Sadly, today’s movies, not all but a lot of them, do the same thing—the more violent, sexy, and outrageous they are—the better they sell. I vigorously oppose censorship but I’d like to see the entertainment industry and, yes, much of the press become more accountable—I’d like to see them clean up their own act. Not just in terms of bad stuff being seen or written; but I’d like to see the press particularly take a look at themselves trying to find out why they are losing the confidence of the American people. Once great journals and magazines have become predictable adversarial gossip sheets—who’s up, who’s down—arrows, icons, gossip, mocking cartoons replacing the hard news that made them great way back when we were here.
I can’t speak for these other old goats out there, but I can tell you what helped me a lot in life. Helped me through good times and bad. Helped me as my guide in private life and in public life too. Values. . . .
When I was President I often thought back to the advice given us all by Headmaster Minor, a kind and gentle man and Mr. Meadows, a not so kind and gentle man. They were disciplinarians and we never forgot when bawled out by them. Mr. Meadows would have made a good Singaporean. I always felt he’d like to cane us.
When I was President I often thought back, too, to the advice given me by my mother, she who always won the mother’s race out here, and pitched and batted clean up on the mothers’ baseball team.
My Dad led by example. We’d watch his leadership in business and community and we’d learn; but mother gave advice, nicely supplementing the values stuff we learned here.
Sometimes her advice was performance oriented. “You don’t have a game yet. Get out and practice!” Mother was a perfectionist and a fierce competitor. . . . “Never quit! Never let ‘em know you’re hurting!”—values
Early on she’d give us profound advice. It sounds simple now but when I became President I knew just how sound it was.
Be honest. Tell the truth.
Be kind. “Compassionate” was too big a word for then, but that’s what she meant.
Care about the other guy—help him.
Don’t look down on anyone.
You have an obligation to help others.
Compete hard—play to win. Good winner—good loser, though.
Give the other guy credit.
And yes “Don’t be a braggadocio.”
Mother was never a lecturer. She could get pretty mad at times, but she preferred subtlety to bombast.
When I was V.P. and President I’d still get advice from her.
I was honored and blessed to be President of the USA, but I am dead certain that what truly matters in life is not the political office you hold or held, not the famous people you know, or the things that history might say you accomplished—what really matters are life’s true values and your faith, and your family, and your friends. I am a very lucky man. . . .
After Tiger Woods’s record-breaking win at the Masters golf tournament in 1997, I felt the media began nitpicking golf’s newest and very young superstar. We had met before, and I liked Tiger very much, so I decided to write him a note:
May 31, 1997
Dear Tiger,
Meeting in that most pleasant brief encounter at the R & A22 in Scotland like we did a couple of years ago does not really entitle me to be giving you advice; but perhaps genuine respect and affection for you, along with love of golf, does.
Politics is not unlike sports. The press can have you on a pinnacle one day, and then, in pack fashion, can be all over your case the next day. They can do it with carelessness, sometimes meanness. There is no accountability.
Barbara and I were watching the tube the other day, when on came some women golfers knocking your socks off, albeit rather gently, for practicing with Butch at Lochinvar.23 You handled the matter with your usual class, but it burned me up and if you are human as I suspect you are it probably annoyed you.
You have earned the fame and fortune that have come your way, but because of that huge win at the Masters and those large endorsement contracts some in the press and, I am afraid, in golf itself want to see you fall down.
You won’t though because you have the character that will keep you standing tall.
Herewith some truisms, some tidbits of advice—perhaps worth what you are paying for them.
When you lose, don’t ever let anyone see that you hurt inside. I speak as one who has had his share of big defeats. And don’t blame someone else. You never have, you never will.
Give the other guy the benefit of the doubt. You did that with Fuzzy.24
Keep being yourself. You are entitled to take time off, to miss an event, to be alone with your friends, to totally unwind. And you don’t owe one single person an explanation when you do. The louses in the sporting press might carp and bitch; but be yourself. My friend Ted Williams stayed at war with the press most of his playing career, something you won’t ever have to do. But Ted is still a legend and his critics are history.
If the columns go negative and some will or if some golfers give you grief like those women did—just flash that contagious smile. Barbara and I see that smile of yours and we think of our own kids—of their wins in life, of their kindness, of their caring. Others all across this great country must feel the same way when they see your smile and your inner light.
Invest wisely. Invest conservatively, avoiding the get rich quick schemes. Invest for tomorrow.
Stay close to your family. After all the glamorous walks up those 18th fairways end what will matter in life is your family. When you and your Dad hugged there at Augusta that said it all in terms of the values we Bushes hold dear. And when your great Mom looks at you with such pride and love every mother across America knows how much family matters.
Character matters, too. Decency matters. Honesty matters. You’ve got ‘em all. Never change.
Enough. Forgive me for lecturing. I don’t usually do this. But you are a special kid and I don’t ever want to see you hurt. . . .
Sincerely,
George Bush
July 26, 1997
James R. Adriance25
North Andover, Mass. 01845
Dear Spike,
Bob Macauley, thoughtful guy that he is, sent me your address; so I thought I’d check in from up here at our own seaside Shangri La.26
First, I hope this finds you in good spirits and feeling OK.
Life has been great for Barbara and me since leaving the White house. We spend about 7+ months based out of our small but wonderful home in Houston, the rest up here where this place seems to be able to take a deep breath then accommodate thousands of kids, brothers, cousins, guests, and various unidentified strap hangers. The other day I went to go to bed and there watching TV in our room was a teenager I had never seen before. He wanted to watch the Astros while the other kids were in another part of the house watching the Rangers. Bar told him we were going to go to sleep so “Please turn down the volume on the TV.” He was gone when we woke up the next morning.
The striped bass are here in large sizes, large numbers. This has been the greatest fishing summer of my 73 year old life.
Golf? Terrible, but I still enjoy it.
Health—Blessed! I pulled my Achilles tendon awhile back, so I now fast walk—4 miles @ less than 13 minutes per mile—good aerobics, no pounding on the joints. Rest of the old body functioning OK.
Macauley continues his great “Points of Light” work running, compassionately, AmeriCares. Bar and I try to do our part in various ways, helping various charities. My Presidential Library opens Nov. 6th at Texas A&M University—hooray! And a huge book on foreign policy and changes in the world when I was President that I am writing for Knopf with General Scowcroft is all but finished. Hooray for that, too!27
But for us, Spike, life is good. I do not miss politics. That two of our sons, George and Jeb, are in the political arena (so described by Teddy Roosevelt) is all we need. . . . I avoid interviews. I miss the great White House staff, and I miss working with o
ur military. I do not miss the politics or the Congress—no not at all.
George and Jeb both run next year. Jeb, you may recall, lost by a hair in ’94. Now he shows to be a little ahead as he gets ready to run again for Governor of Florida.
George is doing a fine job as Governor of our state, and, of course, we are very proud of both those boys. The other three kids are getting along well, too. We are equally as proud of them.
Love from all the Bushes.
GB
I wrote this letter for a charity auction to benefit Literacy Partners in New York.
Nov. 4, 1997
Dear Reader,
This is a letter about two of the great authors I have known and loved.
The first, our dog Millie. I used to be President of the USA. Millie, young and fast, then lived in the White House. She chased squirrels on the White House lawn. She ran like a dart through the lovely woods at Camp David, and climbed, sure footedly, on the rocks at Maine. And she wrote a best selling book, ably assisted by my wife.40
Then this summer she got cancer and died and we wept, for Millie had given us joy and love and we missed her.
The second author is Barbara Pierce Bush, the one who helped Millie write. Barbara is my wife—has been for almost 53 years. She wrote a Memoir. She helps our country know the importance of reading. She is down to earth. She loves grandkids, gardens, and dogs.
She is a grand writer but not scary like some authors. We laugh a lot together. We cry, too. We are two people, but we are one. I love her a lot—
Sincerely,
George Bush
November 10, 1997
Dear Ashley,
Darn it! When your class is having that play on November 25, your old grandfather will be in Frankfurt, Germany, and Zurich, Switzerland, so I will have to miss it.
You were fantastic in the opera yesterday. I was very, very proud of you. I watched you through my binoculars. You did a wonderful job.
Devotedly,
Gampy
Bob Woodward of the Washington Post wrote and asked for an interview on a new book he was doing on post-Watergate presidents.
February 12, 1998
Dear Bob,
. . . Let me be very frank—I am disinclined to have the conversation that you suggest. There are several reasons for this position.
First, I do not think you and I had a very pleasant relationship. You were the aggressive investigative reporter, I the office holder who knew that his every move, his every experience in business or personal life or politics no matter how long ago would come under intrusive scrutiny. In the old days this would not have influenced me. That aggressive adversarial relationship went with the territory.
Today, happily retired and trying to stay away from the beltway media, it does influence me.
Back then experts would tell me “You better talk to him/her, they’ll write the story anyway and you better get your side of it told accurately.” But now at 73 and having been through some ups and downs with the Washington Press I am inclined to stay out of the story, out of the interview business. Instead I favor letting the writers themselves make the call, letting the chips fall where they may without my spin.
Perhaps I am being unduly influenced by today’s frenzy, a frenzy of sleaze and alleged tawdry behavior,28 but for me my reluctance is far deeper than that.
When I read books by today’s new school journalists I see my name in direct quotes, words in my mouth I never uttered. I talked to our publisher at Knopf29 about this method. “Literary License” says he. But I don’t like it.
Watergate was your watershed. For you it was an earthshaking event that made you a true media star—deservedly so. For me Watergate was a major event, for as you correctly point out, I was Chairman of the GOP during those tumultuous times. I am sure I learned from Watergate, but it did not have the major effect that your letter seems to imply. Watergate had absolutely nothing to do with how I conducted myself during the Iraq crises.
I think Watergate and the Vietnam war are the two things that moved beltway journalism into this aggressive, intrusive ‘take no prisoners’ kind of reporting that I can now say I find offensive.
The new young cynical breed wants to emulate you. But many of them to do that question the word and the integrity of all in politics. It is almost like their code is “You are guilty until proved innocent.” . . .
Having said the above the bottom line is I really don’t want to get into any of this with any reporter or writer any more than I want to discuss the current scandal about which I would inevitably be asked to comment.
Another reason for “just saying no” is that I do not want to try to direct history. I am not writing a Memoir. With Brent I have co-authored a book on several significant changes that took place in the world when I was President. Incidentally some of what we have written will agree with what you have written in the “Commanders”30—some will not.
Barbara’s Memoir gave our family history and did it well. That’s enough for me now. Oh there may be a handful of additional interviews but if they relive ancient history and reopen old wounds I’m sorry but I want no part of it.
I told the truth on Iran contra but I have been plagued by a press determination to prove otherwise. I listen to revisionistic leftists flail away against our action in Panama. I see respected columnists constantly criticize me for not “getting” Saddam Hussein, going in, finding him, killing him. They, of course, are free to do their thing; and I am free to do mine. Mine is to stay the hell out of Dodge and to do as the old Chinese mandarin adage says “Stand on sidelines hands in sleeves.”
I hope you do not find this letter personally offensive. Out of office now, away from Washington, out of national politics I have a freedom now that I treasure. I am turned off by what you appropriately call a “climate of scandal and mistrust.” I am deeply offended by much of what I read, having tried to show respect for the offices I was proud to hold. But I know that comments by me would not help change things, indeed would probably be seen as piling on by a poor loser. So, Bob, we better leave things as they are.
I suppose it might have a ring of hypocrisy if I, unwilling to pitch in, wish you well on your new project; but I do.
Sincerely,
George Bush
[Bob wrote me a nice letter back, saying “your shot has landed in Dodge . . . I appreciate your candor.”]
NBC anchorman Tom Brokaw asked me to answer some questions about World War II for a book he was writing about the war, The Greatest Generation, which was published in the fall of 1998.
March 9, 1998
Dear Tom,
I am glad to try to answer the questions you put to me in your letter of March 3rd.
1. I did indeed enlist on my 18th birthday, but back then, our country having been attacked at Pearl Harbor, one literally did not think about the danger that might ensue or the absence from home. The country was unified. It seemed that everyone wanted to do his part—do his duty. Having said that I did not really have any idea when I enlisted what kind of experiences lay ahead. I had never flown before, though I knew I wanted to be a Navy pilot. I had always loved the sea and the idea of flying off a carrier really appealed to me, But without much realization of the tests that lay ahead.
2. My combat experience, indeed my entire experience in the military, profoundly changed me. Coming out of a privileged background, I had had little exposure to the real world—to people from very different backgrounds. I went into the service as a gung ho kid, scared at times, becoming a Naval Aviator.
I experienced great joy and great sadness. I laughed a lot, and when my squadron mates were killed, and quite a few were, I wept. I was very close to some of the pilots in our squadron, VT-51. My roommate, Jim Wykes, was killed on his very first mission in hostile territory. Jim had become a very close friend.
I felt our nation’s anger at Hitler and Hirohito. I wanted to fly off carriers. I never thought about risking my life—that was a given. That was m
y duty. How did I change. I went in a kid. I emerged a man. . . .
3. It was not difficult to return to civilian life. Barbara and I had gotten married—Jan. 6th 1945. I was sent to Virginia Beach, a Lt.J.G., part of a new Torpedo Squadron, VT 153. Soon we had orders for this new squadron to go back to the Pacific. But then in August the war ended, and shortly thereafter, given my combat service, I had enough “points” to get out of the service and to return to civilian life.
The transition was not hard. I applied to Yale University and was admitted to classes starting in October of 1945. There was little conversation of my own war experiences. Most of my friends had been through the same kinds of things. Some had had scarier combat experiences than I had endured. We wanted to shift gears, to get a good education and then a job. There was very little talk of what we had been through. . . .
Barbara and I lived in tiny apartments. The last one, next door to Yale President Charles Seymour, had once been occupied by one lady and a couple of people helping her in the house at 37 Hillhouse Ave. Yale, desperate for veteran housing, converted this house into apartments for 13 families. One requirement was that you had to have one child to live in this place. One family had twins, so 40 people lived in our little apartments, sharing the kitchen, sharing the bathrooms etc. . . .
4. I am not sure that my war time service had any effect whatsoever on my eventually entering politics. It did have a lot to do, in a very broad sense, with my conviction that service to country is honorable—that military service is honorable. I have great respect still for those who wear the uniform of any military service. I have contempt for those who, when called, fail to serve. I hated the Vietnam syndrome—when people who served were vilified and spat upon. Those who ducked and dodged and fled only to let some underprivileged take their places particularly offend my sense of honor. I have contempt for those who continually attack our military.
All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings Page 66