My Father, My President

by Doro Bush Koch

  The results were in: Bush-Quayle had received 53 percent of the popular vote and 426 electoral votes; Dukakis-Bentsen had 46 percent and 111 electoral votes. My father had won all but ten states. “I still find it incredible and almost impossible to believe,” Dad said. He went to bed that night thinking of all the people who should have been there, not the least of whom was his father.

  My father was now president-elect of the United States of America. As you might imagine, I was ecstatic—we all were—but the reality, the historical impact, of what had happened to Dad, and to us, would take time to digest. That night, the full range of emotions cascaded over us; relief, unbridled joy, exhaustion, and a tremendous sense of pride. In the eyes of many, Dad had started his quest for the White House as a marginal Don Quixote-esque figure in a fantastical misadventure; yet, just as he had always striven to complete his mission as a naval pilot, he had also withstood the partisan attacks and barbed pens of the Beltway pundits to make this improbable dream a reality. Even today, the sheer magnitude of what he achieved seems surreal—as if it happened in another lifetime. Yet it did happen, and in due course my father would take his place in history with the other distinguished Americans to precede him into that high office.

  The next morning, my parents were flying back to Washington on Air Force Two with a big crowd of family and staff. George and Laura’s five-year-old twins, Barbara and Jenna, had stuffed the airplane’s toilet with paper, and Mom was in it up to her elbows trying to unclog it. “I couldn’t help but wonder if any other First Ladies-elect had spent their first morning unstuffing the toilet,” she said.

  It was, as Dad’s friend Dan Jenkins is fond of saying, “life its own self.”

  Chapter 15

  AGE OF THE OFFERED HAND

  “I think [history] will remember him as the man who taught us to keep the peace. George taught us to stay in touch with our allies, and stay in touch with the world, not just when you need them. I think [future generations] will remember him as a peacemaker.”

  —Barbara Bush

  Not even the bitter cold of the 1985 inaugural, had it been replicated, could put a chill on the excitement of January 20, 1989. Dad had worked too hard, and come so far, over the past decade—going from an asterisk in 1979 to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in 1989. It had been a long, exhilarating climb, and with a lot of help he had finally reached the summit of the “mountaintop of U.S. politics,” as he has called the presidency.

  The day started with a prayer service at St. John’s Church, and Mom and Dad met the Reagans at the White House for coffee before riding up to the Capitol. The morning chill clung stubbornly to our nation’s capital that day; and as the president and president-elect rode together, President Reagan recounted how, when he was sworn in as governor of California, “just as I placed my hand on the Bible, the sun came through and warmed it.”

  For our family, inauguration day 1989 possessed a similar fateful feeling.

  As Dad and Mom prepared to walk out onto the West Front of the U.S. Capitol for the swearing-in ceremony, however, something wasn’t quite right. Suddenly, Dad turned to Tim McBride, his personal aide at the time.

  “Tim, I need my overcoat,” he said. “President Reagan is in his, and I don’t want to draw this contrast.” The day turned cloudy and windy, and although it was mild, Mrs. Reagan was bundling President Reagan up in an overcoat and a scarf.

  With the entire Congress, the Supreme Court, the cabinet, a who’s who of Washington, and a worldwide television audience awaiting the ceremony, Tim realized he didn’t have enough time to retrieve Dad’s coat from the car, so he offered up his own topcoat, which happened to be the same size.

  “On one of the biggest days of his life, what’s he thinking about?” Tim reflected. “The other guy.”

  Dad’s inauguration marked the two hundredth anniversary of the presidency; and it was awe-inspiring to consider that only thirty-nine other men (President Grover Cleveland counts twice!) had preceded my father into that high office. Sitting behind the podium off the center aisle and looking out at the enormous crowd on the National Mall, I realized that so many people across America—and even around the world—would now be counting on Dad to lead them and help them. A small crowd of protesters also gathered on the Mall away from the ceremony, and their presence reminded me that—even on this festive day—there were still those in the loyal opposition determined to challenge Dad at every turn.

  I loved standing next to my eighty-seven-year-old grandmother, my namesake, sharing a front-row seat to history. Dad later said how he regretted that his father was not alive when he became president, but the fact that Ganny was there made that remarkable occasion all the more special for all of us.

  As the ceremony started, I remember thinking how tall and handsome Dad looked. People who only know him from their TV set are always surprised how tall he appears in person at 6'2". I also remember looking at the network booths and all the faces that dominated our nightly news. Everyone looked like caricatures of themselves. It seemed surreal to have all those familiar faces in one spot.

  But it was real, and as the sun pierced through the breaking winter clouds, I watched my father become the forty-first president of the United States. In one majestic moment, Dad was the leader of the free world.

  It was deeply moving to know our country was in such good, decent hands. The family pride that swelled in my heart, however, was accompanied by an undeniable lump in my throat. The presidency in some respects can be compared to a roller-coaster ride. From high atop that initial platform, the new chief executive is inevitably hurled into the ups and downs of life in Washington.

  Jon Meacham, the managing editor of Newsweek, pointed out an interesting historical footnote from the swearing-in ceremony. While Dad is generally very reserved about public demonstrations of his faith, he opened his inaugural address that day with a prayer. Jon noted that the only other presidents who have done that to date are George Washington and Dwight Eisenhower.

  Following the ceremony, Mom and Dad escorted the Reagans to Marine One for their return trip to California. Earlier that day, Dad wrote President Reagan a note with which he enclosed a small image of the White House as a gift:

  January 20th

  Dear Mr. President and Nancy,

  Here’s a tiny going away present. You’ve probably got a thousand of these, but Barbara and I felt this might be a nice reminder of the House you’ve graced for so long.

  I will choke up, I expect, as we say farewell later today—so here goes—

  It’s been great. I’ll never forget all you’ve done. I’ll try to earn that support.

  Good luck—Love, too!

  George

  Meanwhile, the rest of us filed into Statuary Hall, the “Old Hall of the House,” where we were seated for the traditional congressional luncheon. We weren’t far from where the 1984 swearing-in ceremony had taken place, in the Capitol Rotunda. Situated between the House Chamber and the Capitol Rotunda, Statuary Hall served as the original House of Representatives from 1807 to 1857 as well as the site of six presidential inaugurations—the last one being in 1850. Today, the semicircular room with its arches and columns is filled with busts and statues of leaders from all fifty states and, more often than not, tour groups. In this historic, ornate setting, the Congress saluted the new president and vice president, and the warm toasts offered by the congressional leaders added to the excitement and hope of the day.

  The inaugural parade immediately followed lunch, so everyone in our family, except Mom and Dad, rushed to the White House and into the presidential box—the glass-encased reviewing stand erected on the north side of the White House grounds. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad started to make their way down Pennsylvania Avenue. They were supposed to ride in the limo, but Dad was eager to greet everyone along the parade route, so he and Mom would periodically jump out of the car to walk and wave. At one point, Mom spotted her favorite weatherman, Willard Scott, and ran over and gave him a quick kiss.
>
  Arriving at the presidential box, Mom and Dad enjoyed watching the 78 floats, 145 parade units, and 10,000 participants pass by. Dad was particularly excited when a float passed by carrying his old friend Jack Guy and the rest of the surviving crew members from his navy squadron, VT51. The kids loved it, too—little blond-haired blue-eyed Sam had enough energy for everybody, and loved seeing the parade and running around with his cousins in the reviewing stand. The only one who wasn’t enjoying herself was my daughter Ellie, then aged three, who told me she was starting to feel sick. My heart ached at the sight of her, wearing her brand-new dress we’d bought for the day, and her little cheeks pink with fever. Since we were right in front of the White House, I asked a military aide if we could go inside, and he escorted us up the driveway and right through the North Portico doors.

  I was so worried about Ellie that it took a minute to realize I was in the White House, making us the first family members other than Mom and Dad to enter the building on that first day.

  It was there that I met the chief usher, Gary Walters, and first experienced how the amazing White House staff somehow makes that very public building feel like a safe family home. In this minor case, Gary called one of the on-call White House doctors, who came immediately to help get Ellie on the mend.

  Gary, who is still at the White House today, has likened his job to that of a hotel manager. The White House staff comprises over ninety people, including chefs, housemen, butlers, carpenters, plumbers, electricians, curators, and calligraphers. These dedicated public servants maintain the home of the president, provide for the care of the White House and its grounds, and tend to the endless details that go with the ceremonial events of the presidency. Without them, the White House simply could not function.

  It turned out Ellie only had an ear infection and was going to be fine. Since she was feeling better, we thought it would be all right to leave her and Sam, who was five, with our nanny Eileen that evening while Billy and I joined our friends and attended several inaugural balls, including the one hosted by our home state, Maine.

  Attending an inaugural ball is a privilege that few Americans get to enjoy, and I was grateful for the opportunity. But having said that, going to an inaugural ball always sounds more glamorous than it really is: guests are packed into a cavernous room like sardines; you are lucky to see anyone you know; and you have no room to dance!

  Of course, Mom and Dad had plenty of room for their quick spins around the dance floor at each of the fourteen balls they attended—which makes me tired just thinking about it. In fact, Mom’s only unpleasant memory of that inaugural weekend was her feet. They hurt the entire time, because she had bought four pairs of twenty-nine-dollar shoes and had them dyed to match her gowns for the various events. The shoes turned her feet whatever color they had been dyed.

  “Don’t ever buy a twenty-nine-dollar pair of shoes,” Mom advises today.

  (By the way, after the inaugural, many people started sending Mom tips for changing her hairstyle and hair color. In fact, one citizen sent in computer-generated photos of Mom with a series of suggested hairdos so she could see how she’d look!)

  Before we left the White House for the evening’s festivities, it was decided that Marvin and Margaret would stay in the Lincoln Bedroom that first evening. Before Marvin and Margaret turned in for the night, however, Gary Walters warned them that it was “definitely a haunted room.”

  While there were no confirmed ghost sightings that night, Marvin did learn an important historical lesson: “Even though it wasn’t Abraham Lincoln’s bed, but an actual time-period piece, I discovered people must have been a lot shorter back then because there wasn’t a lot of room to navigate,” he said. “I think Margaret probably ended up sleeping on the couch, but it was still great.”

  The next morning, Saturday, January 21, at 9:09, Dad gave his first press conference in the Oval Office. In the very first remarks he made to the press, he talked not about policy, but about his mother, his first guest in the oval office, and what a joy it was to have her in the White House. When the media asked her how she felt, my grandmother responded, “It’s the most exciting day of my life—so far.”

  Then, referring to Ellie as the “points of light kid” from the campaign commercial, Dad briefed Helen Thomas and the White House press corps that he gave his granddaughter some Tylenol at 6:00 a.m., that Ellie had eaten pancakes, and that she was making a quick recovery. It would be normal for Dad to talk about Ellie, but in the Oval Office as president—that was a whole new twist!

  That first full day, 250 family members descended on the White House for lunch. Everyone from my siblings and our spouses to Ganny, Aunt Nan, Uncle Bucky, even Uncle Lou—they were all there. Uncle Johnny told me the story that two nights earlier, he had gotten a phone call at his hotel from a woman named Wendy Robbins Rockwell. “Wendy Robbins, my God, I haven’t seen you since I got out of Yale,” he said. Wendy replied, “I called you because you told me when we were eleven years old that your brother was going to be president of the United States. I just called to congratulate you on being right!”

  With presidents in the family, the distant cousins do come out of the woodwork. In fact, we had cousins there that day that I had never laid eyes on and, still to this day, don’t know their names.

  Dad wanted to have an “open house” on his first day as president, and tours were conducted on a first-come, first-served basis. Some people had waited in line all night to see the mansion—but when Mom and Dad tried to greet the crowd, the line came to a standstill. Mom and Dad didn’t want to delay the throngs of people outside in the cold still waiting to get in, so their meet-and-greet couldn’t last long.

  My grandmother stayed upstairs in the residence most of the day. Because of her frail condition, she had come to Washington on an ambulance plane with a doctor and nurse to see her son become president. The day before, during the inaugural parade, she had come in out of the cold—going up to the Queen’s Bedroom to watch the rest of the parade with Billy Graham.

  Incidentally, after Ganny returned home to Connecticut, my Aunt Nan called to ask her what she thought of the White House. “Oh, Nannie,” my grandmother replied, “it’s much too big. They’re never going to be able to make it cozy. They ought to go back where they were before. It was a much better size for living. They should just use the White House for official things.”

  One of the truly unique features of our democratic system is the seamless, peaceful transfer of power between chief executives. Our Constitution tells us what day and even what time the swearing-in should occur. Geniuses that they were, however, our founders were less helpful on the mechanics of how this transition takes place—how one family’s worldly possessions can be moved out of the White House, and another family moved in, in the course of a single day.

  That miracle of democracy generally falls to the White House staff and a small army of movers.

  The transition went well for Dad. For starters, he was the first sitting vice president to be elected president since Martin Van Buren in 1836—and during his eight years as Ronald Reagan’s number two, he had seen firsthand how the institution of the presidency functioned.

  Previous vice presidents split their time between the largely ceremonial office in the Old Executive Office Building, now called the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, and their office on Capitol Hill, where they preside as president of the Senate. Dad also had an office located inside the West Wing. This helped when it came time to move his desk into the Oval Office.

  President Reagan had used what is known as the Resolute Desk, which was built from the ship timbers of the HMS Resolute. Queen Victoria of England presented it to President Rutherford B. Hayes in 1880 as a gesture of friendship between our nations—and the desk had been used by every president from Hayes to Kennedy. It became famous as the Oval Office desk in which the Kennedy children were photographed playing hide-and-seek.

  After President Kennedy’s assassination, however, Presid
ent Johnson loaned the Resolute Desk to the Smithsonian and had his vice presidential desk brought over from the Capitol. This started a tradition whereby vice presidents brought their VP desks with them to the White House. Both President Nixon and President Ford followed suit, as did Dad.

  Since President Carter had not been a vice president, he brought the Resolute Desk back into use. Presidents Reagan and Clinton also used it, as does my brother George. Dad liked to use the Resolute Desk in his office upstairs in the White House residence.

  Dad had a few things on his Oval Office desk throughout his four years: a favorite clock, a photo of my sister, Robin, and, in the top middle drawer, a note from President Reagan that was waiting for him that first day. It came on a playful memo pad stamped “Don’t let the turkeys get you down” with a Boynton cartoon drawing of turkeys standing on an elephant at the bottom. President Reagan’s note read:

  Dear George,

  You’ll have moments when you want to use this particular stationery. Well, go to it.

  George I treasure the memories we share and wish you all the very best. You’ll be in my prayers. God bless you and Barbara. I’ll miss our Thursday lunches.

  Ron

  “What a sweet man,” Dad said when he found the note. He had it encased in clear Lucite and kept it in his desk drawer all through his presidency. Later, at President Reagan’s funeral, Dad referred to this same note in his eulogy: “He certainly never let the turkeys get him down. He fought hard for his beliefs. He led from conviction but never made an adversary into an enemy. He was never mean-spirited.”

  One more permanent item eventually worked its way onto Dad’s desk—roughly eleven months later. After U.S. troops returned from ousting Panamanian strongman Manuel Noriega in December 1989, Dad and Mom stopped by a San Antonio hospital to visit the wounded soldiers.