All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings

  January 24th, 1991

  Dear Mrs. Speicher, Dear Joanne,

  You sent me a very moving telegram. Barbara and I read it together, and we shed a tear for your noble husband. And we said a prayer that God give you the continued strength and courage that you have now.

  I have read about Scott. He must have been “Mr. Perfect” for he was loved by all.

  Sometimes God acts in strange ways—ways we do not understand right away.

  The fact is your husband gave his life not simply so a small country could once again be free, but so that those kids of yours will have a better chance to grow up in a world more peaceful, more just. Give your kids a big hug from both Barbara and me. We know what family and faith can do to lift you up when you are hurt. And clearly those kids have a mother who loves them and whose courage will lead them.

  I am proud of your wonderful husband and I will never forget him.

  George Bush

  Unfortunately, over the next few weeks, I would send out a number of letters similar to this one. The final casualty count for Desert Storm was 148 Americans killed; 467 wounded.

  Mr. and Mrs. James T. Stephenson

  West Bountiful, Utah 84010

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Stephenson:

  Barbara and I were deeply saddened by the news of the loss of your son, Private First Class Dion J. Stephenson, USMC. Our hearts—indeed, the hearts of all Americans—go out to you at this very difficult time.

  I understand the enormity of your grief and know that words alone cannot adequately convey our sympathy. Although the days ahead will not be easy for you and your family, I hope you will take comfort in knowing that Dion served his country with courage, honor, and pride. You and your family can always be proud of him.

  Though it may be of little comfort to you and your family now, history will show that Dion gave his life for his country in an important and noble cause.

  He served his country as a valued member of our Armed Forces, participating in Operation Desert Storm, not only to help liberate the innocent people of Kuwait, but also to ensure that world peace has a better chance after this naked aggression has been checked. He has earned our lasting respect and gratitude, and he will be remembered for his selflessness and sacrifice.

  The entire Bush family is keeping you in its thoughts and prayers. God bless you.

  Sincerely,

  George Bush

  P. S. I am glad we talked today. I am so grateful to you for your words of support. You have given me strength, even in your hour of grief.

  On February 1, I traveled to three bases to support our military and their families: Cherry Point Marine Corps Air Station, North Carolina; Seymour Johnson Air Force Base at Goldsboro, North Carolina; and then Fort Stewart, Georgia, home of the Twenty-fourth Infantry Division. The emotion was almost overwhelming.

  February 1st

  The first stop was Cherry Point—some of the Marines [based there] were KIA.5 I think I saw tears in Al Gray’s eyes. Al, the commandant of the Marine Corps., looked to me a little down right after the State of the Union, so I stopped and said—“Al, I know you had a tough night. I’m thinking of you and I know you lost some Marines.” Yesterday he had the same emotional look, and I could see why. Because when I got up to speak, there were a lot of teary faces of wives in the audience. None of the wives who lost their husbands were there but there were a lot of nervous, worried Marines and families—they have some 70,000 deployed to the Gulf. I decided when I was speaking that I had to get through my text without crying. It’s hard to do when they play the Marine Hymn or the Star Spangled Banner or when they salute you and hold up signs of total support, or when you see the kid mouthing words “Bring my dad home safe.” I decided to look past the first row where there were a lot of crying faces and look at the press or way back in the back of the room and that helped and I got stronger.

  February 14th

  K-Day is approaching,6 and I feel quite content. I wish it were tomorrow. I have no qualms now about ordering a ground war—none at all. I don’t have the aching that I felt the night before the bombing started and we went to war. The reason is that the military are unanimous in recommending the course of action that Colin and Cheney outlined to me the other day. I have not second-guessed; I have not told them what targets to hit; I have not told them how much ordinance to use or how much not to use, or what weapons to use and not to use. I have learned from Vietnam,7 and I think the Army and the other services are doing a superb job. . . .

  February 20, 1991

  Mr. William C. Liedtke, Jr.

  Houston, TX 77024

  Dear Bill,

  I am going to type this—please excuse the errors, but believe me the typing though bad, is far better than my hand. We called Bessie last night—you having hit the sack. She sounded great and brought us up to date on you and the kids.

  I am writing this as a friend who feels he has not been too good a friend.8 Bar and I both wish that we had come by to see you, or get you up here to Camp David. I fear I have been focusing on the War, but after our talk with Bessie I got to thinking “it’s friends that matter—good close loyal wonderful friends—that’s where you come in”. I hope this little note finds you comfortable. I’m sure your sense of humor is intact—anyone that could try slaying Moths with a croquet mallet—on the ceiling no less—has got to be set in the humor department forever. I wish we had Cruise missiles and smart weapons in those early Midland days—all moths would have been done in. I got to thinking of our touch football. Yes I still maintain Terry Moore was not only sexy but highly intellectual—why else would Glenn Davis9 have embraced her on the sidelines like he did? What fun we had in those ‘good old days’—there was enough stress as we all struggled to make something of ourselves, but there was the wonderful closeness of true friends—rejoicing in the other guy’s success or watching with wonder as all our families grew.

  I guess what I am saying Bill is that I miss you, that I am thinking of you, and yes, that I love you and I love your family. And though I have different responsibilities now, they will not crowd out the importance Bar and I place on “friends” and “friendship”. We are thinking of you a lot—always with joy, always with appreciation for the fact that you and Bessie have enriched our lives.

  George

  February 20th

  I’ve been plagued with the image of body bags. Everybody who opposed this war—good people like Dave Boren and Lee Hamilton,10 and Foley and others all raised body bags, body bags, and it gets to my heart. Each kid is precious—each soldier, each Marine, each person who gives his life is precious. But I’ve got to push forward.

  We did a lot of diplomacy again yesterday—Mitterrand, Mulroney, Ozal11—keeping the coalition solid. . . . So far, American public opinion is solid, and the New York Times even editorialized that we shouldn’t jump at a bad deal.

  The truth of the matter is that we’re going to have to capture his army, and we’re going to have to get rid of a lot of that armor. Otherwise, we will have diminished his military, but we will not have accomplished our real goals. I would add to that if Saddam’s military would take matters into their own hands and get rid of this tyrant, we then would have a real chance. I don’t quite see how Iraq with Saddam Hussein at the helm will be able to live peacefully in this family of nations.

  It’s a tough testing time. The pressure is constant; but oddly enough, with Brent, Baker, Cheney and Powell at my side on these matters, I still feel content.

  But the dilemma is, “What is victory—what is a complete victory?” Our goal is not the elimination of Saddam Hussein, and yet in many ways it’s the only answer in order to get a new start for Iraq in the family of nations.

  . . . Scowcroft comes over yesterday. I love the guy dearly. He is the best. His personal life is hell because his wife is an invalid. . . . Flo12 tipped us off that she might be going to the hospital, so I casually said to Brent, “Look, how about going over and we have a debrief over a martini and dinner
.” Barbara then made a very general inquiry over dinner about his wife, and he did tell us about it. But he did say, “I just don’t want to burden you. The President has enough burdens on his shoulders and I just don’t want to add to them.” This thoughtful quiet, unselfish man is a source of tremendous strength to me. Never a game player, always direct. . . .

  The ground war began on Saturday evening, February 23. My right-hand assistant Patty Presock called some administration people on Saturday and asked them to join Barbara and me at church on Sunday morning.

  February 24th

  It’s Sunday morning, and there is no way that I can possibly describe here the emotional feeling I had when I heard that things were going well. I got the word from Cheney,13 and then in a briefing after church. I sat down in the flowered room with Barbara and got the briefing from Schwarzkopf from the field, and I felt myself choking up just as I did in church.

  We had the little church service. It was well attended by the Cabinet and others. The sermon was beautiful—very short and to the point—but all in all, I was very pleased we had it. . . .

  But my emotions are in the pride of our troops, and sorrow. I don’t have elation in my heart. . . .

  By February 27, it was over. Saddam’s army—what was left of it—was fleeing up what became known as the Highway of Death—the road between Kuwait City and Basra, just over the border in Iraq. Cheney and Powell came over to the Oval Office and told me we had achieved our objectives. We called Schwarzkopf from the Oval Office and asked him if he agreed it was time to end the fighting. After checking with his commanders, he said yes. One hundred hours after the ground war had begun, I announced to the nation that the war was over.

  February 28th

  Still no feeling of euphoria. I think I know why it is. After my speech last night, Baghdad radio started broadcasting that we’ve been forced to capitulate. I see on the television that the public opinion in Jordan and in the streets of Baghdad is that they have won. It is such a canard . . .

  The headlines [here] are great—“We win.” The television we see accurately reflects the humiliation of Saddam Hussein and it drives the point home to the American people. But internationally, it’s not there yet, at least in the Arab world that has been lined up with Saddam. He’s got to go, and I hope those two airplanes that reported to the Baghdad airport carry him away. Obviously when the troops straggle home with no armor, beaten up, 50,000 casualties and maybe more dead, the people of Iraq will know. Their brothers and their sons will be missing never to return. . . .

  [I was convinced, as were all our Arab friends and allies, that Hussein would be overthrown once the war ended. That did not and has still not happened. We underestimated his brutality and cruelty to his own people and the stranglehold he has on his country. We were disappointed, but I still do not regret my decision to end the war when we did. I do not believe in what I call “mission creep.” Our mission, as mandated by the United Nations, was clear: end the aggression. We did that. We liberated Kuwait and destroyed Hussein’s military machine so that he could no longer threaten his neighbors.]

  This letter went to my nephew John Ellis, who was then at the John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard. The Ivy League establishment had been critical of the war, calling it Vietnam—the Sequel. John refers to Harvard as a “boutique” in his letter.

  March 18, 1991

  Dear John,

  I’m sitting here in my residence office—you know, one door down from Abe’s bedroom, better known as the room in which Millie hides those rawhide bones. Anyway, along comes your letter reporting that the boutique has been shaken. This letter brought great joy to my tired soul. I am avoiding the ‘told ya’ so’ syndrome, but I must say when constant critics have to digest some crow there is a nice feeling of equity.

  There are plenty of problems to go ‘round; but the critics can never take away this wonderful feeling of pride and patriotism that has swept the U.S. of A. My problem is I shed tears too much. Yesterday at Sumter14—a three-ish year old girl pointed at a grinning camouflaged soldier who had a tear in his eye—“That’s my Daddy—He came home!”

  That did it. Thanks John. Hang in there.

  Your Ma comes here tomorrow—hooray for our side.

  Bar sends her love, too.

  GB

  March 29th

  Lee Atwater died early this morning. He fought the good fight, and he made his peace with those he offended. A good little guy and we’ll miss him, but it’s a blessing now. He suffered a lot at the end—too much—and off he goes to God’s loving arms. . . .

  April 15th

  Dreary weather over the weekend. I rode down to see Doro’s house15 and it was fun. The kids and I played animals, and the guy who sees the most animals, etc., wins. Sam spoke up and said, “I have three—a cow, birds and a kitty cat.” I said, “Come on, neither of you saw anything,” and then both of them immediately came up with a tremendous count. I, who was looking very hard, had one group of black cows, but I didn’t even dare claim them because nobody else came close to seeing them. Then we played tic-tac-toe. I defeated Ellie, but she beat me once, and then we listened to the golf and the ball game where the Rangers were winning big. It was fun, but at the end of the ride down from Camp David, about an hour and half in the rain, I was exhausted. It’s like being in a minnow pond with a whole bunch of minnows pushing you and jumping around all the time. . . .

  On April 30, I began personally to keep an important file in my drawer. The name of the file was BRENT, and it was the first official documentation of the Scowcroft Award. My BRENT file entries will be scattered throughout the rest of this chapter.

  April 30, 1991

  The challenge today mounted by Dick Cheney is worthy of total approval. He slept soundly. Everyone applauded when he woke up. A Sterling performance as far as sleeping goes. The only weakness was in the “recovery.” In this category he slept so soundly that when he awoke to laughter he had no comeback at all.

  For awhile it looked like Admiral Dave Jeremiah16 was mounting a serious challenge. I noted this on my pad, only to find, after more serious observation, that Dave has a way of letting his eyelids close way down when he takes notes. His performance today does not rate him as challenger.

  Andy Card17 mounted a minor challenge—no real winner here, however.

  On Saturday, May 4, I gave a commencement speech at the University of Michigan, and then Barbara and I met our friends Bob and Betsy Teeter (Bob was a well-known political pollster and was chairman of my 1992 campaign) and Craig and Karen Fuller at Camp David. I dictated to my diary:

  May 4th

  . . . It was the most beautiful day we’ve ever had. I slept soundly—I was tired, and slept soundly for forty minutes—but then I got up and Rich Miller of the Secret Service and I went for a run. I started and then got tired right away, or got out of breath, so I stopped and walked. Then I ran a little, but couldn’t run more than a hundred yards, so again, I stopped. I did this for about 30 or 40 minutes, and I told Rich to get the doctor and have him at the medical unit at Camp David. And then just before we got near the chapel, I started to run again—to run into the medical unit—and the same tired feeling came. They plopped me down and gave me an EKG, and I had a fibrillation or irregularity of the heart. So they told me, “Well, you’re going to have to go down to Bethesda [Naval Hospital]—we really have to check to see what’s causing this”—and my whole mind goes, “Oh no, here we go—here comes a bunch of Democrats charging out of the woodwork to run.” There will be a scare scene sent all around the world and a wild speculation will begin about my health and fitness, and it’s too darn bad.

  They immediately started up the helicopter, so I’m now on the helicopter flying down to Bethesda from Camp David. Bar is with me and she looks a little worried, but I keep telling her I feel good.

  I keep thinking, “Oh my God, they’ve got to tell the press; they’ve got to notify staff; and there will be all kinds of wild speculation; but
there is not a damn thing we can do about it.” So off we go, and we’ll find out what my fate is in another 20 minutes; but I feel like a million bucks.

  May 5th

  The heart is still not back into rhythm. Bar went home and then came back out, but it’s been quite a day. I’ve made about 20 phone calls and lying here quite comfortable, though I’m a little weak when I get up, but not a lot. The damn thing is just not snapping back into its normal rhythm. Now they’re telling me that they’ve got to give me some new medicine tonight; and if that doesn’t work, to the operating room I go where I swallow some tube. They then give it a shock, which should automatically get the thing back into a normal rhythm, and in which case, I’m free to go, after watching me for a few hours. But it’s a pain. I lie here very restless.

  I got up and went to the bathroom and ABC carried a picture of me standing there. I’m not sure they can pick up all the detail, but they did say they got a glimpse; so later on, I went back and looked out the window and it was fun. I opened the window and called out to Norm Schwarzkopf and others. I put on my yellow sweater, gave them a wave, and I just wanted to keep things out there as normal as possible. . . .

  I sit here on Sunday night and Barbara is just leaving to go on home to the White House for the night. She’ll come back in the morning . . . I must confess now that I have a little concern about tomorrow—I just wonder what it’s like. I don’t worry about the transfer of power, because this is something we ought to do anyway. Bar kisses me goodnight about 8:00 p.m. and heads on home; and I must say through my mind I’m thinking, “Will it be okay.” She’s a little more worried than she indicates, and I’ll probably be thinking tomorrow, “Have I really told her how much I love her, and it’s going to be okay?” I just can’t believe anything will go wrong and it won’t. But this diary is a confession of sorts, and I have no fear of this procedure—but I’ve left undone a lot of things I should’ve done. . . .