“I love our home, I’m back in school, and I am pregnant,” Becky said.
“Well, it’s just a few years,” I answered. “We could move to Austin, and then we’ll come back and I’ll go back to work at Vinson & Elkins, and our life will return to normal.” My wife’s feelings mattered to me, and I wanted to avoid upsetting her. Yet I also knew that Becky could be happy anywhere, as long as we were together.
Becky voiced all of the concerns that I had considered, plus one more: the salary. Although we were not yet sure what the position of counsel to the governor paid, we knew that it would be less than my income at V&E. When we married, Becky had given up her career as a bank loan officer to raise our children and finish her education, so money would be an issue. We decided to forgo making a decision about the matter until we knew more information about the potential move.
I had been selected as a member of the Houston chapter of the American Leadership Forum, so the following day, I was attending a daylong seminar with that group when the governor-elect called me. He began the conversation casually, “Hey, big guy. How are you doing?”
Bush’s informality put me at ease immediately. He chatted amiably about his plans and indicated that he wanted me to serve in an important position within his administration. “I’m traveling right now, but would you be willing to meet with Harriet Miers and me and possibly a few others when I get back to Texas? Harriet is my general counsel during the transition from Governor Richards’s administration to ours.”
“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll be glad to meet.”
“Would you be interested in being the governor’s general counsel?” he asked.
“I could be very interested,” I responded enthusiastically. “I’m willing to serve if I can find a way to afford being away from my law practice for a few years.”
The governor-elect seemed surprised and pleased that I would be willing to leave a lucrative law practice to serve with him. “Okay, then,” he said. “Consider it a done deal, pending our meeting.”
We discussed several meeting dates, and the call concluded with me thanking Bush for the opportunity.
When I hung up the phone, I felt my stomach churning. What have I gotten myself into? I thought. I had no idea where this would take me, but I was excited about the possibilities.
Over the next few days, I spoke several times with Harriet Miers about Bush’s job offer and what it entailed. I knew Harriet fairly well because I had served on the board of directors for the state bar of Texas, of which she was then president. She was one of the most prominent attorneys in Texas, George W. Bush’s personal lawyer, and a former member of the Dallas City Council. She was bright, tough, and most of all, I quickly discovered, she was intensely loyal to George W. Bush and expected the same true allegiance from her colleagues.
Since I had no real relationship with the governor-elect, I wondered how he worked with lawyers, and about my responsibilities as his counsel. Harriet explained that my role would be that of a legal troubleshooter, dealing with all sorts of issues, everything from legislation to litigation to overseeing clemency issues related to the executions of convicted criminals. I’d also be reviewing and advising on the governor’s policies and any ethical issues that affected our state or the governor’s office.
My conversations with Harriet inspired me. If I took this new position, I would no longer simply be helping a client buy or sell a business; I would be working for the people of Texas. Whether it was God’s leading, or my own inner contentment, or a combination of both, I felt great faith and peace about this new direction I was considering, confirming to me that this was what I was meant to do with my talents, my life—at least for a season.
I became so enthusiastic about the opportunity that one afternoon I drove from Houston to downtown Austin—a distance of more than 160 miles—just to view the Texas capitol up close and to scout out the area. I walked into the lobby of the Sam Houston Building, a nine-story complex adjacent to the majestic Texas capitol, where Governor Richards’s counsel’s office was located, and where I assumed that my office would be located as well. The Sam Houston Building was located directly across the courtyard from the Texas Supreme Court. Standing on the capitol grounds, I began to realize the full implications of my potential move. I could barely believe that I might have the opportunity to serve my state surrounded by such august beauty.
Over Thanksgiving dinner at my mom’s house, the home in which I had grown up, Becky and I told my entire family about the new job offer. All of my siblings and their spouses were there.
My family members were thrilled at my new opportunity, and Mom especially was proud, although she became less enthusiastic when I told her that the job required a move to Austin. Nevertheless, she was happy that I was happy. My mom prays every day for each of her children and our spouses, and everyone knows that God pays special attention to a mother’s prayers. He sure has done so to mine.
On December 1, 1994, I arrived at Governor-elect Bush’s transition office, located in the Vaughn Building on Brazos Street in Austin. There I met with Joe Allbaugh, Bush’s campaign manager, a quintessential behind-the-scenes sort of guy. A broad-shouldered bear of a man whom I guessed to be slightly older than me, Joe was about six foot four, with large glasses and a slightly receding hairline that he wore in a flat-top crew cut. Joe looked intimidating—and he was. He didn’t waste words; instead, he spoke straightforwardly in a gruff voice, lacing statements with language so colorful there was no question about what he meant. Yet he also had a quiet, softer side. An Oklahoma cowboy with midwestern roots and values, Joe exuded a strong, calm confidence. But no one had any doubt about who was in charge.
The governor-elect had asked him to serve as his executive assistant, basically a chief of staff position, so he was somebody I would be working with regularly. As we talked, I appreciated his insights, his discretion, and his loyalty to his boss. I left our meeting anticipating that Joe and I would become not only close colleagues but good friends. And we did, as did our spouses, Diane and Becky. Joe is a good man; he was later appointed director of FEMA.
The next morning, I met privately with George W. Bush for the first time. He seemed relaxed yet energetic, as though he was raring to get started as governor. His background was the polar opposite of mine. He was the ultimate insider, a man who grew up as the privileged son in a patrician family, wealthy and politically well connected. I was an outsider who grew up in poverty, whose father had never even voted. But we shared many of the same values, so we hit it off. Down to earth, with no ostentatious, pretentious inclinations to formality, he was self-confident and, contrary to impressions later perpetuated by the media, he had an amazing command of important issues. In a face-to-face conversation, it was nearly impossible not to like him. I certainly did. I liked him as a person and I liked what he stood for. Looking back, I realize that it wasn’t about politics. I would have supported George W. Bush had he been a Democrat.
Bush was engaging and focused. He looked me right in the eye during most of our conversation. He discussed candidly what he expected of me and I explained what intrigued me about the position. When I asked about my role and access to him, Bush picked up a marker and drew nine x’s on a whiteboard near his chair. He then wrote a G above the center x. Tapping the G with his finger, he said, “This is me.” Then he pointed at the center x and said, “This is Joe. Joe will be the first among equals, but I want every member of our senior staff to have direct access to me.” He made it clear that although Joe would function as chief of staff, the governor-elect did not want filters, so his top staff—which included me—could walk into his office at any time to discuss with him anything we regarded as important. “My father was ill-served,” he said, “by the gate-keeping role played by White House chief of staff John Sununu.” John might have meant well, attempting to allow only the most important matters to reach the president, but that was not the process the governor-elect wanted.
I was pleased by wha
t I heard, so as our meeting drew to a close, I felt free to pose a personal question. “Why me?” I asked. I knew Bush could have invited any number of highly qualified Texas lawyers to serve as counsel. “You don’t know me. Why have you offered this job to me?”
Bush’s eyes twinkled and he chuckled. “Because you turned down a job offer with my old man, that’s how you got on my radar screen,” he said. He was right, but I was surprised that he knew the story. This was the first of many incidents when I would discover that his laid-back style did not imply a lack of knowledge or preparation.
I smiled and again thanked the governor-elect for giving me the opportunity to serve.
As we said good-bye, Bush extended his hand and shook mine. “Welcome aboard. I know you and your family are making a big sacrifice to serve on my staff,” he said, “and I will make it worth your while.” As I left that day, I appeared calm and collected, but inside, I was tremendously energized. The only minor concern I carried away from our meeting was a Bush comment about the sitting attorney general, Dan Morales, a Democrat. Bush had warned me to keep an eye on Morales, a man with whom I would have to work closely as counsel. Nevertheless, in the weeks to follow, I threw myself into preparing and learning about the job. It was an adventure I wanted to live to the fullest, because, after all, I had promised my wife that I would step away from my legal practice to work in government circles for only a few years.
I had no idea how inextricably linked our destiny would become to that of George W. Bush.
CHAPTER 8
THE DEATH CASES
At the beginning of the year 1995, I began traveling back and forth from Houston to Austin for more than a month during the transition, living out of a suitcase. Leaving Houston permanently, however, and in particular, leaving my job at V&E, was difficult. For more than a dozen years, I had enjoyed working with a prestigious law firm and earning a lucrative income. Following my meeting with Joe Allbaugh, I now understood that walking away from such security and accepting a job as Governor Bush’s counsel meant taking a nearly two-thirds cut in pay. While Becky and I were not overly materialistic in our lifestyles, we had acquired the accoutrements and the associated expenses of a young, successful lawyer’s family.
Because I began working with Governor Bush before Becky and I had time to buy a home in Austin, I rented a small apartment a few minutes drive from the capitol. Becky, Jared, and Graham joined me in Austin for the governor’s inauguration on January 17, 1995. A few days later, Becky returned to Houston with our sons to handle the myriad details involved in the transition to life in another city. Complicating matters further, Becky and I were expecting another baby in June.
After our third son, Gabriel, was born, we bought a home in Austin. Shortly after that, Becky put school aside, knowing that she needed to go back to work. With the reduction of our income, and an additional child, our choice was not whether she would reenter the workforce; truth is, we needed the money. Becky took a job in the Texas attorney general’s office, handling financial matters for the Sexual Assault Prevention and Crisis Services division, while her mom helped with our boys until they were old enough to attend daycare.
“Always return one another’s phone calls first,” Governor Bush instructed his senior staff members during the first formal meeting of his administration. His statement initially struck me as odd, but I quickly realized his logic. As a former owner of the Texas Rangers baseball team, Governor Bush did not merely want employees; he wanted team members who valued one another. Looking around the room, I could tell he had assembled some excellent teammates, with Joe Allbaugh as captain. Karen Hughes, who had also worked with George W. Bush during his gubernatorial race, was in charge of communications. Media savvy and perpetually searching for the positive, human-interest aspects of any story, Karen modeled a joyful yet realistic glass-half-full attitude that sprang from her Christian faith. Margaret LaMontagne (soon to be Spellings) headed up public education—an important job, since the governor was unhappy that Texas school districts received funds based on property taxes of homes and businesses. He felt the system was unfair, especially to minority students living in poorer districts. He wanted to change the way Texas schools were funded, though he knew it would be an uphill grind and Margaret would have her hands full. But she seemed up for it. We were also joined by Dallas businessman Clay Johnson, the governor’s former Yale roommate and longtime friend who would run the appointments office. Karl Rove, while technically not part of the staff, was a frequent visitor and focused primarily on political matters.
Governor Bush had gathered a fantastic team of coworkers, and from day one, we established and maintained a cooperative spirit and a healthy work atmosphere. All of our jobs were made easier by one of our boss’s greatest strengths: the ability to ask open-ended questions that seared right to the heart of a matter. His keen insight allowed him to sort out opinions and reduce an answer to its core. I marveled at his ability to make good decisions.
The governor quickly and purposely forged a strong relationship with Lieutenant Governor Bob Bullock and House Speaker James (Pete) Laney—both highly respected, influential Democrats. Bob Bullock’s brash, intimidating personality was legendary in Texas political circles. He was smart and cagey, and only a few years earlier, Karen had referred to him as “Archie Bunker Bob.” Bush and Bullock butted heads at first, but then both men said, “We’re going to do what is best for Texas.”
Speaker Laney was a farmer, who was always ready to go home to West Texas and ride a tractor at the end of a week fighting legislative battles. His down-to-earth, understated manner made him particularly effective as a legislator and a leader.
Bush, Bullock, and Laney essentially laid aside political differences to get good things done for the people of Texas. Bullock and Laney liked and respected Bush, and Bush genuinely liked and respected them. They didn’t always agree with one another, but they were willing to compromise and put the needs of the people ahead of their own political allegiances. They were true leaders whose top priorities were to serve the people of Texas.
A few years later, when Governor Bush ran for reelection in 1998, Bob Bullock made it clear to Texans that he supported the Republican incumbent, George W. Bush. This was even more astounding given the fact that Bullock was the godfather to one of the children of the opposing Democrat candidate.
As general counsel, my job was to provide prompt and accurate legal advice to the governor and his staff on a wide variety of issues ranging from ethics to criminal justice. It was an enormous responsibility, and fortunately, I had a team of six lawyers to help me. I had also talked at length with David Talbot, who had served as counsel to Governor Ann Richards. David was gracious with his time, tremendously helpful to me, and his advice was right on target. Many of the processes I implemented as Governor Bush’s counsel were similar to those David had used to serve Governor Richards.
In Texas, the state’s chief legal officer, the attorney general, is not appointed by the governor but is elected by the public. Dan Morales, a Harvard-educated Hispanic, had been elected attorney general in 1990, five years earlier.
Early in the Bush administration, the governor met with Morales; Jorge Vega, his first assistant, with whom I had played intramural softball and football at Harvard; Jay Aguilar, one of his top litigators; and me regarding an important litigation matter concerning prison overcrowding. As I looked at the men gathered in the governor’s office, I marveled at the sight. Here was the new governor, the son of a former president of the United States, being advised by four Hispanics, all of whom had risen from humble circumstances to become Harvard-educated attorneys. How ironic, I thought. At a time when Hispanics were making slow progress in cracking the partnership ranks in many Texas law firms, four Hispanics were helping to guide the governor on major legal decisions that affected our state.
George W. Bush did not merely talk about diversity. He modeled it. To him, skin color, race, or gender were nonissues. If a person was qualified
for a job and could do the work with excellence, that’s all that mattered to Bush. Nor was he reluctant to have strong women on his staff, as evidenced by Karen and Margaret, neither of whom were the wallflower type.
Soon after I began, I was confronted with one of the job’s most difficult and controversial tasks—dealing with the death penalty and its application to inmates who had been found guilty and deserving of death by a jury of their peers. Part of my duties involved the heavy responsibility of making recommendations regarding clemency decisions, based on applications to the governor presented on behalf of men and women on Texas death row. I understood that each request represented a real person, so we painstakingly reviewed every case. Virtually all of these requests were denied, not because of any lack of compassion, but because of Governor Bush’s faith in the Texas criminal justice system.
At the time I became counsel, Texas had executed 464 inmates since 1974. Several more executions were scheduled to happen early in Governor Bush’s watch, the first on January 31, 1995, less than two weeks into the governor’s term.
Unlike the United States president and the governors of some states, the governor of Texas cannot unilaterally pardon or commute the sentence of a convicted criminal. Due to a scandal that exposed a previous governor selling executive clemency, Texas instituted a policy that gave the state Board of Pardons and Paroles power to check the governor’s discretion to issue a pardon or commute a death sentence. The Texas Constitution provides the governor authority to grant a one-time, thirty-day reprieve to a death-row inmate seeking clemency. Any other form of clemency, such as a pardon or commutation of a sentence, requires a concurring recommendation by the eighteen-member Board of Pardons and Paroles.
True Faith and Allegiance Page 7