Marvin agreed. “I was a little nervous because I didn’t fully understand what it meant to be the host, but got a quick education when we showed up at the event itself.”
After Marvin cleared through security, someone approached him and said the British ambassador, Anthony Acland, and his wife, Jenny, needed to speak with him urgently. The ambassador’s wife, it turned out, wanted to make Marvin aware of a few things.
“First, she briefed me on some of the protocol, which I really appreciated,” Marvin remembered. “And then beyond that, she said, ‘Her Highness really likes to dance. Just after the dessert is being picked up, you’ll hear the orchestra begin to play and at that time that will be your cue that you should ask Her Royal Highness to get up and dance with her on the dance floor.’”
Marvin looked over her shoulder at the dance floor, which was a fairly large space surrounded by many tables.
“I began to feel queasy in my stomach,” he continued. “I really didn’t quite know how to cope with this except to tell her that I was not going to do that.”
Undeterred, Mrs. Acland suggested that dancing with the princess was part of Marvin’s responsibility as the substitute host for Dad. Marvin told her he wasn’t a very good dancer except for “freestyle dancing,” then he asked what kind of dancing Princess Diana was interested in.
“She said, ‘It’s ballroom dancing,’” Marvin said, “and all I could think back to was the time when Mom and Dad made me go to Mrs. Simpson’s dance class on Wisconsin Avenue in Washington. I wasn’t very good then, and certainly very little had occurred between the time I was twelve and that particular evening to give me more confidence. And so, the long and short of it, I just ultimately told her that I couldn’t do it.”
During dinner, Marvin was seated to Princess Diana’s left, but she spent the first forty minutes talking to somebody else—fully engaged in conversation. Margaret and I, meanwhile, kept jerking our heads and pointing toward the princess as if to say, “You need to start talking to her.” The problem was that the protocol stated that you’re not allowed to touch the person. So there was no way for him to get her attention.
“So I waited patiently and had a nice conversation with the person to my left but was ready to expand my horizons a little bit,” Marv said. “She finally turned around and asked how I was, and we had a really nice conversation about her young children and about my young children and her life and what her interests were. It was really fun, but as I was speaking to her I started getting a little more nervous about the dance situation, because I wanted to make sure that my message had gotten across clearly to the ambassador’s wife.”
Just before the dessert course arrived, Ambassador Acland approached Marvin and whispered in his ear that Marvin was off the hook. Somebody else had volunteered to do it.
“Much to my surprise, it was [Transportation Secretary] Sam Skinner,” Marvin added. “When the princess came back, she said, ‘I understand you didn’t want to dance with me.’ And I said, ‘Whoa. Let’s get this story straight. I’m not a very good dancer.’”
The next day, Princess Diana visited Mom and Dad at the White House over tea. When Mom and Dad asked, “How were our kids last night?” Princess Diana responded, “I really enjoyed your daughter-in-law, but your son was quite naughty and would not dance with me.”
A month later, Marvin received a beautiful photograph instigated by Dad and signed by the princess. The inscription read “To my reluctant dancing partner. From Diana.”
That December of 1990, Dad invited me to accompany him on a five-country swing through Latin America—to Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, and Venezuela. It was wonderful for several reasons, most of all because I would be able to spend seven solid days with Dad. Adding to the excitement: we traveled on the new Air Force One that had been commissioned by President Reagan.
There can be only one word to describe that new plane: amazing.
Air Force One is the name of any U.S. aircraft carrying the president on board, but since 1990 the presidential fleet has been comprised of two Boeing 747s and a 707. Each is highly customized—with medical facilities, sleeping quarters, and a real kitchen—and can fly one-third of the way around the world without refueling. It can accommodate about seventy people, including the president and his staff, Secret Service agents, and the press. The president’s private suite is in the front of the plane and includes a bathroom with a shower and an office. Whenever Air Force One finishes taxiing on the tarmac, the plane comes to a stop with the onlookers gathered on the left side of the plane, away from the president’s side and closer to the stairway from the door.
Air Force One is equipped with fax machines, copiers, eighty-five phones, and nineteen televisions, which enable people on the plane to watch the president on CNN in the back of the plane as he waves to the crowd and descends the stairs in the front of the plane. The fun part of Air Force One is that you can walk around freely, talk on the phone, or make a copy on the copier—I suppose because it’s the safest airplane in the world. I remember one time the stewards prepared grilled beef for a meal in the kitchen, and how odd it was to smell grilled food on an airplane.
It was fun being on Air Force One. Dad and I slept overnight in the front cabin, which has two very comfortable twin beds. It was surreal to tuck in for the night, sleep well, and wake up arriving on another continent. I remember taking a shower the next morning and feeling the plane tilt forward. It suddenly occurred to me that we were getting ready to land, and I was in the shower. You never saw anyone move as quickly as I did at that moment to dry off and dress just in time to arrive in Brazil. I have seen so many pictures of presidents and First Ladies on the top of the staircase on Air Force One, and there I was with Dad that day waving to those who were waiting to meet the American president.
At each stop, we had formal dinners and toasted the presidents of each country. I was often seated next to the host presidents, and found myself clinking glasses with them. As I think back on it, it seems unreal. Somehow it was normal for my dad to be president, but to be in the company of another president seemed incredible. I remember a fun evening with President and Mrs. Luis Lacalle of Uruguay in the coastal resort of their country—in Punta del Este—and I recall jogging with Dad for a couple of miles and then jumping into the ocean together. Dad was managing the Gulf War effort throughout the trip, but one of the most tense moments came when we flew into Buenos Aires for a visit with President Carlos Menem of Argentina.
“The day before George Bush was due to arrive in Argentina, a serious military coup attempt was quickly neutralized by forces loyal to my government,” President Menem told me. “In such a critical situation, U.S. security officials suggested that the president’s visit be suspended, considering the high risks involved. In spite of this, President Bush—in a gesture that speaks highly of him—made the decision to go ahead with the planned visit, arriving in Argentina as scheduled. That was the first time that I met personally with the president of the United States. From that moment on, an exceptional relationship was born, not only at a personal level but also between our two countries.”
Dad invited me to play tennis with him and President Menem, and in a triumph of diplomacy I am very happy to report that the U.S.-Argentina relationship survived my nervous, terrible performance! Aside from the tennis, I loved playing First Lady for a week and came to appreciate even further the demands that go with the position. It gave me a unique perspective on both Mom’s and Dad’s roles. Suffice it to say my respect for my parents—and all presidents and First Ladies—only increased as a result of this rare experience.
Chapter 18
A SENSE OF HONOR
“I had the privilege of working with George Bush during the first Gulf War. I came to know a wise man, a compassionate man, a man who needed no prodding to do what was right, a man who never shrunk away from the toughest of decisions at the toughest of times.”
—John Major
Shortly after midnight on
August 1, 1990, two Iraqi divisions comprised of more than 100,000 Iraqi soldiers and seven hundred tanks surged southward into the tiny nation-state of Kuwait and quickly overwhelmed any resistance. The main thrust of the attack was spearheaded by Iraq’s elite Republican Guard, while special forces converged on Kuwait City from the Persian Gulf—using helicopters and boats. Within hours, the invaders had established a provisional government and publicly declared Saddam Hussein, the Iraqi dictator, as its leader.
“I was having a drink with a friend in town,” General Scowcroft later recalled, “and I got a call from the Situation Room asking me to come back. When I returned around 9:00 p.m., the president was in the White House Medical Office receiving treatment on his shoulders. We talked about what to do, and he decided right there we should notify the United Nations and call for a NATO meeting. I conducted a telephonic NSC meeting that night, and we set up an NSC meeting for the next morning.”
Details of the invasion were sketchy that first night. Initial reports suggested that up to two hundred people had been killed in heavy gunfire and that the younger brother of the emir of Kuwait was shot dead while trying to defend the royal palace. The emir himself had escaped to Saudi Arabia. It wasn’t until about an hour after Dad and General Scowcroft first spoke that initial reports such as these could be confirmed.
By the time the NSC meeting was held the next morning, however, it was clear that a genuine international crisis existed. Still, it was much too soon to decide on a strategy in Scowcroft’s view, so that initial NSC meeting became more of an assessment session—a first chance to examine “where we are” and “what the situation is.”
That same morning, Dad was scheduled to travel to Aspen, Colorado, and give a speech on the transformation of the military at the end of the Cold War, so the NSC meeting occurred earlier than usual. Gathered around the Cabinet Room table, Scowcroft remembered how most comments expressed a tone of acceptance: Well, it’s unfortunate, but this is a small country. It’s halfway around the world. It’s a fait accompli. We can’t do much about it, and so what we need to do is adjust.
When the media were brought in, Dad recalled, “among the forest of boom and handheld microphones, I was careful in my remarks. I condemned the invasion and outlined the steps we had taken . . . I did not want my first public comments to threaten the use of American military might, so I said I was not contemplating intervention, and, even if I knew we were going to use force, I would not announce it in a press conference. The truth is, at that moment I had no idea what our options were. I did know for sure that aggression had to be stopped and Kuwait’s sovereignty restored.”
After the meeting, Dad and General Scowcroft flew to Aspen. Because they were going to be late, Dad decided they would travel in one of the small government jets that could land at the Aspen airport. If they took the 707, they would have to land in Denver first and switch planes.
“As we flew out there on this tiny jet,” Scowcroft recalled, “we were facing each other and our knees were touching. And I was scrambling to revise his speech that he was giving for the fact that there had been a big invasion. And he was already starting to call his colleagues around the world to get their take on the new situation.”
On the way out, General Scowcroft confided his dismay at the tenor of the NSC meeting, feeling the situation was much more serious. “The president agreed completely, and right there on the plane he decided that the situation in Kuwait was intolerable,” Scowcroft said. “So I said, ‘Why don’t I start off the next meeting and explain why it’s so serious.’ And he said, ‘Maybe I ought to do that.’ I said, ‘No, if you did it, you will stifle discussion because it will sound like you’ve made up your mind. So let me do it, let the discussion proceed. And then it will come out that way.’ ”
Before Dad delivered his hastily revised speech, however, he went to the Aspen home of Henry Catto—then the U.S. ambassador to the United Kingdom—to make more calls and to meet with British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. As luck would have it, Thatcher was already scheduled to attend the same conference held by the Aspen Institute, which would give the two leaders a chance to confer in person just hours after the Iraqi aggression.
Following their bilateral meeting, Dad and Lady Thatcher held a joint press conference.
“I remember sitting on the bed in the Cattos’ bedroom with the president on the phone,” Scowcroft said. “He talked to King Hussein, Hosni Mubarak, King Fahd, and others. During this time, he was constantly gathering information. Afterward, he and Thatcher gave a good press conference. Someone later put out the notion that Thatcher had to buck the president up—that she said, ‘Don’t go wobbly, George.’ Well, that didn’t happen then. That was an entirely different circumstance that happened about a month later.” In fact, according to her own memoirs, Prime Minister Thatcher uttered this phrase during a phone call with Dad three weeks later, on August 26. They were discussing the passage of a U.N. Security Council resolution the day before, which enabled the coalition to enforce the embargo against Iraq. “We must use our powers to stop Iraqi shipping. This is no time to go wobbly,” she said. She wasn’t worried about Dad’s resolve—she would have been preaching to the choir—but rather wanted to make sure that the embargo was enforced by the entire coalition.
Dad later recalled how, during their press conference, Lady Thatcher “put her finger on the most important point—whether the nations of the world had the collective and effective will to implement the resolutions of the United Nations Security Council and compel withdrawal and restoration. It would be up to American leadership to make that happen.”
Leaving Aspen, Dad and General Scowcroft returned to Washington and spent the following weekend at Camp David. There they met with the NSC principals, including Vice President Quayle, Secretary of State Baker, Chief of Staff Sununu, Secretary of Defense Cheney, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Colin Powell, Director of Central Intelligence Bill Webster, as well as General Norman Schwarzkopf, who at that time headed the U.S. Army Central Command based at MacDill Air Force Base near Tampa, Florida.
While Schwarzkopf was a newcomer to the NSC inner circle, his military roots ran as deep as any—with a father who also graduated from West Point, served in World War I, reenlisted during World War II, and was assigned to postwar Iran training the national police force there (with young Norman in tow).
Now, some forty years after attending school in Iran, one of Schwarzkopf’s biggest responsibilities was defending the oil fields of the Persian Gulf. He had assumed his post as a four-star general in 1988, and one of the first tasks he tackled in his new post was revising and updating the contingency plans for defending against an Iraqi attack. Little did he and his staff know, but within months Dad would call upon them to put that proposal into action.
The NSC meeting at Camp David that initial weekend after the invasion was another conceptual briefing, and again Dad didn’t say much. After the NSC team departed, General Scowcroft stayed behind and accompanied the president back to the White House the following day—a Sunday.
The midafternoon summer shadows had only started to streak across the hazy South Lawn on August 5 when Marine One hovered in at 3:00 p.m. Watching on TV, I could see the somberness in Dad’s face as he approached the bank of microphones staged near the Rose Garden. I sensed no apprehension, but rather a smoldering intensity in the way he spoke. Dad reflected in his diary:
Although over the weekend I had been thinking about the need to voice my determination to the American people, I had not decided when I should do it. At that moment, I just planned to fill everyone in on the diplomatic steps we were taking and the international reaction. I explained that none of our allies was willing to accept anything less than total Iraqi withdrawal from Kuwait, nor would they tolerate a puppet government. Everyone, of course, wanted to know what measures we would take ourselves to protect Americans in Kuwait, especially in view of Iraqi threats to close down foreign embassies. To this, I answered, “This will not sta
nd. This will not stand, this aggression against Kuwait.”
After the press conference, General Scowcroft’s phone rang in his West Wing office. General Powell had been watching Dad on TV, and after hearing the sudden declaration, he told Scowcroft, “Well, we’ll learn not to leave you two up there alone!”
But General Scowcroft recalls that the decision to set out this firm marker was Dad’s—and his alone. Dad had yet to decide exactly how to kick Iraq out of Kuwait—Operation Desert Storm was still five months from commencing—but he knew what had to be done. The status quo, the situation as it existed that late August afternoon, was not acceptable to him anymore.
“No bravado—it was just a calm, quiet way of going about his business,” General Scowcroft said. “He didn’t pound the table and say, ‘You guys fall in line,’ or anything. He forged the policy by the power of his persuasion. They all think they came to the same conclusion right off the bat.”
On August 16, King Hussein of Jordan visited Dad in Kennebunkport. Jordan had sided with Iraq over the Kuwaiti invasion, and His Majesty, a friend of Dad’s for years, came to Maine to plead for America’s understanding. Marlin Fitzwater recalls the conversation and said Dad was hearing none of it.
“You picked the wrong side,” Dad reportedly said.
Then my father started to walk King Hussein down the driveway from the Big House to his helicopter. Suddenly, he stopped next to the Bungalow, shook the King’s hand, and said, “My mom has been sick. I want to stop here and see her.” Dad walked into the Bungalow, leaving the king to walk alone to his helicopter and the waiting press corps.
Dad was sending a signal that he didn’t have time for weakness in the face of aggression.
That same day, the Saudi ambassador to the United States, the distinguished Prince Bandar, and the Saudi foreign minister, Prince Saud, also came to Walker’s Point to consult with Dad. After their meeting, as Prince Bandar was likewise returning to his helicopter, my daughter, Ellie, skipped along at his side. Bandar was carrying his worry beads, which were made of onyx and diamonds, and apparently, he was so taken with Ellie that he offered her the beads.
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