All too soon, it was time for us to head back to Washington. We all hugged good-bye. “If I were you,” President Bush said before we left, “I wouldn’t watch the news for a few days.”
We nodded, understanding.
“In three days,” he said, “the news value will be over and the media will move on.”
The president and Mrs. Bush walked us outside where Karl Rove, who himself had announced his resignation on August 13, barely two weeks earlier, had pulled up to the ranch house in a white pickup truck, ready to give us a ride back to the airport.1 As we slowly drove away from the ranch, I waved good-bye and the president gave me a salute.
We talked with Karl about our futures on the way to the airport—Karl planned to stay on till the end of the month—but mostly I was thinking about what we had just experienced. Becky and I were content, relieved, and proud. We had sacrificed so much to serve our country during a difficult period of world history. Now after thirteen years in public service, we hoped a brighter future lay ahead of us.
We did not even tell our closest friends or colleagues about my conversations with the president. Because reporters were hovering like vultures over a dying animal alongside the road, I told a few key people who asked that weekend that I had not resigned—which technically was true, as I had not yet done so officially.
The following morning, I called for a 10:30 a.m. news conference at the Justice Department Press Room. I met first with my senior staff in the spacious attorney general’s conference room on the fifth floor of the Robert F. Kennedy Building and informed them of my decision prior to meeting the media. Speculations about my resignation had been bandied about for so many months, nobody in our inner circle at Justice paid much attention anymore to press rumors and innuendoes regarding my imminent departure. Perhaps that’s why some of my staff members were stunned when I announced my resignation. Following the senior staff meeting, as I walked out of the stately conference room, I glanced at the portraits of some of my predecessors hanging on the walls. I wondered how they felt at the end of their tenure.
During my formal announcement in the press room later that morning, I told everyone, “I often remind our fellow citizens that we live in the greatest country in the world and that I have lived the American dream.” I felt my voice crack slightly as I said, “Even my worst days as attorney general have been better than my father’s best days.” I had much for which I could be thankful, and I was.
Still in Texas, President Bush commented upon my resignation, saying that he had accepted the resignation reluctantly. He spoke of me as “a man of integrity, decency, and principle” and remarked about the “months of unfair treatment” that preceded my resignation.2
“It’s sad,” President Bush said, “that we live in a time when a talented and honorable person like Alberto Gonzales is impeded from doing important work because his good name was dragged through the mud for political reasons.”3
I purposely kept the announcement brief, and I took no questions from the press. They already had their slants on the story, so there was nothing I could say that might alter their perspectives.
I tried to keep a normal schedule of meetings that day—after all, I wouldn’t actually be leaving the job for several more weeks, and there was a lot of work to be done before that time. There was a meeting with Native American tribal leaders, photos with Presidential Rank Award recipients, and my monthly meeting with our inspector general. Nevertheless, as the day progressed, I found myself becoming emotional as I thought of the many fine employees with whom I had worked at the Justice Department. We had made great strides in fighting corporate and political corruption; we had continued working through the complex legal issues surrounding the war on terror; we had made remarkable progress in prosecuting child predators; and we had done so many other good things that would have lasting impact on our country. I would miss working with the dedicated people at the department. I was grateful for their work, and I was proud to have been their boss.
The following day, I received an envelope from the president. In a handwritten letter to me, written the day of my announcement, President Bush wrote in part:
As you and I discussed on the ranch, Washington is a treacherous place. Ambition and pettiness often displace statesmanship and service. And when that happens, individuals are treated unfairly. This happened to you.
During the last months, you have maintained your composure and dignity. Your class shined brightly. Your inner soul was strong.
As you move on, I know you will do so with head high and spirit solid. You and Becky are dear friends to Laura and me. The past months have pained me, but not nearly as much as those closest to you and those who love you most. I was heartened to hear Becky say that the toils have strengthened your bonds. I feel the same way. I honor my friend and appreciate all that you have done.
News of my resignation brought out anonymous critics within the administration who accused me of being incapable of standing up to the likes of David Addington and John Yoo. The truth is, the advice I gave was always mine. Other critics claimed then and now that I could not be objective when it came to George W. Bush. They are wrong. The strongest evidence of my loyalty to the president was doing my job, irrespective of the consequences. That is what he expected of everyone in his administration and that is what I demanded of myself.
I continued working through the first few weeks of September. Shortly before my last day on the job, White House counsel Fred Fielding scheduled a meeting of the Judicial Selection Committee, the group that had been gathering regularly since my early days in the administration to discuss potential federal judicial appointments. When I arrived at the Roosevelt Room in the White House, I discovered that we had no candidates to consider and no real agenda for the meeting. “What are we doing here?” I asked Fred.
“We just wanted to meet in your honor one more time,” Fred said. It was a thoughtful and much appreciated gesture from my friends and colleagues.
The DOJ held a formal farewell ceremony in the Great Hall that gave me an opportunity to say good-bye to the senior leadership and general staff. My attorney general staff of about twenty people held a more intimate going away event in my conference room. I was moved by the remarks of those who knew me best at the department, especially those of Kevin O’Connor, my acting chief of staff, who said, “No matter how difficult or stressful things may have been for the judge, those of us privileged to work on his staff never suffered from it. We all knew what he was going through had to be incredibly difficult for both him and his family, yet he never once took it out on us, or let it impact our work. He was fully engaged at all times and he continued to encourage and motivate us to do our jobs in the way that would best serve the department and the American people. Frankly, I remain absolutely amazed at the dignity he displayed in the face of such unfair criticism and public pressure.”
My assistant, Carrie Nelson, and several others helped pack the many photos and memorabilia I had in my office. Since I was not moving to another job, all of my furniture and belongings were moved to a storage unit. I took a last bike ride along with my security detail as my time as attorney general drew to a close.
Peter Keisler, a highly respected attorney from Maryland and head of the DOJ’s civil division, was selected as the interim attorney general. Peter was one of the early choices I had recommended for appointment as a federal judge, but the Democratic Maryland senators had shot down his nomination, so I was glad to see him finally receive some well-deserved recognition. Federal judge Mike Mukasey, from New York, was sworn in as the eighty-first US attorney general on November 9, 2007, and he served well and honorably throughout the remainder of George W. Bush’s presidency. I was (and remain) grateful for his support and friendship.
On my final Sunday afternoon as attorney general, Becky and I went to the White House and walked through the historic building and around the picturesque grounds for the last time. As the daylight turned to dusk, I asked my security detail
to take us to the Lincoln Memorial. Becky and I climbed the steps to the top and stood between the pillars in front of the large nineteen-foot-high statue of one of the most maligned presidents in American history—and one of the greatest. The artist, Daniel Chester French, depicted Lincoln sitting in a large chair during the Civil War, contemplating how he could hold the country together while still championing the cause of freedom and liberty for every person.
We looked at the panorama of the National Mall, from the Reflecting Pool extending back to the majestic Washington Monument and the US Capitol. It was impossible for me not to be overwhelmed at the sight any time, but on this evening, I felt a magnificent sense of wonder and accomplishment. I had served as the counsel to the president and had been the attorney general of the United States, the only lawyer in our nation’s history to have held both positions. Amazing. Thank You, God, for taking us further than we could have imagined.
On Monday morning, September 18, I awakened early, as always, and looked out my window. No black SUV sat waiting for me in our driveway; no FBI detail was watching our home. I was no longer the attorney general, so they were gone.
The good news was: the media trucks and television cameras that had staked out in our neighborhood were gone as well.
With no pressing government business, and nowhere I had to be, I decided to drive Graham and Gabriel to their school bus stop. It was an unusual, almost surreal feeling. I had not been able to do something so mundane in a long time. I thought, This is good; I like this!
The boys didn’t say much about the price they paid simply for being my sons, but Becky and I learned indirectly of the fallout from the negative press about me that landed on Jared, Graham, and Gabriel. For instance, one evening a mom of one of Gabriel’s classmates called Becky and asked, “Is Gabriel okay?”
“Yes, why?” Becky asked. “What happened?”
“Well, my son came home from school and said that the teacher had been talking about Al in class, and had spoken in a very derogatory manner about your husband, with Gabriel right there in the room.” Gabriel hadn’t said a word about the teacher’s comments to us, but unfortunately, the teacher’s outlandish actions had not been an isolated incident.
Becky and I didn’t even attempt to explain the chaotic events that had led to my driving the boys to the school bus each morning. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t be interested or wouldn’t care about something that meant so much to me, but I think what mattered most to them was that their dad loved them and was now more available to them. In a way, they were just glad to have their dad back. From my perspective, the silver lining behind all the dark clouds was that I now had more time to spend with my wife and our teenage boys, and I relished every minute with them.
During my time working with George W. Bush, he had been wonderfully kind to our family. When we left his administration, our youngest sons wrote him cards of thanks. Fifteen-year-old Graham wrote:
Dear Mr. President,
Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for my dad and family. When we moved to Virginia (I was in third grade), I hated it with no friends and I had no idea why I could never see my dad. Then, slowly I started to see things in the news and began to understand what he did and who he worked for. I’ve taken a lot of stuff from people about my dad’s job, but I knew he was working with you to help our country. Thank you so much for everything you have offered to our family and the opportunities and experiences. If my dad had not taken this line of work, I wouldn’t have the same friends, and I wouldn’t be the same person. Thank you for everything.
Sincerely,
(Alberto) Graham Gonzales
Thirteen-year-old Gabe wrote a shorter note, reflective of his age:
Dear Mr. President,
Thank you so much for all you have done. Thank you for letting my dad have so many chances to work with you. And I thank you for the fun times with you.
Sincerely,
Gabe G.
Over the years, I collected many personal notes from the president, and he was especially good at presenting special gifts to those of us who worked closely with him. One of the most meaningful presents given to every cabinet secretary was a leather-bound copy of prayers. A little-known aspect about the Bush administration was the frequent acknowledgment that we needed and sought God’s help to lead the country well. For example, before each cabinet meeting, one of the members would lead in prayer. The president had the prayers preserved and printed, creating a priceless treasure, and a testimony of our faith in God. That faith saw me through even the toughest of times.
Shortly after leaving office, I received wise advice from former secretary of state James Baker, who encouraged me to focus my energies on the investigations that still continued hanging over me. Although I knew I had done nothing wrong, I set up a legal defense fund, managed by my former colleagues David Leitch, Tim Flanigan, Reginald Brown, and Jim Carroll, to fight the allegations. Many of my friends contributed, and I was able to hire my friend and a former deputy attorney general George Terwilliger to represent me.
All of the issues involving me were thoroughly investigated by Congress and the Justice Department’s Office of Professional Responsibility and by the DOJ inspector general. Despite the allegations against me, Congress made no referral to the Department of Justice indicating that a crime had been committed. Nor did the inspector general ever make a referral, leading to the obvious conclusion that, while I had made errors in judgment, the investigations by Democrats in Congress were primarily politically motivated by people opposed to me, and ultimately opposed to President Bush. When the inspector general’s report came out, I was exonerated of all supposed perjury allegations relating to Stellar Wind, and of any criminal wrongdoing in the firing of the US attorneys. Ironically, after dozens upon dozens of stories in the media about my so-called politicizing of the Justice Department, the media barely mentioned my complete exoneration. The Wall Street Journal compared the investigations to much ado about nothing, asking the proverbial question, “What do you say when a tree falls in the forest, and there’s no one there to hear it?” The Journal rightly described the investigations as nothing more than political machinations attempting to discredit President Bush and me. “If a Washington ‘scandal’ ends long after it can be milked for a political gain, and it turns out there was nothing to it, does anyone notice? Consider the whimpering end to the once ferocious controversy over the firing of nine U.S. Attorneys . . . The Justice Department informed Congress . . . that a special investigator in the case found no evidence of wrongdoing . . . The findings of investigator Nora Dannehy confirm that this fiasco was always a political dispute, not a criminal one.”4 I accepted that, but the poignant question once posed by Ronald Reagan’s secretary of labor, Ray Donovan, now haunted me: “To which office do I go to get my reputation back?”
CHAPTER 39
THE PRICE OF SERVICE
During a private conversation after I left office, my friend and Treasury Secretary Hank Paulsen told me that I would never have another job as rewarding, as challenging, and as fulfilling as my work as attorney general. He was right. The decompression of going from a pace of one hundred miles per hour to zero was an abrupt jolt.
For a period, I floundered in a dark netherworld following my departure from the Bush administration. I was a Hispanic with a Harvard Law degree, a former partner with one of the most prestigious law firms in Texas, a former Texas secretary of state and supreme court justice, a former counsel to the president of the United States, and a former US cabinet secretary, yet job headhunters told me I was considered radioactive—an unwanted, unemployable pariah, burdened with too much negative press. At first, prospective employers used the pending investigtations as an excuse not to hire or associate with me. But not even the reality of an exoneration could remove the stain on my reputation.
Even before I had resigned as attorney general, several major law firms in Texas had reached out to me, indicating an interest in having me come
on board. Those offers didn’t pan out, and others disappeared following my resignation.
I traveled to a southern state to visit with the CEO and the general counsel of a Fortune 500 company to discuss being on their board of directors. I thought the position was a real possibility until I was told, “Sorry, you’re too controversial. The other board members don’t want you.”
Perhaps most disappointing, my former law firm, Vinson & Elkins, at which I had been a partner in Houston, declined to take me back. Over the years, when lawyers from the firm had visited Washington, I had hosted them in the White House. Again and again, Becky and I had heard, “Don’t forget that we are your family, and you will always have a place with us at V&E when you are done here.” Now I was done, but there were no offers of employment or words of encouragement. If the people at the firm who knew me best did not want me, why would any other firm take a chance on me? Granted, while I had been attorney general, the DOJ had prosecuted Ken Lay and Jeff Skilling of Enron, and V&E had been closely intertwined with Enron; the demise severely hurt the firm both financially and by reputation. Although I had been recused, the investigation likely had created some ill will. I was grateful V&E had employed me in the early days of my career and promoted me to partner, but hurt by the firm’s unwillingness to hire me back.
I had always thought that I would be welcomed back to Houston with open arms. I had worked there for so many years, and I had built strong relationships within the legal community, as well as with various civic and Hispanic groups. Houston was our home.
But nobody wanted me. I talked with some professors about teaching at Rice University, the school that had once honored me as a distinguished alumnus. The department chairman said, “I’ll go talk to the university president. Let me see if I can make it happen.” He couldn’t.
True Faith and Allegiance Page 51