All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings
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By the end of the service I was ready to go home; but a “family and friends” reception from 10–12 lay ahead. It was held on the second floor—all those lovely rooms in use. Many of George’s close friends were there—college friends, neighbors from Austin and Dallas and Midland, too. It was wonderful.
I went over to look at the [Presidential] portrait of me that Gary Walters had thoughtfully placed right there in the entrance room near the North Portico. Suddenly I found myself in a photo-op line. I kept telling the folks lined up with cameras “The President is in the East Room, hustle on down and say hi.” But no they needed a quick shot with their kids with #41 so I stood there for a long time. It was OK, a bit flattering really.
Soon the clock struck noon. I said goodbye to Laura. I interrupted #43 in the middle of yet another photo op for him, said goodbye and we both choked up a tiny bit. This the end of the emotion part of an historic weekend.
I am not sure if there was one specific moment in time when I fully realized that my son was President. If I had to single out one such moment it would be right after the oath taking.
Having been President before there were still moments lingering on of my being #41. Someone goes “Mr. President” and I’d start to acknowledge. Or walking with George someone might say “Hi, Mr. President!” and I’d spin around.
People say all the time “What do we call you now.” I like “#41.”18
Adjusting will take time but it will not be difficult at all.
It is funny after all these years to have to get a new name; but, hey, what does it matter if your boy is President of the United States of America so help me God.
All the best,
George Bush
I wrote this e-mail to my former press secretary and friend Sheila Tate.
May 25, 2001
Subject: Memorial Day: a time for remembrance
. . . I saw Tom Brokaw two days ago. He reminded me that he put me in his Greatest Generation book. I told him I was pleased. I should have told him, however, that back then, everyone fought, everyone did his duty. No one felt that our service, our duty to serve, would set us apart and make us part of a “Greatest Generation.”
Today I feel increasingly uncomfortable as old veterans are remembered, saluted, honored. Maybe it is because they all look so darned old. Maybe it is because many just did what they were supposed to do. Maybe it is because veteran’s groups are so demanding. Who knows!
I dread veteran reunions for some reason. They are so much about living unrealistically in the past.
I will go down soon to The Vineyard to pay homage to my recently deceased exec officer in VT51, our Torpedo Bomber squadron; and my heart will be in it as I help honor a friend; but that’s different than marching with a bunch of other old guys on Memorial Day or sitting around at a reunion talking about the good old days. Veterans, even veterans who fought for their country, ask too much I think—seek too much honor all these years later. I want to look out not back.
If wounded in action then, of course, your country owes you; but if you just plain suited up and served you should not feel entitled to things for the rest of your life. I love the words “Duty, Honor, Country” but for me at least they mean the privilege of serving—of fighting for your country.
And another thing as we veterans get older we exaggerate. We remember things that didn’t happen exactly the way we now say. We are more heroic, more worthy of medals we did not receive. Having said all this, dear Sheila, have a nice Memorial Day. If I were in Kport instead of in Hong Kong I would go to our Norman Rockwell—like parade downtown. It is about the importance of service to this, the greatest freest most wonderful country in the world. It is about giving back not receiving. Giving thanks to Almighty God. We pray in the square and no one thinks this is bad.
Our parade is not about “more for the veterans.” It is about remembering. Our parade assembles and marches less to “honor” the veterans that hobble past the monument in our town square, more about thanking God for our freedoms.
We should of course honor those who gave “the last full measure of devotion”—honor them now, honor them forever. . . .
Honor those who died, and, OK, honor veterans on Memorial Day, but keep in mind that one has an obligation to serve when duty calls and when finished doing what is right he/she should not expect further honor.
Hey you sent me a nice message and now I unload on you.
Con Afecto,
GB
I wrote this for Carl Cannon’s book The Pursuit of Happiness in Times of War.
August 18, 2001
Dear Carl,
Herewith some “pursuit of happiness” thoughts:
You ask about The Pursuit of Happiness at a good time in my life.
I have pursued life itself over many years now and with varying degrees of happiness.
But now at 77, I find that I am perfectly content to let history be the judge of those things I got right, and of my mistakes in life as well.
Mine has been a happy life. In competitive business, I was very happy—though restless and somewhat driven.
In politics, I had victories and defeats, but for the most part I was very happy.
In big government jobs here and abroad, I was fortunate to get to live my life’s creed which says public service is a noble calling.
As President I knew the challenges and liked them; and worked hard to do my best, to accomplish things of magnitude. I grew to detest the “pack” mentality of the national press; and in looking over my shoulder I found that many of my Presidential predecessors felt the same way.
All through those business and political years I was pursuing goals, trying to accomplish things, trying to have my life be one that would benefit others.
Now, I no longer pursue happiness. I have happiness—great happiness.
Some of my happiness still comes from trying to be in my own small way a true “point of light.” I believe I was right when I said, as President, there can be no definition of a successful life that does not include service to others. So I do that now, and I gain happiness.
I do not seek a Pulitzer Prize. I do not want press attention. I don’t crave sitting at the head table or winning one of the many coveted awards offered by the many organizations across the land.
No, I have found happiness. I no longer pursue it, for it is mine. Pride in my family guarantees that happiness. That one son is President of the United States might say it all; but it doesn’t. Our Governor son in Florida is a part of this “happiness,” because through him and the President I can still live and be a part of the vast political scene.
But my happiness stems, too, from our other two sons and our only daughter, from all five spouses and from our 14 grandkids.
I am happy when I read, happy when I can help someone else, happy when surrounded by friends, but much of my true happiness stems from watching those grandkids and fishing with them and challenging them and teasing them.
And then there’s Barbara Bush. With her I pursued my happiness before we were married way back in early 1945; but now there is no pursuit. Our happiness together is locked in. It is as they say in golf a “gimme.” It is strong, unbendable, and rock solid.
So let the great philosophers and those who still strive to be something pursue and write of that “Pursuit.”
For those not quite there yet I can say “Pursue happiness until you find it. The pursuit must include helping others, giving of yourself to a cause bigger than yourself, and it must surely include love of family.”
Some think there is no pot of gold at the end of that striking rainbow. Life is that rainbow and, having pursued happiness during my life, I have found it; and it will be mine until the day I die.
George Bush
September 12, 2001
Dear Hugh,
It is the day after the day of infamy.
Yesterday Bar and I were flying from Washington, where we had spent the night at the White House, to St. Paul, Minn.
when we got diverted to Milwaukee airport. We were whisked off to a motel well outside of Milwaukee’s City limits.
We got updated by the USSS on what they knew about what was transpiring, and then at our hotel we did what the whole world did—we watched the television in horror.
I had so many thoughts rush through my head.
First and foremost related to the safety of the President. I had full confidence in his security, but given the coordination of the attacks I did not feel comfortable. I remember feeling very pleased that proper security procedures were being followed. Who knew what might be planned by these monsters as a follow on attack.
I talked to George. I did tell him the sooner he got back to Washington the better. He totally agreed with that; and had so advised the USSS. I notice in today’s press that the vultures are already circling saying he should have come back sooner. Thank heavens that [historian] David McCullough and some others defended him.
It is easy to second guess and we are in for a huge wave of second guessing. The TV will be filled with just that; but it is proper that the President followed the prudent security script. His key National Security team was in place in the White House. Colin19 was flying back; and the President was in very close touch both from Louisiana and from Offutt AFB20 in Nebraska.
A second immediate thought was that Muslims in this country were going to be abused. Many of them are terrified. I see from today’s papers that there has been some of this abuse.
Most touching were the words of a grade school kid, studying in an Islamic school, saying “are they now going to destroy our school?” (I paraphrased here)
I remember the Japanese internment right after Pearl Harbor. I am not sure I was deeply offended by that way back then. Now I am; and I do worry that all Muslims will come under mindless attacks of retaliation right here in the land of the free and home of the brave.
Abroad the Arab leaders now have largely condemned the attack. The Taliban claimed “We didn’t do it. Nor did Osama Bin Laden”.21 Their words rang hollow. They must be a little apprehensive, our President having declared properly and forcefully that those who knowingly harbor terrorists will also pay a price.
Then there was a third thing that cluttered up my worried mind. What can we do about all this? Having headed a Terrorism Task Force for President Reagan back in the ’80’s I am somewhat familiar with what can and can’t be done.
One thing we must carefully look at is how we can use more human intelligence and protect those people willing to cooperate with our CIA. This means dealing with “bad guys”. Evil People. Unsavory folks who will betray their own country. It is not easy to find such people. It is impossible if our sources of human intelligence are not indelibly protected. It is impossible if the CIA continues to be demonized for using “bad guys”.
Congress with its insistence on knowing every detail under the guise of “right to know” must be more disciplined, more leak proof. We have to look carefully at the Executive Orders and Laws governing Humint (Human intelligence). Spying is a tough and ugly game. You deal with unsavory people a la Noriega.22 Yet these people are often the ones that can penetrate organizations.
We must carefully find a way to guard against terrorists that are American and thus exempt from some intelligence gathering.
It is proper to suspect Bin Laden—no question about that; but it is also quite possible that he had support from people right here in the USA. They must be ferreted out and punished.
Bar and I talked to the White House Bushes yesterday. Then we went to bed and we said our prayers asking that God give George the strength to do what is right—the strength to stand in the face of the criticism that will come his way as each day goes past. It is going to be mean and ugly; but, Hugh, he is strong enough to take it and to lead. I am sure of that.
More later—much more.
Oh yes, I have debated whether to make a [press] statement. Clinton did. Ford did. I don’t know about Carter. I think I should say something. I have asked White House staff to advise. It is not easy, dear friend, to sit on the sidelines now, not easy to not make decisions or take actions. But I must continue to stay out of the limelight, out of the news, giving quiet support to #43.
Sincerely,
George
I sent this e-mail to George W.’s aide, Logan Walters, in response to an e-mail from the President about the family gathering at Camp David for Christmas. While in office, George referred to Camp David as Camp Marvin.
December 18, 2001
Logan, my Lad. Please relay this important message to all those who have a “need to know”.
Re: The Bowling Championship:
Count me in, unless of course my 77-year-old hip acts up. My backhand style should minimize the chance of any flare-up, however. I am ready for the fray. Please enter me in the Championship Flight.
On another subject: One minor suggestion. Why, when considering a name change for what was known as Camp David, can’t the name go up, not down? Ike went down two generations to find Camp David. Now #43 appears to be going down by a few years for Camp Marvin. But doesn’t it make sense to honor age? Really!
Please, dear Logan, ask the President to consider “Camp Gampster.” This would mean a lot to my wife Barbara and would undoubtedly be universally approved by AARP and by my grandkids, who are hoping against hope to be remembered in my will. Just a thought, Logan. Have a great Christmas and if you dare enter the Oval Office feel free to share this thinking with THE PRESIDENT. He’ll love it.
GB
June 23, 2002
Dear Hugh,
58 years ago . . . September 2, 1944 to be exact, I took off from CVL-30, the USS San Jacinto to attack Chi Chi Jima, an island south of Tokyo, slightly north of Iwo Jima.
On September 1 my squadron had attacked the island and the anti-aircraft fire had not been too heavy.
In the ready room before our mission we were told two things if my memory serves me correctly after all these years.
One, we were told we would probably encounter much heavier anti-aircraft fire and, two, we were told that when the day’s missions were completed the entire Task Force 58 under the command of Admiral Mitscher, would head south to the Philippine Sea where all the vessels would be under the command of Admiral Bull Halsey. We would then become Task Force 38.
Quite a lot has been written about my mission that day—the fact that my plane was shot down as I dove to attack a radio station on Chi Chi Jima, that I parachuted and lived while my two crew members did not, that I was rescued by Finback a U.S. submarine, pulled from my little yellow life raft well within sight of land.
I have never told my family much about this experience. I have not felt like talking about it too much. Besides I am not sure that generations that follow are that interested in the exploits of their predecessors. And then there is the fact that I myself get a little disinterested as you see old guys telling of their own heroism, and of how it was back then on the beaches of Normandy or of Iwo Jima. Every Veteran’s Day, out they come, wearing those caps with buttons on them, living wholly in the past sometimes demanding more from the country they served.
But I will tell you that for years I have had on my conscience the loss of my crewmens’ lives. Ted White and John Delaney were killed on that fateful day; and I lived. To this day I have felt a responsibility for their deaths even though I am confident I did what I could to see that they got out of our burning plane.
And I wonder, why was my life spared and their lives taken.
For some reason I have always wanted to go back to Chi Chi Jima and now I have done just that.
On my friend John Rogers’ Challenger we flew from Portland to Anchorage to Tokyo to Iwo Jima. From Iwo we went by Japanese Navy helicopter to Chi Chi. All along the way the Japanese went out of their way to make me feel welcome.
Because some Pentagon lawyers did not want my mission supported by U.S. Military assets as envisioned and supported by our uniformed military, particularly CIN
CPAC,23 our Embassy in Tokyo under the leadership of Ambassador Howard Baker, encouraged the Japanese to have me come as a guest of the Japanese Government.
When we landed at Atsugi Airfield, a military airbase operated jointly by U.S. forces and Japanese forces, I was greeted by a wonderful welcoming committee, by U.S. sailors and Japanese sailors standing in formation at plane side, by representatives from Japan’s Defense and Foreign Affairs ministries, by General [Thomas] Waskow, a 3-star Air Force general with a huge command out here. And on and on it went. Wreath laying, flag raising, dinners in my honor, flowers galore, dancing kids and old folks doing the hula, now as Japanese a dance as Hawaiian.
On Iwo, where 20,000 Japanese men lost their lives and where 15,000 Marines fell, the Japanese Navy greeted me warmly. We went on a tour of the black beaches of Iwo. As I walked the now famous landing beach the coarse volcanic sand went down into my shoes, and as I sank in I wondered how our Marines could get across this awful beach with heavy packs on their backs.
I stood atop famed Mt. Suribachi. With participation by Japanese Naval officers, Ambassador Baker and I raised an American flag right next to the very spot where American Marines did the same thing. The photo of that event is considered one of the greatest war photos ever taken. It depicts our victory in that the deadliest of battles.
I was able to contain my emotions pretty well on this trip; but when that flag went up I must confess that I choked back a tear. I was surprised that the Japanese Commanders let us raise an American flag there, but they did and I was very grateful.
We spent my first night of the trip on Iwo, and then flew the next morning to Chi Chi.
Our large Japanese Navy helicopter retraced the route that I flew over Chi Chi 58 years ago on that fateful day. Obviously we did not approach the island at 10,000 feet like I did before—we were low, maybe 3,000 feet off the water.