by Dana Perino
The President had his hand on my shoulder and shook it and said, “See. I told you no one remembers me.” And right about then one of the patrons at the bar turned and started clapping. Others joined in and soon the whole restaurant was on its feet. I elbowed him in the ribs and said, “See, I told you they would.” As you can imagine, we got a table.
At the White House, we settled into our seats as the President and First Lady were announced along with the Bushes. The speeches were gracious and President Bush’s was emotional and hilarious. In it, he made sure Mrs. Obama knew where his portrait would be hanging, so that she could do for his painting what Dolly Madison did to save the portrait of George Washington in case the British tried to burn down the White House again.
At the end of the event, everyone was milling around a bit and the guests were invited to a reception in the State Dining Room. Karl and I were just chatting away, waving to some of the White House staff that we’d come to know over the years. I thought we were being ushered to the exit, but we were actually in line for a photograph with the Presidents.
I tugged on Karl’s sleeve and said, “Come on, we shouldn’t go—it’s too awkward.”
Karl said, “Oh no, it’ll be fine.…” And just as I was about to bail, we were at the front of the line.
President Obama greeted Karl warmly, saying to President Bush, “This is the guy who wants to put my portrait up here early!”
While they were shaking hands, President Bush saw me. He reached out his arms and wrapped me in a hug and kissed the top of my head. He looked at President Obama and said, “This one.…”
President Obama said, “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. Everybody loves Dana, and I’ve got Jay Carney.” He was joking and having fun and we all laughed and talked for a minute before we were whisked into the reception area, where 41 was holding court by the mantel.
Again that day I learned the lesson to which I have constantly returned—that projecting my own anxieties onto what others will think of me is always much more negative than reality. The good news is that people aren’t necessarily as partisan as you may think they are. For an event I really didn’t want to go to, it sure holds a spot as one of the most memorable days of my life. And I will always appreciate the civility shown to the entire Bush team that day.
CHAPTER 7
Unafraid to Be Right
Why am I a conservative?
That’s a question I get a lot. I don’t know if liberals are ever asked to explain themselves, as if liberalism is a natural state of being and conservatism is an aberration that must be examined and defended.
Usually when I’m asked this, it’s with some sort of disbelief or even disdain: “How could you possibly be a Republican?”
It actually comes quite easily to me.
I don’t know if people are born with a worldview or if their thinking is a product of their environment. Many university studies are being done to figure that out (probably with the hope of finding a cure for conservatism). The answer is probably a little bit of both.
Like most conservatives, my path was a bit meandering. I grew up around people who mostly held conservative or libertarian views. The liberals I knew were fairly quiet about it, or at least I don’t remember it being very heavy-handed. At the time I didn’t know how liberal the media was, but looking back at clips, I’m amazed that after all the news I consumed, I still emerged as I did.
The first Presidential election I really paid attention to was in 1988 when George H. W. Bush ran against Michael Dukakis. I grew up admiring Ronald Reagan and Vice President Bush, and if I were old enough, I would have voted for 41. I was glad he won.
But four years later when I was in college, I almost voted for Bill Clinton. I went to one of his campaign rallies in Pueblo, Colorado, and I don’t recall what Clinton said but I remember the energy, the music, “I’m Walking on Sunshine,” and all that felt new and optimistic. It felt like hope… and, well, change (I later learned this is what all campaigns try to make you feel—no one runs on despair and the status quo). There was no substantive reason for supporting Clinton in my mind—it was more about wanting to feel reinvigorated, something new. Which, I learned later, can be very seductive. And dangerous.
My first Presidential election vote was important to me. It was a big moment, and I thought my decision would determine something about my future (that if I voted for one party, I’d be wedded to that party forever—which is nonsense, but I was dramatic about it). So I started reading a bit more about the policy positions and took part in the debates about the two candidates in my political science class. It was a tough call, but in the end I voted for 41. I trusted him. I was disappointed when he lost.
My politics didn’t define me then, but because of my interests and what I do for a living, it somewhat does now. When I first left college and worked in the news business for a while, I hid my conservatism. I didn’t want to start fights with people who had visceral reactions against conservatives. I even wondered, “What is wrong with me?”
But as you read in Chapter 1, after I read Peggy Noonan’s book, I found my ideological footing and increasingly gained confidence in my beliefs. Gradually, I shook off my fear of talking about it.
I’m a conservative because everything else seems easy by comparison. And when something is too easy, it’s too good to be true or it’s sure to fail and disappoint. I wasn’t impressed by the alternatives to conservatism—I gravitate to facts, logic, and reality, whereas to me, liberalism is based on theory, and feelings, and fantasy.
I respect tradition, learn from history, and adhere to a code of ethics that has helped me make sense of the world. By definition, then, I reject situational ethics. I have standards, and I stick to them. For instance, conservatism is where I can fully express my support in the individual rather than the state, and where my belief in self-governance and responsibility isn’t in conflict with policies I support.
Far from limiting what I can do or think, being a conservative gives me great freedom. I govern my thoughts by a set of principles. I will listen to arguments, even be persuaded by them—I’m willing to be convinced, but you have to prove it to me. Sanctimony and cynicism don’t change my mind—proof does.
And while everyone’s principles differ, I find that most conservatives share my approach. In my experience, liberals have to check a lot of boxes to be included—“do you believe this, that, and the other”—and there’s a rigidity that gives them very little room to win arguments. They are doctrinaire and rely on sanctimony while ignoring facts. I find that very unattractive. And when the facts on the ground don’t match up to reality, that’s when I’ve experienced liberals lashing out at conservatives for being “mean,” as if that’s going to solve anything. These are like arguments that children have with their parents—conservatives are mean because they deny a third scoop of ice cream. But feelings don’t change facts, and it is not “mean” to point them out. I want hard, practical truths—and then I apply my principles to them.
Conservative caricatures are everywhere in the media, but the descriptions of angry, cruel, old-fashioned conservatives just do not match my experience. I find most conservatives to be cheerful and clear-eyed, which really irritates a lot of liberals. Of course, almost everything irritates a lot of liberals, nothing more so than a happy conservative. Which is why I always smile and say hello when I’m proudly wearing my George W. Bush Institute jacket around New York City. I love it when people do a double take when they see it.
Being a conservative does not mean I reject compromise. My nature is to seek agreement, to bring people together, and to help them see that they have more in common than they think. I believe that’s a better way to win arguments. And I’ve always found much more “give” in this area among conservatives than among the Left.
Conservatism by its very nature is compassionate—that’s one of the things that drew me to President George W. Bush. Conservatives are charitable, forgiving, and are always—always—mor
e willing to laugh at themselves (and yes, we have plenty to laugh at). I understand why some conservatives rejected his phrase of “Compassionate Conservative”—perhaps they found it redundant—but that spoke to me, and it opened the door for me to be more active in participating in the public arena.
Being a conservative has given me clarity. And it’s given me freedom—my mind is free; therefore, my heart is lighter. And that’s a gift from God that I believe we have an obligation to share with others around the world.
Besides, I love to be right. Just ask Peter.
One More Thing
Of all the advice I’ve ever been given, Margaret Spellings telling me to “put my big girl panties on and deal with it” is my favorite. She was telling me to stop worrying myself to death and to put aside my self-doubt. She reminded me that I’d been given an opportunity to shine, and that it was my choice whether I did.
In writing this book, I remembered another time when I had to be pushed out of my shell. It was at one of the press awards dinners, and I was seated at the head table in place of Tony Snow, who was recovering from exploratory surgery. My mind was preoccupied, and I knew that work was piling up while we sat through the speeches. I just wanted the night to be over and to get off the stage. When I was recognized by the emcee, I kind of half stood, barely looked up, and gave a little nod. I felt shy and like I didn’t really belong there anyway—I was only the acting press secretary.
At the end of the evening, John Warner, the longtime Senator from Virginia, waved at me and asked for a word.
He said, “Now I saw you sitting there, and I know that you’re not comfortable. But if you’ll permit me to give you just a little piece of advice—you see, you earned your place here tonight. And you’ll be at many more of these events. So when the announcer calls your name, stand up proudly, flash them a big smile, and wave—give them a reason to applaud. They want to be happy for you. Let them have a moment.”
It was kind of him to take an interest in me. I realized what he meant, but I didn’t think of myself in that light. Still, I did as he said even though it doesn’t feel natural to me. Gradually, I’ve become more comfortable and enjoyed the opportunity to be in the spotlight sometimes. I appreciate that Senator Warner and so many others gave me advice that would help me advance and enjoy my work—they passed on things that they’d learned in their careers, and I’m grateful to be able to do the same for others now.
All of my mentors along the way have helped me achieve, for the most part, what I crave now. I call it “productive serenity.” Like millions around the world, I’d been inspired, calmed, and guided by the Serenity Prayer—asking God to help me with acceptance, courage, and wisdom. Serenity doesn’t come easily to me—I have to work at it. So I made a decision to try to be actively calm, generous, dignified, and gracious. I look for a balance—to be sharp but not snappy, tough but not aggressive, understanding but not a pushover—all with a sense of humor and a healthy perspective for my very small role in the world.
For a long time I didn’t have a defined Dana doctrine to describe this approach; it was more a ball of string. Then one morning at a hotel I came back to my room for bed after a speaking event, and the hotel staff had placed a Zen card with a Buddhist saying on my pillow (this will make Gutfeld roll his eyes). It read, “Say little. But when you speak, utter gentle words that touch the heart. Be truthful. Express kindness. Abstain from vanity. This is the way.”
I had an “Aha!” moment when I read those words, because it captured how I was trying to live my life most productively and happily. I carried the card with me for months until I tacked it in my medicine cabinet, and I still see it every morning and night when I brush my teeth. The card is a little worn, but its message never gets old. In the morning it helps set my intention for the day, and at night it reminds me to forgive myself if I haven’t lived up to it (usually because I’ve let Bob Beckel push my buttons).
On the morning of January 20, 2009, I made my way to the White House for the last hours of the Bush Administration. I took the Metro because the roads were all blocked off for the Inauguration’s security. Almost every passenger on the train was headed to the National Mall to witness President Obama take the oath of office. They were so joyous, and I was genuinely happy for them. No one recognized me or knew that I was going into my last four hours of work at the White House—it was like Cinderella approaching midnight and the Metro was about to turn into a pumpkin.
I went into the press office and checked in on the reporters gathered in the briefing room. Everyone was getting ready for the Obamas to arrive. I took the reporters and crew some of my last boxes of White House peanut M&M’s and said good-bye for the hundredth time—we’d been together many years and they’d helped me grow into the job.
My last stop was the Oval Office. The President was there, taking some last-minute calls of farewell. He had written the traditional letter for the next President and left it in the desk—addressed to “44.”
I walked in and he put his arm around me and said, “You know, the first day I was President, I came in here and I said I wanted to be able to look myself in the eye and say I’d been true to my principles every day that I had the privilege to be the Commander in Chief. I feel like I can do that.” He squeezed my shoulder and my nose stung as I sniffed back tears of pride and nostalgia.
With that, the President said he was going to take a final walk around the South Lawn and then head over to join Mrs. Bush. As he left the Oval Office, White House photographer Eric Draper took one last photo of him. I marked that moment in my memory—there went a great President.
A few hours later we met up with him after the inauguration, this time at Andrews Air Force Base. He and I made eye contact as he was about to board the plane that would take him back to Texas, to a place he calls the “Promised Land” and to what Mrs. Bush calls the “Afterlife.” He summoned me over and then cupped his hands around my face and bent down to kiss my forehead. I felt like everything was ending, and it was. But so much was beginning as well, which has been the good news. I was ready for it.
This is one of my mom’s favorite pictures. It was taken in Evanston, Wyoming, when I was fifteen months old.
Grandpa and Grandma Perino, my dad, and the best present I ever got—a pony named Sally.
I was taught that our country was special and to respect our flag. I posed on our milkman’s delivery box holding a cowbell for a picture on the Bicentennial.
An eight-year-old version of “The Look” in my backyard in Denver, Colorado. Joco, my dog, and the balance beam my dad made for me are in the background.
In 1979, when I was seven years old, we visited the White House, where my mom’s friend worked on Air Force One manifests. I told my parents that one day I’d work in the White House, but none of us really believed that.
My great-grandmother Rosi Perino paved the way for my sister and me. She walked into one side of the American dream, and we walked out of the other.
I always loved to read. My favorite book was a personalized account of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It was magic to me to be named in a book.
Who rides her grandpa’s gray horse, Mito, in a fake Izod polo shirt? Er, me at age eleven. Sometimes I was too wrapped up in the day’s fashions.
Feeding the calves was one of my favorite chores—and Angie “helped” me. I was sporting a new orange Denver Broncos coat that my grandparents bought for all of the grandkids.
Every summer we took a photograph of “the whole fam damily” before Angie and I went back to Colorado for school. My late uncle Tom is the first on the left, next to his wife Janet and my dad. My grandpa died in 2001, my grandma a decade later. My uncle Matt, far right, still runs the ranch with his wife Donna and their sons, Wade and Preston. My mom took the picture.
An early success of marketing feminism. My parents bought the T-shirt I wore for years, “Anything boys can do, girls can do better.” Love the tube socks.
Working on the school p
aper and yearbook during high school. Thank goodness my mom made me take a typing class, but I should have listened to her about my posture.
(Courtesy of Ponderosa High School)
I graduated from college in 1994, and my niece, Jessica Wilkerson, stole the show. My dad is standing behind us.
Peter and I return to the U.K. now and then to visit family and friends. Edinburgh, pictured here in 2007, is one of my favorite cities.
The only snapshot of our wedding day on September 30, 1998. We eloped and got married at the registry office in Blackpool, England. Henry, our first Vizlsa, was our first “baby” and pictured here at four months old.
Our first family photograph taken by a professional at Del Mar Beach in San Diego, California, with the standard uniform of jeans and white T-shirts, in 1999. We thought we’d live there forever. Little did we know.…
(Jim Watson / Getty Images)
(Courtesy George W. Bush Presidential Library and Museum)
After I got hit in the face with the mic stand in Baghdad in December 2008, President Bush comforted me in a hold room. He’d seen me crying but didn’t know what had happened.