True Faith and Allegiance

by Alberto R. Gonzales

  Diane and I lived in an apartment during our first six months back in Houston. Once I settled in at my new job, we bought a house in west Houston, in a Spring Branch neighborhood. I also bought a brand-new silver Mazda RX-7 sports car, the first new car I ever owned.

  For the next few years, I poured myself into my career. I enjoyed my work, did it with excellence, and I soon attracted the notice of my superiors in the firm. Before long, I set my sights on an even loftier goal—that of partner.

  Vinson & Elkins had never invited a person from a minority ethnic background to be a full partner in the firm. It wasn’t so much that they were prejudiced; like many other law firms in Houston at the time, they simply did not make diversity a priority, especially when it came to promoting members of the firm. In fairness, the number of highly qualified minority attorneys at that time was relatively low, but the legal workforce was changing along with the rest of the nation in that regard. I was determined to become the firm’s first-ever partner to hail from a minority background. I didn’t do so by staging protests or playing the race card; I decided to let the quality of my work become my platform for change.

  I also began to seek out other opportunities to become involved in our community. Although V&E did not emphasize diversity, the firm encouraged its members to promote our profession through service in local, state, and national bar associations, as well as volunteer organizations within our city. I looked for groups that wanted to promote Hispanics, and those that shared my values. I served on boards of directors for several organizations and provided pro bono legal work for others, as well as serving as president of the Houston Hispanic Forum and Houston International University. My community service filled a void in my life that the legal work could not. I felt that I was giving back to help others like me.

  I noticed, of course, that many of the Hispanic community leaders in Houston were Democrats, but in almost every Hispanic group with whom I volunteered, I encountered a number of strong Hispanic women who were Republicans, and they made an impression on me by the way they got things done. The Republican Party was on the rise in Texas after a long period of Democrat dominance, owning every statewide office since 1872. In 1961, Republican John Tower was elected to the United States Senate, and change was in the wind.

  Partly because of an influx of transplants moving to Texas from various parts of the country, Republican influence continued to grow stronger. Then in 1978, Bill Clements, an outspoken, colorful figure and an owner of an offshore oil drilling company, became the first Republican governor of Texas since Reconstruction. Even heavily Democrat-leaning Houston became invested in more conservative candidates, most notably George H. W. Bush. The former oilman had successfully run for a seat in the United States House of Representatives, later becoming ambassador to the United Nations, chairperson of the Republican National Committee, and eventually served as our nation’s CIA director. Although Bush failed to become the party’s candidate for president in 1980, Ronald Reagan recognized his value and invited him to run as his vice presidential candidate. The tandem made for a powerful team, handily defeating Jimmy Carter and Walter Mondale.

  Although it was still not fashionable to be a Republican in Texas, especially a Hispanic Republican, by the time I signed on at V&E, we had a Republican from Texas serving as vice president of the United States.

  Up to that point in my life, I had been apolitical, but as I looked at the political landscape in Texas, I felt inclined toward the Republican Party. First, I liked the Republican’s view of limited government. My father had taught me the importance of self-reliance and taking responsibility for my own life. He disdained government interference in our daily lives and believed intensely that ultimate authority and the determination of right and wrong derived from God, not government.

  Granted, government could provide a hand up to people in dire need. People who have experienced an unusual or unexpected setback—such as a prolonged, serious illness or a family tragedy, some natural disaster, or even a temporary period of unemployment—may need government help for a season, but not for a lifetime. Our community had many needs, but I didn’t believe that more government involvement was the answer. Instead, I felt we would be much better off by strengthening the extended family and helping and encouraging businesses, churches, and private nonprofit organizations take a more active role in meeting community needs.

  I was attracted also to the outspoken faith in God that I heard and witnessed in the lives of many Republican leaders. That resonated with me, because even though I had not been actively involved in church life in recent years, most of my core values were based on my faith in God. Certainly, a few Democrats seemed unashamed of mentioning Jesus Christ, but I found a more open atmosphere to express genuine, vibrant, Christian faith within Republican circles.

  I also liked the Republican emphasis on taking pride in America and the importance of a strong national defense. I recognized that although our country provides unparalleled liberties and economic opportunities, our prosperity cannot be enjoyed without security. Moreover, even though I had never been ordered into combat, I was still a soldier at heart, and I believed that those men and women who wore our military uniforms deserved our unqualified support. They should never be denigrated or pressured because of policies put in place by their superiors. Moreover, we should honor and care for our veterans. While some of my Democrat friends publicly expressed similar regard for our soldiers, that support did not always translate into public action. Too often, they were quick to look at the national defense budget as the place to cut anytime our nation needed money—which we always did.

  I didn’t agree with everything the Republican Party espoused, but increasingly my views about family, faith, and country moved me into Republican circles. The party leaders in Texas, excited to attract men and women of Hispanic and other minorities, welcomed me enthusiastically. I poured myself into party activities and soon became the chairman of the Harris County Republican National Hispanic Assembly, the Houston branch of the national organization, promoting the truth as I saw it that the Republican Party better represented core Hispanic values.

  As I climbed the ladder to greater recognition and prestige in my career and within the local Hispanic community, I left one person behind—Diane. We were both busy with work, so our time with each other was increasingly limited. For six years, as our careers grew brighter, our relationship did not. Perhaps, more importantly, we continued to place the spiritual aspects of life on the back burner, so I guess we shouldn’t have been too surprised when the flame in our relationship began to flicker, and eventually went out. We divorced in July 1985.

  Since we had a relatively small amount of mutual property and no children, the divorce was amicable. But it was not without pain. No divorce is. As Diane and I tried to maintain a sense of civility and normalcy throughout that period of our lives, it was nonetheless difficult to tear apart our marriage. Following the divorce, Diane decided to move back to the Midwest, which eased some of the awkwardness between us, since we no longer bumped into each other in Houston circles. After a while, since we had no children, we had no further reason to stay in touch, so we didn’t.

  The dissolution of our marriage discouraged me. I felt a sense of disappointment and failure. I knew that I wanted to be in a relationship, but I thought it might be wiser to keep things casual so I could focus on my career and community activities.

  For the next several years, I threw myself into my job and my activities with various charitable organizations. At work, I focused more intensely on my goal of making partner at my law firm. In addition to my full-time legal job, I was also busy teaching law classes at the University of Houston. I sold my home and moved into an apartment at the downtown Four Seasons Hotel, a block from my office. Yet I missed being in a meaningful relationship.

  And then God smiled on me. I had met Rebecca Turner when she was sixteen and in high school, and I was a junior at Rice. Becky had been raised in a large air force family
and had moved numerous times during her childhood. She eventually married a childhood friend of mine, though they later divorced. Becky and I had remained friends through our respective marriages. She was a successful banker and single mother raising her young son, Jared. She was beautiful and bright, and I was in love. I was happy to learn that she loved me too. We were young and full of hope and wonder—although we could not imagine the adventure ahead of us.

  Meanwhile, in 1988, one of Houston’s adopted sons, George H. W. Bush, became the forty-first president of the United States. Within months, I received an invitation from the new administration to consider a job in Washington.

  I traveled to the nation’s capital and met with various members of the Bush administration. Although I was a Texan at heart, I loved the majesty of Washington, and the possibility of working there was intriguing. Nevertheless, I had my sights set on making partner at my law firm; after that, I felt I could punch my own ticket. I was optimistic that my goal of becoming a partner was nearing reality, so I turned down the offer to work for President George H. W. Bush. It was a potential turning point in my life, and in saying no, I wondered if I would ever have another chance to work in Washington.

  In 1990, President Bush designated my alma mater, Rice University, as the host for the Economic Summit of Industrialized Nations, a three-day gathering of leaders from eight of the world’s leading industrialized countries to discuss diplomatic, environmental, and human rights issues, as well as economic development. Because of my community involvement, I was recommended to help with the legal work for the host committee. The summit raised my visibility, especially with prominent local and national Republican leaders.

  A few years later, when the 1992 Republican National Convention was held in Houston, the new host committee came calling for my legal services once again, which I happily provided. The relationships I forged through serving would greatly influence my future.

  In the autumn of 1990, I was elected to the partnership of Vinson & Elkins. My selection, along with a Hispanic woman elected at the same time, marked the first time in history that V&E boasted minority partners. Not everyone at the firm, however, was thrilled that I had made partner. Shortly after the announcement, one of my partners cautioned me to watch my back because there were still some at the firm who wanted me to fail. Undeterred, I was determined to prove them wrong.

  Mixed in with all the tremendous excitement and success I was experiencing, in 1990, I received sad news. My former wife, Diane, had been traveling on a business trip when she was killed in an automobile accident.

  Although we had not seen each other in several years, her passing nonetheless grieved me. We had lived an important part of our lives together. The pain I shared with her family and friends helped put my own life in perspective as I pondered the fragility of life and how quickly it can be snatched away. Diane’s death reminded me of my own mortality, too, and caused me to think more seriously about what really matters.

  In 1991, after attending a wedding of dear friends in France with Becky, I asked her to marry me. She was my best friend and I wanted her by my side. Because we both were married previously, we didn’t want a large wedding. I asked Becky to marry me on a Tuesday afternoon, and by Saturday we were standing in front of a preacher. She was thirty and I was thirty-six. The wedding was at a picturesque, white church in the forest outside Kingwood, Texas. The guest list was short, with only Becky’s bright young son, Jared Freeze, a few family members, close friends, and many nieces and nephews, and children of friends.

  That fall, Becky and I bought a beautiful home in West University, a small, affluent neighborhood with picturesque trees and lovely homes bordering the Rice campus in Houston. The following year, 1992, God blessed us with the birth of our son Alberto Graham Gonzales. I was now a full-fledged partner at V&E, and Becky loved being a full-time mom and part-time student. Life was good, and Becky’s dream of settling down and living in one place was coming true. I had a great job making a good income with a promising future, but I wanted to do more. I could have remained in my comfort zone, yet for some unexplainable reason, I felt restless . . . and then I met George W. Bush.

  CHAPTER 7

  BECOMING A BUSHIE

  I liked George W. Bush immediately. Becky and I had first met Bush back in the late 1980s at a campaign event held at a hotel in Houston, when the elder Bush was running for president. “We love your mom,” Becky said to the younger Bush.

  A Midland, Texas, oilman and part owner of the Texas Rangers Major League Baseball team, George W. Bush possessed a casual, youthful flair and a full head of brown hair. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he twisted his mouth into the playful, pursed-lips grin for which he would soon become well known. “Everybody loves my mom,” he replied, nodding whimsically. “She’s my dad’s secret weapon.”

  In late 1993, when I next spoke with him, George W. Bush was the son of a former president. In what most Republicans had considered a certain victory following the stunning American military performance in Iraq during Desert Storm, Bush’s dad had suffered a surprising defeat to Arkansas governor Bill Clinton.

  Now, with the Texas gubernatorial election still more than a year away, George W. Bush had boldly announced that he hoped to unseat the popular, incumbent Democrat—Texas governor Ann Richards—in 1994.

  Well known for her acerbic tongue, Richards had gained national notoriety during the 1988 Democratic National Convention when she attempted to skewer candidate George H. W. Bush. “Poor George, he can’t help it,” she said. “He was born with a silver foot in his mouth.” The comment may have endeared her to Democrats on the national scene, but many folks in Texas found her remark disingenuous. Republicans saw an opening.

  A lawyer with whom I had worked closely during the 1992 Republican National Convention asked me to help host a meeting with minority members of the Houston legal community so they could meet Bush. I was happy to do so, and a group of fifteen to twenty attorneys gathered at my law firm to hear the upstart challenger.

  During his presentation, George W. Bush was energetic and engaging. He spoke in realistic terms about his positive vision for Texas. He warmly reached out to the Hispanic community in his comments and then took questions from the crowd, fielding them adeptly and honestly.

  I liked him, I was quite impressed by him, and I planned to vote for him, although I didn’t believe he stood a chance of beating Ann Richards in the election.

  I watched the campaign with interest over the next year and spoke only briefly with Bush at two separate events. He acted as though he knew me, but I wasn’t so sure. Good politicians always act as though they know their constituents; few actually do. Nevertheless, Bush’s campaign theme piqued my interest: “What Texans can dream, Texans can do.”

  I was wrong about Bush’s political potential. Bush defeated Richards handily.

  Following the election, I sent Governor-elect Bush a brief letter congratulating him and expressing my willingness to serve Texas and his administration any way possible. At best I was hopeful for a high-profile appointment to a board or commission so I could keep my law partnership. I didn’t really expect a response, so I was surprised when on November 17, 1994, I received a phone call from Bob Whilden, one of the senior partners in V&E’s corporate law department and a member of the firm’s management committee. “The governor-elect just called,” Bob said, “and he asked whether you might be interested in joining his staff as general counsel.”

  “What?” I asked, unable to conceal my interest.

  “Yes, he says that the appointment would be great for you and good for the firm.”

  My curiosity was piqued. “Thank you, Bob.” I could tell by the tone in Bob’s voice that he was amenable to my accepting the offer should it come.

  “He’ll be giving you a call in a few days.”

  “Okay; thanks, Bob.” I hung up the phone and stared at it for a few seconds, wondering what had just happened.

  Don’t misunderstand, I was
happy at the firm and had established myself in a position that could only expand my influence and income. I served on multiple boards for organizations within our community and was active working with various Hispanic groups. These volunteer activities presented a fulfilling diversion from my day job. Yet something was missing; there remained that subtle restlessness in my heart and mind. I couldn’t describe it in specific terms, but it was there. Becky recognized my restiveness and felt there was something greater for me to do. At the time, she believed it might involve some manner of serving in our community, or in a local position with city or countywide influence. I wanted to do something more meaningful with my life and, as I recognized at that moment, perhaps this opportunity with the new governor held that potential.

  Although I was intrigued by the possibility of working with George W. Bush, I kept the information to myself that entire workday. I didn’t even share it with Becky immediately, waiting until I had time to think through the implications. My wife was happy with our life in Houston; she was taking classes at a local university to complete her college education, we had two wonderful young sons, and she was pregnant. Accepting a job with Bush would entail moving to Austin, and I saw no need to rock the boat if we weren’t taking a ride.

  Later that evening, after weighing the pros and cons, I broached the subject with Becky: “The governor-elect has offered me a job as his general counsel.” I could see the anxiety spring into her eyes as she instantly recognized the radical transition that my accepting a position in the governor’s office might make in our lives. After moving several times as a child in an air force family, Becky had hoped for roots and stability. Her dream had come true, and she did not relish the idea of moving again.