My Father, My President

by Doro Bush Koch

  As for the “vision thing,” General Scowcroft said, “Did he know where he was going? Did he know how he wanted to get there? In a world as kaleidoscopic as he inherited, the answer is clearly yes. Now, would it have been better to have more vision instead of the decisiveness? Well, I presume that’s a contrast, for example, with President John F. Kennedy, who had vision and expressed it. ‘We’ll carry any burden, we’ll pay any price, go anywhere, in defense of human liberty.’ And where did we go? To Vietnam.”

  Former state department spokeswoman Margaret Tutwiler put it this way: “Popular would have been to sever relationships with China after Tiananmen Square. Popular at the time would have been to bomb Iraq into oblivion and take Saddam Hussein. Popular would have been to stick it to Gorbachev and pop champagne on the Berlin Wall. Instead, he always chose what was best for the country, not necessarily what was easy and popular—or what would have been great for George Bush.”

  Returning to the White House with Dad the day after the election, Marvin recalled how they had to drive in from Andrews Air Force Base because they couldn’t land Marine One, the president’s helicopter, on the South Lawn. The entire White House staff had gathered out there to welcome Mom and Dad home, and it was too crowded to land.

  “When he got there, it was the first time that I’d seen the emotion creep out of his bones,” Marvin said, “and I think part of it was just the fact that he felt confident that he could continue, finish the job, be a great president in a second term. I think the emotion that came out that day was driven by the fact that he saw the lawn full of people who had given so much to him, and he felt that he’d let them down. And the great thing about Dad that is consistent with his perspective in moving forward in life is the transition from that day. That might have been the low point, but after that, he took one step at a time looking ahead.”

  Mom remembers that on that ride home they saw a lone runner on the 14th Street bridge stop and salute as the president’s motorcade went by. That single gesture of patriotism moved Dad to tears.

  A few days after the election, General Powell called Dad at the White House. “I know it’s a little unusual for the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to call the president,” General Powell remembered, “but he and I were so close that I just wanted to tell him that we were thinking of him. And he thanked me very much.”

  Within two hours, Mom called Alma Powell and invited the Powells up to Camp David that weekend. The Powells couldn’t imagine Mom and Dad would want somebody “horning in on the family on that weekend,” as General Powell later put it, “but we went up to Camp David and we spent the evening watching a movie, and we walked around the grounds. The president and I were in front, and since it was the fall it was getting dark early. I remember him saying a couple of times, ‘Colin, it hurts. It really hurts. I never thought they’d pick him,’ meaning Clinton. And I said, ‘I know it does. It has to, but it will pass.’ We were family from that moment on.”

  Hard feelings don’t disappear quickly after a rough campaign and a tough election loss, and most in the administration felt a lingering sense of antipathy toward the media in particular, as well as Dad’s political opponents. Yet Dad was determined to see his job through—to “finish this job in style,” as he said at the time. When he convened his cabinet two days after the election on November 5, he talked about each cabinet officer’s responsibility to continue to govern and be prepared for the transition. Dad wanted to make sure President Clinton had everything he needed to be able to do the job.

  “It was a very noble speech,” Andy Card, who was then secretary of transportation, recalled. “He was always about duty, honor, service; and at this meeting he was exhibiting that.”

  After that cabinet meeting, however, Dad had one last mission for Andy: running the Republican side of the presidential transition. Andy thought Bob Zoellick, Secretary Baker’s deputy chief of staff, was going to handle the transition, but Mom and Dad wanted Andy, and they wanted him and Kathy to come to Camp David that weekend to discuss it in depth.

  Andy recalled how the conversation flowed once he arrived at Laurel, the main lodge where the president’s office is at Camp David, that weekend:

  The president started by talking about the transition. Specifically, he said, “I want this transition to work. I don’t want President Clinton to drop the baton, so we’ve got to make sure he is running at full speed when we pass it to him. We want to be supportive and encouraging and have no bitter, lingering animosity.

  The president then talked about some of the people who should help in the transition, and some of the loose ends that had to be cleaned up in the administration—what he wanted to get done before he left. Most of the conversation centered around all the correspondence. He wanted to make sure all the people that wrote to him got answers back. He also worried about people who worked for the administration that he cared about. He offered to “clear the decks” for President Clinton so that he wasn’t left with anybody that Clinton had to fire.

  Then we broke and we went for a walk—and it was a walk down memory lane. The president talked about the first time he ran for the United States Senate. He talked about Martin Allday, for example, and Jimmy Allison. He talked about running for Congress and serving in Congress. He talked about running for president. He reflected on the people that helped him and never asked for anything.

  It wasn’t sad, but it was a little melancholy. It was almost celebrating with the recognition that he’d run his last campaign, and it didn’t end up the way he wanted it to end up.

  He wasn’t even angry. I think that he was disappointed probably as much in himself and the campaign. He talked about all the kids, and Barbara. He talked about Lee Atwater, Rich Bond, and Vic Gold. He talked about Nick Brady and Mac Baldrige.

  Throughout it all, I didn’t have to say a word. I didn’t even know a lot of the people or the places or the instances. He was just talking. He expressed some frustration about some people—it wasn’t all “I love everybody.” There was some “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with this person anymore.” There was also a little bit of that. But it was a sunset discussion rather than a sunrise discussion.

  We just kept walking, and he did 90 percent of the talking. It was almost as if he wasn’t talking to me. I just happened to be there while he was talking. He loves the people in this country, and he was grateful for the support that he had—that was evident.

  He didn’t say, “I don’t know what I’m going to do for the rest of my life.” Neither did he say, “This is what I’m going to do for the rest of my life.” It was really, “What great things have happened, and what great lessons I’ve learned, and what great experiences I’ve had. I wish it wasn’t a defeat that we were talking about.”

  In the coming weeks, Andy worked to identify where Dad’s new office would be, what it would look like, and how it would be staffed. Dad really didn’t want to focus on it, but he knew he had to—and he gave Andy broad latitude to work closely with Rose Zamaria, who had started working with Dad a quarter of a century before and who became his first post-presidential chief of staff, to find a suitable setup.

  After one or two near misses, Andy and Rose met with Realtors and finally decided on a fairly new building not too far from where my parents would build their new home in Houston. The office space was under construction, and Andy went and called Dad from Fuzzy’s Pizza, a nearby restaurant that Dad has since come to love.

  While Dad has never been one to dwell on the past, in the wake of the ’92 loss he was clearly doing a lot of thinking as he and Mom prepared to transition back to private life. As always, he was reaching out—and writing notes. On November 5, for example, he wrote to Vice President Quayle’s daughter, Corinne. Dad even wrote on the envelope “Personal—Counting the Vice President.”

  Dear Corinne,

  I’ve been doing a little thinking since the election.

  I’ve been thinking of the effect on my own kids and grandkids. I saw Noell
e, my beautiful Noelle, with tears in her eyes. She knew I was hurting inside—and I know she cared so much.

  Then I said I wonder how our wonderful VP’s kids are doing—and I thought of you and your brothers. I know it is not easy for you.

  But soon the ache in your heart will go away and a whole wonderful future will unfold. You will have more privacy, more time with your great Mom and Dad.

  Your father should stay in public life. He has so much to offer. And remember it hasn’t been easy for him; because the Vice President has always gone along with the President; and he’s had to take a lot of the fire that he wouldn’t have otherwise taken. But he did it with loyalty and class—and I will always be grateful. Good luck to you. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.

  Love,

  George Bush

  Dad wrote a lot of letters during this time, too many to include here. “He’s one of the best writers I’ve ever known,” my brother George said to me. “He is a powerful writer. He can share his heart better on a piece of paper than he can in person. He may not have been raised to be touchy-feely; yet he can be very emotional. I remember he was reading a story and he burst out in tears because he was so affected. He’s got a tender heart.”

  People were reaching out to Mom and Dad, too. On November 10, the Republican leaders in the Senate invited Mom and Dad and the Quayles to a private dinner at the Columbus Club at Union Station near Capitol Hill. The event was set up as a salute to the president and vice president, but in his remarks Dad turned the spotlight back on the members of his team. He saved his final and most poignant comments for the minority leader in the Senate, his former political rival who had become perhaps Dad’s strongest ally on Capitol Hill, Bob Dole.

  “It’s well known that he and I went head-to-head in tough primary days long ago,” Dad said that night. “But the beautiful thing is . . . here’s a guy who took on this role of leader and worked with a president with whom he had done combat in the past, but subsequently we became, again, fast friends. He never put his agenda ahead of the president, and that’s the way it ought to work when you have the White House.”

  When it was Senator Dole’s turn to speak, he also gave a very warm tribute to Dad and even broke down at one point during his remarks.

  “We were all so emotional,” Senator Dole recalled. “We respected the president. We knew he had integrity. We knew he did a good job, and a lot of us felt without any criticism of Clinton that Ross Perot cost us the presidency. So it was really a great evening in a way. I mean, you don’t celebrate defeat, but our view was that we ought to get the president and First Lady up there and let them know that we’re your friends, and we’re your supporters, and we’ll always be that way.”

  He added, “It’s always easy when you’re sitting in the White House or anywhere else having won, but this was only several days after the election when we had this dinner, and it says a lot about President and Mrs. Bush that they were able to come up there.”

  That night, Dad returned to the White House and immediately penned a handwritten note to Senator Dole:

  11–10–92

  late at night

  Dear Bob,

  When you invited me, I didn’t want to come. I didn’t think I could face the music. But now I am so glad you asked me.

  The warmth of your generous remarks made it all so worthwhile. You have been a truly noble leader, and as I leave Washington I will take with me a friendship I value—a respect for a true leader I’ll always feel. Thanks, Bob.

  George

  Shortly before midnight, Mom and Dad decided to go to the Vietnam Memorial on the National Mall near the Lincoln Memorial. It was the tenth anniversary of that austere black granite wall, and there was a round-the-clock program where family members and veterans were reading the names of those who didn’t come home. Dad wanted to go over and read a few names, but even though he had promised the press years ago that he’d always alert them whenever he went out of the White House, he wanted to do this without notifying the media. He didn’t want to be seen as “sticking it in Clinton’s ear,” as he put it in his diary. Dad just said, “To hell with the media.”

  According to Chris Emery, one of the White House ushers who accompanied Mom and Dad in the car, Dad wanted to keep this visit low-key—and he didn’t seem in the mood to discuss it beyond that.

  Chris also recalled how the motorcade used no sirens and even stopped at every red light, owing to the low-key nature of the visit. During the short drive to the monument, Chris also recalled how Mom and Dad talked about their house-hunting in Houston and asked him about getting their computers and accounting program set up in their new office.

  When they arrived at the memorial, roughly one hundred people stood gathered in the cool evening mist.

  “The only light was the moon,” Chris remembered. “No press, no lights, no security, no entourage. As they approached the stage where individuals were reading the names, bystanders started to recognize them—and several widows and family members of veterans came up and hugged them.”

  Eventually, Mom and Dad made it to the stage. Mom stood by as Dad stepped up to the microphone and read ten or so names, then slowly backed away. Chris recalled that the crowd applauded loudly. On their way back to the car, Mom and Dad shook dozens of hands and signed dozens more autographs.

  “So many of the veterans told the president how much they appreciated him and how sorry they were that he lost the election,” Chris said. “A few even insulted the president-elect, but President Bush said over and over that we need to rally around President Clinton now.”

  During the ride back to the White House, Dad was lost in thought—pensively studying a hat given to him by one of the veterans. Then, reflecting out loud, he said he hoped that Desert Storm helped vindicate the Vietnam experience—that he felt bad for the veterans who returned home from Southeast Asia to jeers, and not the cheers and respect they deserved.

  “I believe I saw a tear in the president’s eye,” Chris said.

  On November 19, Nebraska Senator Bob Kerrey sent Dad a handwritten note that deeply touched my father—“about the nicest I have ever received,” he wrote back. Senator Kerrey, of course, had run in the Democratic primary that year and had been as tough as any candidate in challenging the administration’s record. In his letter, Senator Kerrey wrote:

  Dear Mr. President,

  I was terribly sorry to hear the news of your mother’s passing. It is a terrible loss.

  In spite of all the unkind and unreasonable things I said about you this past year, this is my belief: history will judge you to have been a strong, good President who did more than his people knew.

  You have my respect, my prayer in this difficult hour, and my admiration.

  Signed,

  Bob Kerrey

  Another generous assessment came from one of Dad’s predecessors, Jimmy Carter, who told me, “I observed very closely your father’s accomplishments and his moral standards, the accuracy with which he spoke to the American people. All of these things aroused a great deal of personal admiration from me. There have been a number of successors who have served in the White House since I left and he is by far the one who treated me best and with whom I had the closest possible working relationship.”

  A year or two into his presidency, Dad had invited comedian Dana Carvey and Saturday Night Live creator and executive producer Lorne Michaels—who were in Washington for an event—to drop by the Oval Office for a brief visit. By then, Dana Carvey had been impersonating Dad on SNL for several years, and my father had enjoyed seeing clips of him on TV.

  Dana was in town to play Dad at an event that night hosted by Pamela Harriman, one of the grande dames of the Democratic party, at the Kennedy Center.

  Dana recalled, “I remember that the president’s poll ratings were so high that I came on dressed as number 41, so to speak, and was just making fun of the fact that the Democrats didn’t have a chance against him. That was the sketch. So when w
e met him, he was just really gracious, and we took pictures and chatted a little bit. I think he assumed that Lorne and I politically were way left of him, which was not necessarily true at all.”

  After that visit, however, Dad and Dana did not speak again until a few weeks after the 1992 election. Then, out of the blue, Dana got a call saying, “This is White House operator number one. Hold for the president.”

  Dad got on the phone and asked Dana if he wouldn’t mind coming down to the White House to “cheer up the troops,” and invited Dana and his wife, Paula, to spend the night at the White House. The Carveys arrived the afternoon of December 6.

  “It was Christmastime,” Dana said, “so all the bows and ribbons and trees and lights were out. It was especially gorgeous, and then we went upstairs to the Lincoln Bedroom and your dad had left us a really nice note on the bed saying something like, ‘Glad you’re here and see you down the hall for a pre-dinner drink at 6:00.’ As I’m holding the note, he walks in to say hi.”

  That night, Mom and Dad took the Carveys to the Kennedy Center Honors, where Dad’s friend and jazz legend Lionel Hampton and actor Paul Newman and his wife, actress Joanne Woodward, were among the honorees. At one point during the ceremony, the emcee, Walter Cronkite, turned the spotlight to the president’s box and asked the audience to “salute President George Herbert Walker Bush for his years of service to our country.”

  “The whole place stood up and gave a standing ovation,” Dana said. “After that, we were ushered off into the elevator very quickly. So it’s President and Mrs. Bush; a Secret Service agent; and my wife and me. The president was really kind of emotional. It was sort of an awkward moment. It kind of shook him up a little bit because it was unexpected.”