front—but on the political side. He’s come a long way. I’m criticized for not doing enough, but things are coming our way, so why do we have to jump up and down, risk those things turning around and going in the wrong direction.
There are some gales out there, apparently, but as I dictate this just before going to sleep, there is a very gentle lull, and I think of my days aboard San Jacinto. I love the Navy, and I felt 31 years old walking around the decks of the Forrestal 48 and the Belknap. I even went out and fished off the fantail. No fish, obviously, but did get one nibble. It must have been some tiny little thing.
December 2nd
It’s the damnedest weather you’ve ever seen. . . . the highest seas that they’ve ever had, and it screwed everything up. In the first place, we could not go to the Slava because Gorbachev did not want to go out to Slava—the seas were plenty rough—so we went to the Maxim Gorky, a great big beautiful cruise liner laying against a berth in the harbor. Getting on the boat was a little bit of a challenge, but nothing like coming back onto the Belknap.49 Anyway, we made it into the Gorky, and the meetings, I’d say, went reasonably well. I tabled a series of proposals. It seemed to disarm him but, sure enough, we did have some progress on arms control; on what we can do for MFN,50 etc.
Gorbachev looked tired. He wore a dark blue pinstriped suit, a cream colored white shirt (like the ones I like), a red tie (almost like the one out of the London firm with a sword), and he was graying at the temples. The spot is prominent on his head, but you don’t notice it all the time, and a nice smile, though there was something different. He seemed laid back and reserved but, of course he was dead tired; he had gotten in late that night. . . .
I strongly raised Nicaragua and Cuba, but he resisted. . . . He made a strong pitch for me to talk to Castro. I hit him hard on arms to Nicaragua, and I accepted his denial that they weren’t his; but I did point out that [Soviet-made] helicopters were on their way, and this was very damaging. He seemed laid-back, or not as aggressive as I thought he might be, on these points on Cuba and Nicaragua. I explained our position about Noriega, and he did not defend Noriega, but he said that Ortega51 in Nicaragua was not a Marxist, and that he [was allowing] elections. It was a weak defense, but I tried to make the point that this was a real sticking point in our relationship and he ought to do something about clearing it up. He said, “I want to talk to you about Afghanistan; I noticed that you didn’t mention that in the other meeting.” And I said, “Well, that’s true, I didn’t, but I’m prepared to talk to you, and sure enough, we will.”
We had a good meeting . . . about four hours, or four and a half hours, and then we came back to Belknap. But then the weather really broke for the worst. We barely got aboard Belknap with the Admiral’s barge charging up and down, but once we got on, the landing platforms had to be pulled up. The Maltese said this storm was one of the worst they had seen, and they didn’t expect it to clear. There was some talk that it would clear in time for dinner, but I’m dictating this at 10:00 p.m., and the ship is rolling like mad. I’ve got a patch behind my ear—the things really work—but I’m blessed by not getting seasick. I can’t say I don’t feel the ship’s motion.
I walked after a marvelous dinner that was supposed to be for Gorbachev—swordfish, fresh lobster, etc. I walked the deck; spoke to the enlisted men, with the spray and rain driving down way up on the bow; then on the walkway back to the stern; and then through the enlisted men’s mess where they were about to have a movie. It was wonderful. What fine looking kids, and they were all very friendly, taking pictures, my standing with them for the pictures with their own camera, and making it much more fun.
The best laid plans of men: Here we are, the two super power leaders several hundred yards apart, and we can’t talk because of the weather. . . .
Despite the weather the meeting was seen as enormously successful. Gorbachev and I talked about everything and established a good working relationship, which would be important in the days to come. After the meeting was over, I personally briefed our NATO allies and sent Brent to China to brief the leaders there. I did it out of courtesy, and to extend a hand.
December 10th
Congress jumps all over me, and the press is in a frenzy on the China trip. It’s as if we totally normalized relations. It looks like it’s going to be hell but I’m confident we did the right thing. . . .
I like this fight, because I’m convinced it’s the right thing to do, and there’s not a hell of a lot that Congress can do about it. Bob Strauss checks in and says it was a statesman-like thing to do. He said, “You’re strong as President, and you can afford to do this kind of thing.” I was very pleased by that. . . .
A personal cloud was developing over our family that Christmas. Neil was being dragged into the savings and loan mess, only because he was an outside director of a S&L called Silverado. He was one of thousands of Americans who sat on S&L boards, but because his name was Bush, he was being singled out. As President, I could not step in and help him, which killed me. But once again, our good friend Lud Ashley—now out of Congress—offered support.
December 13, 1989
The Honorable Thomas Ludlow Ashley
Association of Bank Holding Companies
Washington, DC 20005
Dear Lud:
Thank you for your good memo December 8th.
I would appreciate any help you could give Neil. He tells me he never had any insider dealings. He got off the Board early—long before I was elected President. The Denver paper apparently ran a very nice editorial about him on that. He is an outside Director, and thus I guess has liability, but I can’t believe that his name would appear in the paper if it was Jones not Bush. In any event, I know that the guy is totally honest. I saw him in Denver and I think he is worried about the p
ublicity and the “shame.” I tell him not to worry about that but any advice that you can give as this matter unfolds would be greatly appreciated by me. If it turns out there has been some marginal call, or he has done something wrong, needless to say there will be no intervention from his dad. But I’m quite confident that this is not true. . . .
Warm regards,
George
December 16th
Ellie52 walked in about 4:00 a.m.—she was sleeping in Bar’s little office off our bedroom—and I was aware of her presence. I held out the blanket (we didn’t say anything), pulled her in, and then rolled her over into the middle. Millie was already there, so in went Bar, Millie, Ellie and me. I said, “Be quiet, and go to sleep,” but we really never did go back to sleep, but she didn’t say anything. She was a wiggly little thing, but she hugged me and it reminded me exactly of when Robin was sick. It was frightening it was much the same—her little figure standing there, roughly the same age, equally as beautiful, just walking towards my bed, and standing there, just looking at me . . .
December 17th
Last night a young Marine was killed in Panama. Hectored by blockade guards, the Marine and his three companions tried to get away from a road block, but they had gotten lost, and they were shot at. The Panamanians claim that the Marines fired on them, which was bull because none of them had any ammunition or guns.
Shortly after that a Navy lieutenant and his wife were taken in by the same check point people and harassed for 30 minutes. He was kicked and brutalized, kicked in the groin. A day or so before that, the Panamanians declared war on the United States, and they installed Manuel Noriega as the maximum leader. . . .
So this Sunday afternoon, I put into forward motion a major use of force to get Noriega out. It’s a major gamble. We do not want to be an occupying power in Panama. World opinion will be difficult, but I decided to send a cable to the OAS53 states saying that what happened was unacceptable . . . the Soviet reaction will probably be negative . . . Certainly some of the Central Americans will be very wary . . .
Things that are on my mind: Loss of American life; what if we don’t get Noriega and bring him to justice—that he escapes our net. We’ll go after him in every way possible.
December 20th
I’m thinking about the kids . . . those young 19 year olds who will be dropped in tonight . . . The operation has been rehearsed, and I’m thinking about the brutality of Noriega and what he’s apt to do. I’m thinking about what happens if he gets away or flees into some Embassy—hostile or friendly. And I’m wondering if Endara and Ford54 will accept their responsibility to stand up, be declared the democratically elected leaders, be sworn in and govern.55 It is a major decision. . . .
So the tension mounts. They asked whether I would sleep; but there’s no way I will be able to sleep; during an operation of this nature where the lives of American kids are at risk. . . .
Our military performed brilliantly during the nighttime invasion, but 23 Americans were killed and 323 were injured. Noriega did flee and could not be found for a few days, but Endara and his team were sworn in and took over immediately, and the people of Panama were relieved and grateful.
December 24th
The phone rang and it’s Brent saying Noriega has turned himself in to the Vatican Embassy in Panama. . . .
So what are my feelings when I hear that Noriega has given himself up? Great relief, and then my mind starts ticking—what are the complications? Will they try and give him asylum somewhere else? Will they try and arrange for him to be shipped to some third country? What about the indictments? It had been said that we’d pass the word that if he went to a third country on his own, we wouldn’t pursue him . . . but that was before we lost American lives. . . .
It’s got to be good news for Christmas Eve—very good news—because I think that with Noriega coming along into custody, even to the Vatican, that resistance will melt. He has no real following—he’s a thug, crook, witch craft drug dealer, everything evil, and his time is up. This could be a great Christmas Eve . . .56
December 31st
It’s been some year—a fascinating year of change. I end the year with more confidence, and end the year with real gratitude to our team. They’ve pulled together. They had very little individual grandstanding. . . .
I’m certainly not seen as a visionary, but I hope I’m seen as steady and prudent and able.
The tough thing was going down early in my Presidency to speak at the ceremony for the Iowa sailors. I’ve gotten a little better at that at year’s end, but not very good. When something close and personal happens, I break up and I know it. I couldn’t speak at Fred Chamber’s funeral. . . .
Bar’s been sick this year,57 but she’s as strong as she can be, though her eyes bother her. She’s captured the imagination of the country, and it’s wonderful. My worries are about her eyes—they hurt her. They’re changing the medication, etc., but she’ll do fine. I’m sure of that—she’s got to. . . .
One of the greatest highlights was the day after Christmas. I was getting ready to go to the office, and Ellie—beautiful Ellie, who lights up any room she’s in—said, “Gampy, come here,” so I went into the bathroom. She pointed into the toilet, and said, “Did you leave that poo-poo?” Not many people would talk to the President of the United States like that.
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON
CHAPTER 13
On the Front Line
On New Year’s Eve, Barbara and I went to San Antonio to visit some of the injured troops coming back from Panama. It was an emotional day for both of us. This was one of several thank-you notes that I wrote:
Jan. 1, 1990
Brigadier Gen’l William L. Moore, Jr.
Brooke Army Medical Center
Fort Sam Houston, TX 78150-6189
Dear B Gen Moore,
I wiped away a tear or two as we drove back to the plane—a tear of sadness that those young kids are hurting—a tear of joy that your loving care and the care of all involved with our wounded men knows no bounds when it comes to excellence and concern.
I am grateful to you and yours; and I am thankful that your love and your medicine will give our heroic young men the chance to lead normal productive lives. May God Bless you, your family, and your critically important work—
George Bush
1-3-90
FROM THE PRESIDENT
TO: Marvin1
The two boys, squad mates, who were blasted in Panama and are lying there in Brooke Army Medical Center with colostomies are:
PFC Patrick Kilgallen
Bravo Company 3/75th Rangers—21 years old, single—spirits fair. His folks were there and he seemed a little confused and scared about what lies ahead, Mom mentioned your colostomy and Kilgallen’s mother, at bedside, thanked her.
PFC Darron Murphy. Same exact outfit. 20 years old, married w/ daughter—spirits good. They told him when he came out of the operation that the Pres’ son Marv had had the same operation.
The boys are lying there side by side in a room. Their squad leader was killed.
A phone call, like only you can do, would make a difference. We can set it up if you’d like or you can call the hospital, speak to General Moore who showed Mum and me around. Ask him what would be best way to talk to both kids. It will mean an awful lot.
Maureen Dowd of the New York Times wanted to do an article about Marlin Fitzwater. I agreed to jot down some thoughts:
January 7, 1990
Dear Maureen,
Yes I am a note answerer, and a note writer, and a self typer because my handwriting is pretty awful. You ask about Marlin:
He is a serious contender for the coveted Scowcroft Award.2 Marlin, though it is early in 1990, has already demonstrated an amazing ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. He needs to improve his record on sleeping in important meetings. The Scowcroft award gives extra points for he/she who totally craters, eyes tightly closed, in the midst of meetings; but
in fairness a lot of credit is given for sleeping soundly while all about you are doing their thing. Here Marlin does very well. As I say, it is early in January, but already, Marlin Fitzwater is building on last year’s record. It was on a short hop from Texas to Alabama, early in the A.M. when most were just getting ‘hyped’ up for the day, that Marlin, mouth open, head back, set a new high standard. It is said that 2 people were talking to him when he clonked out—an amazing performance.
Marlin is a hat man. Most men, at least younger men Marlin’s age (younger by my gauge) are careful about hats—not Marlin. Unafraid of what his peers might think, he’ll try any hat. You might think this is trivial. I don’t. I respect him for this—a trait some would consider eccentric.
You ask about tennis—Yes. For awhile when he was carrying excess tonnage the ranking committee3 felt his claims of prowess in Kansas were a bit exaggerated—the committee watched, saw some potential but couldn’t picture the gazelle like qualities he claims he once had. Now, however, Slim Fast having hammered his body into hard rock muscle, those critics can see what he meant about himself when he said “I used to run like a deer and have the finesse, on the court, of a fox-owl combined.” Yes. Tennis. He’s into it.
Humorist you ask? Of Course. For the most part Marlin’s jokes could be told over there at the DAR HQ4—well not all of them but many. He laughs well and others laugh with him. He better though, how could he survive in that briefing room if he couldn’t laugh it up from time to time.
What else?—Let’s see.
He’s a classy guy and I depend on him, not just when we land but when we take off, too. He’s my guy and I am proud to have him at my side.
George Bush
I sent a copy of this letter to our entire family.
January 17, 1990
Mr. George W. Bush
Dallas, Texas 75225