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

by George H. W. Bush

  Right up until Gore spoke to the nation I was not sure in my own mind what he would say, how he would say it. His speech was absolute perfection. He did it with grace and dignity and a genuineness that enthralled the nation. I know how difficult it was for him to do what he did.

  As soon as I saw him on the TV leaving the EOB,12 I called the White House switchboard and asked to be connected. I watched him get into his limo and but a few minutes later the phone rang and it was the Vice President. I congratulated him, just one sentence or two, just a few words. I suddenly felt for him, saw him as a man whose disappointment had to be overpowering. I knew he must be hurting. He was very gracious. He thanked me. The conversation was over in a flash, but I suddenly felt quite different about Al Gore. The anger was gone, the competitive juices stopped flowing. I thought of Algore as two words (Al Gore) not one. I thought of his long years of service and of his family. I thought back to my own feelings of years before when I lost, when I had to go out and accept my defeat. He did it better than I did, and his ordeal had to be tougher because the election was so close. True I had to actually give up the Presidency that he was now seeking, but still he had been in public life a long time and he and his family were shattered.

  But then for Bar and me, here in our little Houston house the scene shifted to Austin, Texas. I had been on the phone several times to George, his telling me what he planned to do in his speech, telling me of the setting designed to emphasize bi-partisanship. Incidentally I have had more phone conversations over the last month with George than one could imagine. During the ordeal, and even since, we talk all the time.

  Barbara and I, alone here, climbed into bed to watch our son. Before he came on I flipped from channel to channel. The chattering class was busy. There wasn’t as much shouting, not quite as much; but there was lots of opining. Law professors and politicians past and present, news people—print and electronic, historians of note and of little note. They were all saying what George had to do. Declaring this the speech of his life. I could just feel the bar being raised. They properly credited Gore with giving a great, generous speech of healing. This they said made it tougher for George. They talked about expectations being low—“the man is not a great speaker, you know.” They set limits—things he had to do or must not do.

  I don’t know why I did this to myself but it wasn’t for long and soon we settled on one channel and the announcer began to set the stage, telling America about the Texas Capitol, about the Democratic Speaker, Pete Laney, who was to introduce George.

  I saw a couple of shots of George and Laura holding hands. I saw in his posture, in the way he walked in his smile the same mannerisms and expressions we have known ever since he was a little boy.

  Pete Laney, a good old boy from the Panhandle, gave a wonderful introduction emphasizing that George had worked in a bi-partisan manner to get things done for Texas. And then he goes: “The 43rd President of the United States, George W. Bush”.

  As the camera focused on George and Laura walking into the chamber my body was literally wracked with uncontrollable sobs. It just happened. No warning, no thinking that this might be emotional for a mother or dad to get through—just an eruption from deep within me where my body literally shook. Barbara cried, too. We held hands.

  Just before he began to speak we saw in George’s eyes the emotion he was feeling. We know it so well. He did not “lose it”, but he was clearly moved and his mother and dad knew it for fact certain.

  We listened to our own son give thanks to God and tell our divided country what he planned to do.

  The speech was not a long one—13 minutes maybe. It was in my view just right. Later, on Jim Lehrer’s show David Broder13 and some pundit from the Weekly Standard would say it was not eloquent enough; but I was sure it was good.

  When the speech ended I watched until George left the room. Then I called Logan [Walters], George’s assistant, on his mobile phone. Logan is never but a step or two away. I said “Logan, this is George Bush the elder, can you hand this phone to my boy?”

  He did and George comes on the phone “What did you think Dad?” I told him how perfect I felt his speech was. I also told him I had lost it. I handed the phone to his mother who reiterated how well he had done, how proud we were.

  We hung up. We watched as George left the Capitol and drove to the Mansion. When he turned into the driveway we saw a new white curtain drawn across the front entrance—put there by the USSS so our son could exit his limo out of sight of the public. I knew this security procedure well. This was but one more manifestation of how his life had changed—will change in the days and years ahead.

  May God give our son the strength he needs. May God protect the 43rd President of the United States of America.

  Your friend, the proudest

  father in the whole wide

  world,

  George

  January 21, 2001

  Dear Hugh,

  The big day has come and gone. I am now trying to figure out exactly when I realized our son was the President of the United States.

  I am certain that the moment he took the oath of office standing there with Laura and the twins and the Chief Justice was the key; but there were other moments before and after that helped define the matter.

  Let’s finish with the oath. Barbara and I had ridden up to the Capitol from St. John’s, the Church of the Presidents, with the twins, Jenna and Barbara. We were ushered into a holding room on the first floor of the Capitol to await the arrival of George and Bill Clinton. I was apprehensive because I worried I might totally lose control of my emotions right up there on the Capitol Steps.

  I had felt a tear or two dripping down when George’s Minister from Dallas made reference to a prayer given by a former President. He didn’t mention my name. I recognized the prayer and was deeply touched that Reverend Mark Craig had included it as his final prayer in his marvelous sermon at St. John’s Church. Family and friends and some of George’s cabinet had attended the very appropriate service of worship before the inauguration.

  Another moment of emotion, though not one that tempted the tear ducts, was when we heard the sirens coming and we looked out of our holding room window to see the huge Presidential motorcade arrive. Police cars in large number, followed by two large Presidential limos, both flying the Presidential flag on one fender, the Stars and Stripes on the other. Next to me stood Barbara and Jenna, all three of us straining our eyes to see President Clinton and George sitting next to each other. We couldn’t see into the big limo as it drove by.

  We did see the back up wagons loaded with the CAT teams—the counter assault specialists that used to trail us when I was in office. The Cheneys arrived and the action then shafted to the ceremony outdoors.

  Tony Benedi, my friend and fantastic helper on a lot of our advances was doing advance for Barbara and me. He stuck his head into the holding room and told us that the time had come and that we should follow him up to the top of the long array of steps leading to the swearing in platform.

  Jenna and Barbara looking lovely in their new dresses were to be announced just before us. The twins had on the craziest high heels I have ever seen. In the holding room both had kicked off their shoes to alleviate the pain caused by walking on the stilt like heels—thin, tall, pointed heels, like spikes. Anyway off we all went the girls wobbling on their stilt-heels, Bar and I grinning like Cheshire Cats and waving to a lot of Capitol Staff and Capitol Police who lined the wall waiting for Presidents #42 and #43 to appear.

  This I calculated was my 5th inauguration as a platform guest—two as Ronald Reagan’s Vice President. My own inauguration as the 41st President. Then Bill Clinton’s as #42, then this wonderful one. It was very moving as we reached the top of the long stairway. You could see some, not all of the platform guests. You could see a sea of faces out and away below the stage—hundreds of thousands of people gathered for this peaceful transition of power.

  The twins preceded us, each on the arm of a
3 stripe military officer. Gone was their cocky banter from the holding room, their feigned nonchalance and indifference left behind.

  Then came our turn. Barbara was on my right arm as we went down the steps. I don’t want to be a braggadocio but we did receive a warm welcome from the platform guests and the huge crowd below.

  We had a chance to greet by smile or wave to many old friends—Supreme Court Justices, Members of Congress from both parties, Franklin Graham pitching in for the very sick Billy Graham, the Joint Chiefs. I caught the eye of some family members; but then in came the Cheneys and then the Clintons and then, yes our son, the new President. . . .

  I must tell you that when the announcer went “President Elect George Bush and Laura Bush” (or whatever) it did once again get emotional. George walked down the steps—not looking overly relaxed, but straight and proper and smiling at friends. He looked good. He looked Presidential.

  The Army singing sergeant did one of those mod-versions of a patriotic song medley—the kind where you throw in wobbles and descant noises. Why can’t they just sing ’em straight anymore? Anyway it wasn’t horrible. It was just bad. Franklin Graham delivered the invocation. He sounded at times like his great Dad.

  Cheney’s oath taking was next (I am not sure of the order in here); and I was saying to myself I am so glad Dick Cheney is the Vice President. George W. Bush is very lucky to have Dick at his side. Dick and Lynne’s two daughters went up to stand with their parents, bearing the largest bible I have ever seen. I wanted to go with my “Hey, girls, careful lifting that, you’ll get a hernia” comment as they passed in front of us, but that would have been inappropriate.

  Next came a group of songsters from—you guessed it, Kentucky, where the inauguration chairman Senator Mitch McConnell is from. They were patriotic—nice medley, good, no woofing and warbling and descant noises.

  Then the big moment as George was invited to the podium. Laura was next to him. The twins hung back but soon joined their parents at the podium.

  The oath delivered, George shook his V.P.’s hand then hugged his mother and me. This, Hugh, was the only time the tears flowed for me. I thought it would be much worse in that department. I got close to tears several times but never lost it. But this moment was clearly the most emotional of all for both Bar and me. Pride of a father in a son. Why not shed some tears?

  The 43rd POTUS14 then gave a fine speech, short, dignified and strong.

  Our son was President of the United States of America. It was for real. Our pride knew no bounds. We managed to contain our emotions but they shook us to the core. Wonder. Joy. Amazement. Honor. Happiness. I don’t know how to describe what I felt, but it was good, real good.

  Next came the luncheon in a rotunda room. The guest list was restricted because the room was limited but key Senators from both parties joined, Justices, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the house leadership and some notable, worthy strap hangers.

  The mood was pleasant and bi-partisan. Teddy Kennedy, looking huge, looked at me and told me in a most sincere voice that he had been thinking of us during the swearing in, knowing how proud we must feel etc. I told him that his dad was the last father to see his son sworn in as President. This pleased him. He later asked someone to take him and his wife up to the head table to meet #43 whom they had apparently never met.

  The lunch over, we drove to the White House in our long black limo. We drove by a lot of protesters with their ugly signs. Earlier some of them had broken through the police lines and had thrown bottles and raised hell; but this was not Seattle. This was not a place where anarchists from the hill outside of Seattle would carry the day.15 The Washington [police] and the Feds were ready, and real trouble was avoided.

  One sad thing though, Jenna and Barbara, riding with us, seemed very concerned about the demonstrators. I tried to assure them not to worry because this simply went with the territory, all Presidents suffer through this kind of ugliness; but they were not convinced. They hated the signs and the shouting and the vulgarity of it all. I worry about the effect of this kind of thing on these two vulnerable 19 year olds.

  Anyway as I drove past these folk I felt a certain anger rising, and the sense of gratitude that I never will have to deal with these protesters again, and then a sense of worry that for the next 4 years George will have to be somewhat concerned over the crazies.

  We drove past the reviewing stand, hooked a left and then swung around entering the SW gate that leads up between the EOB and the West Wing. We walked through tons of litter, empty crates, boxes filled to the brim with heaven knows what. Workmen and painters were all over the place. Eight years of President Clinton and his staff had given way to a new team. That meant lots of stuff to get out of the White House before the new possessions arrived. Clinton’s bright blue Oval Office rug was already neatly bundled up and lying outside the Oval Office. The old Reagan carpet had already replaced it.

  We all walked over to the White House, then out the North Portico door over to the reviewing stand. Incidentally, by then all our clothes were hanging in the proper closets—my evening shirt all laundered and pressed when I returned later on. My oh my.

  The parade was fun. Our prime box was heated but my hip still felt the penetrating wet cold.

  The grandkids were like minnows in a pond—they were everywhere—in the front row, squirming, drinking cokes, and restlessly going from row to row. When #43 arrived he didn’t seem to mind at all.

  When George walked into the reviewing stand a military escort, guard of honor, had lined up. I said to the Major nearest me, “Let me know when President Bush is arriving.” Soon he leaned over “The President is coming, sir.” We all stood up and greeted the new President—wonderful.

  Maybe it was the icy weather but the parade took too long. First of all, all we saw were police cars and motorcycles and people inside limos whom we couldn’t recognize. Then more police cars. Then the Washington [police] band. On and on it went. Finally, after a long gap, a long wait, that followed this display of Washington, D.C., power and support, the actual parade started.

  I had hoped that the famous [Texas A&M] Aggie marching band, best in the land, would be up front. No way. I waited and waited. Bar pulled the rip cord and went to the White House. Various grandkids flaked off. The Aggie band was at the very end of the parade. #43 asked me to come forward and stand next to him as the Aggies marched by. I had been sitting right behind him, but I had not wanted to go stand next to him—did not want to “horn in”, as mother used to say.

  I’m glad I waited. The Aggies were great. Many of the band members smiled up at their new President.

  Before the actual end of the parade I left, joining Barbara over in the Queen’s bedroom. After a while I climbed into a marvelous hot tub. There lying back relaxing, my new hip thawing out nicely, I was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mr. President, President Bush would like you to meet him downstairs to walk over to the Oval Office.”

  I hustled. Dried off. Threw clothes on, and went down the residence elevator to the ground floor, only to find the President had walked on over to see his new office. What a thrill to again walk in the terrace door to the Oval Office. Gary Walters [Chief Usher] was there asking #43 for any suggestions. [Chief of Staff] Andy Card was there and soon George sat at his new desk and signed some Presidential Commissions for confirmed Cabinet Officers and for commissioned staff, too.

  George and I then walked back into the little office I used a lot—the tiny private one where I did a lot of work, made a lot of phone calls, kept my computer and watched the blossoms break out each spring. Memories rushed back of phone calls made to world leaders, Brent Scowcroft at my side. Memories of personnel problems, of happy days and sad days too. . . .

  The small private dining room was next and George and I talked about how useful this had been for me to see friends, to have very private meals with a handful of aides or Cabinet officers, or members of Congress. He will get a lot of constructive use out of that little
dining room.

  I did not press him, but I reminded him that “Right out that door the horseshoe pit used to be.” It had been covered up or replanted by President #42. I hope under the tutelage of Recreation Minister, Marvin Bush, the pit will be reinstated. I told George how totally relaxing I had found it to go out and throw a few shoes when the tensions mounted and the future was unclear.

  We peeked into the little kitchen where Domingo16 hung out. Domingo Quicho, that wonderful man whom I saw first thing every morning. Domingo Quicho owner of one of Millie’s puppies, BJ for Barbara Junior, Domingo Quicho who when I saw him last year burst into uncontrollable sobs as he told me about BJ’s death. I hope George has someone in that little known slot who gives as much to him as Domingo gave to me and to our entire family.

  We then walked back to the Residence where #43 began to get ready for the 10 balls. Bar and I wound down with a pleasant drink in George’s den watching TV and reveling in the wonder of being back. Jenna Welch, Laura’s Mom, joined us. We watched Jamie Gangel’s masterful and friendly MSNBC program on our family—a kinder and gentler show that got rave reviews from friends and family later on. George watched a little of it with us.

  By 8:45 I had climbed into that nice king size bed in the Queen’s bedroom, reading [James] Patterson’s new mystery “Roses Are Red.” In came Jenna and Barbara and a whole group of University of Texas glamour girls, all in their evening gowns ready for the balls. One guy, Walker something, was there, but he did not seem uncomfortable. They all gathered around the bed as I teased them and told them to behave.

  Out they went. Shortly thereafter Barbara and I said our prayers asking the Lord to bless our son and to lift him up when the going gets tough. It will, Hugh. We both know that.

  The next day we attended the big ecumenical service at the National Cathedral. Our dear friend Michael W. Smith played but I couldn’t hear the words very well. Franklin Graham preached—good sermon, a tiny bit too long. Others like our wonderful Kirbyjon Caldwell17 had bit parts. Kirbyjon, however, had given the closing prayer at Saturday’s inaugural—a starring role handled with conviction and grace.