I wrote this letter to our five children after returning from the funeral of Jordan’s King Hussein. Former Presidents Carter and Ford and I flew over on Air Force One with President Clinton.
February 12, 1999
Dear Kids,
Sitting in my bedroom at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, slightly jet lagged out, I want to send you five this report on my trip to King Hussein’s funeral. . . .
We were all glad we went, though the 25 hours spent in the air getting me from Houston to Washington, then back to Wisconsin have taken a bit of a toll on my aging body. My frame hurts—yes, the hips and knees hurt a little more. I did sleep a lot on the plane, cozily tucking into one of the two sacks in the medical compartment on AF I. The trouble is you never get totally rested on a long flight.
Now for the trip report. I was picked up by an Air Force G-3 right out there at Atlantic Aviation at Hobby. Boarding the plane I was immediately drowned in nostalgia. The crew was terrific and I thought back to all the flights in the past aboard the Air Force planes based out of Andrews Air Force Base.
The huge traveling squad mustered at Andrews. When the President arrived, we all headed for Amman—the two big 747’s went.
Aboard AF I were four Members of Congress (Senators Stevens and Leahy, Reps. Bonior and Gilman).1
The Halabys, divorced parents of Queen Noor,2 were there, as were Jim Wolfensohn of the World Bank, Under Secretary [Thomas] Pickering and a wide array of strap hangers from the White House and State—déjà vu. We were placed in the cabin normally given to the top staff—remember where Nunu and Marlin3 used to sit. It was quite comfortable. Joining the three former Presidents in there was NSC adviser Sandy Berger.
Right after take-off, the President came in, sat down in Berger’s seat and gave us a very interesting tour d’horizon on all the world’s trouble spots. The man is good—a great grasp of facts, apparently an in-depth knowledge on the issues. I disagree with many of the administration’s positions that he outlined for us.
The Clinton Administration has declared great foreign policy victories but turmoil and uncertainty still exist in a lot of the areas—Ireland, North Korea, Haiti, Kosovo, and certainly the Middle East are examples. But the point here is the President was impressive in his presentation and I can see more clearly how good he is at explaining his policies. He also has a way of making the questioner feel that he agrees with the questioner or at least that he understands when a different view is presented. . . .
The bottom line here is that he was most cordial and so was his staff. I felt more at ease than I thought I would; but much of that came about because many of the crew on AF I were the same men and women who used to take care of us when we first got that magnificent plane. It seemed like a wonderful reunion in lots of ways.
I enjoyed being in there with Presidents Ford and Carter. I know you all know what a warm spot I have in my heart for Mr. Decency, Jerry Ford. Carter could not have been nicer. I have big differences with him on some of his foreign policy views, but I found a lot of points of agreement, too—for example on the Middle East, for he shares my concerns about the rigidity of Netanyahu and the Likud in general.4
Carter is an honorable man, a good-hearted man with deep religious convictions and a marvelous aura of kindness. As you could tell from his joining Ford in that call for censure, he shares my views about the way in which the office of the President has been disgraced.5
In any event the trip over and back, though frightfully long, was not bad at all and, again, we were treated like Kings.
In Amman we had a huge motorcade, each of the four U.S. Presidents being provided a USSS6 driven “limo.”
We all drove to the Raghadan Palace complex. There we mixed and mingled with a most amazing and diverse collection of world leaders. Having attended three Moscow funerals for fallen leaders, I am not sure whether there were more heads of Government and State here in Amman or in Moscow; but the big difference here is that we were all under one roof. The 3 story palace was turned into a meeting place where some delegations tried to do some bilateral business, but which was used for the most part as a place for the world leaders simply to greet each other.
It was name dropper’s paradise. With two Governors in our family, my name dropping credentials in the USA have, of late, gone down a little; but at this gathering I was a soaring eagle.
I saw many friends and met some of the leaders who have come onto the scene since I left.
Almost every one I talked to asked what the Governor of Texas is going to do, just as they all inquired “what’s it like to have two of your sons as Governor?”
I did not meet the Iraqi or Iranian delegations. In fact I never saw them or if I did I didn’t identify them.
I talked to P.M. Netanyahu, President Weizman, Challenger [Ehud] Barak and Shimon Peres—all from Israel. [Yitzhak] Mordechai was there but I did not meet him. Netanyahu was pleased to have brought those who are running against him on the 15 minute helicopter flight from Israel.
George, President Weizman and P.M. Netanyahu volunteered that you had made a very favorable impression in Israel. President Mubarak of Egypt said essentially the same thing. All with whom I spoke hoped that you will run—amazing breadth to this sentiment. It was more than being nice to an old father—me.
I saw Yeltsin7 sitting on a couch. His aides pulled him to his feet. His face truly lit up as he asked about your Mom and greeted me with a huge bear hug. He looked very badly, but in our brief and extraordinarily friendly conversation he seemed to be totally lucid.
I visited with all the Gulf leaders—all friends of mine. Among them Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, Bahrain’s Emir Isa bin Salman Al Khalifa, Sultan Qaboos of Oman, Prince Mohammed of the Emirates, the Crown Prince of Kuwait. I even had a long chat with Yemen’s President Saleh whom I know quite well, a man who I had visited in Sana’a but with whom I got cross-threaded when Yemen sided with Saddam Hussein.
I even had a nice chat with President Assad of Syria, the Crown Prince and Prime Minister of Japan. Also President Chirac of France, and my old friends Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands, King Juan Carlos of Spain and the Aga Khan. Demirel, President of Turkey, Crown Prince of Morocco, Sweden and Norway’s royalty, you name it—they were all there.
I met Tony Blair for the first time—a most attractive young man. I also had a long talk with Prince Charles who remembered most pleasantly his visits to Washington and Camp David when I was President. I did not ask about Camilla . . . after all, I was a diplomat.
Have I now re-established my own name dropping credentials? I could go and on. The truth is I really enjoyed seeing all these people, but it did make me realize that I still do miss the part of my job that had me interacting with all of these folks.
It is oh so different for me now. No agenda, no authority have I. It was simply a chance to greet friends.
After the long “meet and greet” period we all marched behind the casket. In this kind of procession my advice to all of you is “Do not be polite or you’ll get shoved behind.” There were tons of security people, all of whom wanted to stay close to the principals. Then some of the leaders were more intent to get a little TV coverage by standing at the head of the procession. I started out next to President Clinton, but soon I was elbowed out of the front ranks. No problem though for I was not there for TV coverage, and as I dropped further back I did have a chance to talk to the Saudis, the Brits and others. I was in a way glad not to be in the front rank. . . .
At the end of a grueling day for the new King and his family, there was an endless receiving line where all the delegates could file by to pay respects.
The new King said to me “I hope you know the high regard my father had for you.” Thoughtful words matter to old guys.
The new King, a Deerfield man, is impressive, and his Palestinian wife is said to be not only very attractive but also very effective. I did not meet any of the ladies as they were all off in a palace, separate from the male attendees. I don’t know how Hillary felt about being segregated off—I expect the Women’s groups from the USA would have been marching and chanting.
Our last event was a brief appearance at the Amman Marriott. Embassy Amman had assembled all the embassy people in a large ball room. I expect there were some strap hangers in the big room. In any event the “exes” spoke for a couple of minutes followed by brief remarks from Hillary and Bill.
We were ushered to our cars. The huge motorcade got underway and in 35 minutes we were all boarding AF I for the long trip home. When we landed at Andrews at 2:30 this morning I immediately was escorted to a Gulfstream for the two hour flight to Milwaukee followed by a 45 minute drive to this place—Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.
I took a hot bath and shower and then zonked out. So here I am, in bed, typing away. I will go to the gym here at the Lake Geneva resort. I will have a gentle workout. I will then eat lunch. I will then take a nap. Your mom arrives at 4:20 and at 4:30 we go to work. Reception, small dinner, after which we give speeches then fly to New Orleans for a post-midnight arrival. I am sure my aching body can take it. Life goes on.
End of travelogue. I love you all.
This from your aging, tired
but always devoted,
Dad
Barbara Bush turned seventy-five on June 8, 2000, and I decided to throw her a surprise party in Kennebunkport. This letter to our good friends Alan and Ann Simpson is one of many that went out.
May 4, 2000
Dear Alan and Ann,
This is a Save the Date letter—an advance peek at a great event which lies just over the horizon.
There will be a surprise birthday party on June 10, 2000.
The birthday girl is BARBARA PIERCE BUSH.
Barbara Pierce Bush, aka Silver Fox or Former First Lady will be 75. The actual date of birth was June 8, 1925, but the party will be on Saturday June 10th.
The place—Kennebunkport, Maine. A block of rooms has been reserved at the Nonantum hotel. OK, it ain’t the Ritz but it is nice. A list of other hotels is attached. All of our immediate family will hopefully attend, but a handful of Bar’s close friends must come, too. That’s you!
Program—Informal Supper at the informal River Club. After dinner some entertainment—skits, singers, clowns, men jumping out of cakes, jugglers. Speeches needling the Silver Fox—laughter, tears, joy, and wonder.
SURPRISE is the key word here. SH-SH-SH-SH!!! If you are a definite “Yes” or “No”—let me know now. If you are a “maybe” just circle the date for now.
All the best from her husband and Bar’s kids who want this to be very special for her. Your coming will help make it so!
George Bush
This is easy—Please fill out this form checking the proper boxes. Mail to address shown below, Attention Gian-Carlo Peressutti.8
RSVP from:__________________
Dear Mr. President______
Dear George_______
Hey You_______
Yes, I will be there_____
No, I cannot make it, so there!_____
Sorry I cannot make it_____
I’m a “maybe”___ So is____ (my spouse, my girlfriend, my boyfriend)
I know who Barbara Bush is but I need more information before I can decide.____
An Update on SFSF aka SF 2 (Surprise for Silver Fox)
Dear Attendee,
Great response to the SF2 party on June 10th—a veritable outpouring of affection for the 75-year-old former First Lady, Miss Frank, loving wife!
The event will be at 6:30 p.m. June 10th.
The place is The Kennebunk River Club—walking distance from the Nonantum and Colony hotels.
We are planning to keep the birthday girl out of town on that day or at home. If you drive by Walker’s Point, wear a disguise.
Our family (kids, grandkids) will be staying at the Point. The cover story is that they are assembling for a small quiet family birthday party for her. Clever? You bet!
On Sunday, the gates to our place will swing open and we hope you will all come out to say hi, to swim, to tell her “Hey, Bar, we love you! Wasn’t that surprise fun?!” This last one can be modified if the surprise falls on its backside.
There is golf for those of you who want to play at Cape Arundel. Just call my friend Ken Raynor, our great pro, before or after arrival. Fred Couples set the record at 62 a couple of years ago. Can you top that?
No presents. Yes, the NO presents rule is in effect!
Dress Code—No ties. Maybe a sports coat for dinner but no suits, no ties. I will be wearing a lovely purple sports jacket, a polo shirt with a Ryder Cup logo, a clean pair of khaki pants (Sears!), and boat shoes—brown ones with no-skid soles (Is that helpful for the men?). Ladies attire: Hey, I don’t know about this kind of thing, but be comfortable. Could be cool in the evening so bring a sweater.
The ANSWER DESK will be open here until May 11th. Linda Casey will have all the answers. From May 12th on, the ANSWER DESK will be manned at the Kennebunkport office. Your every question will be answered by Gian-Carlo or Jean Becker.9. . . Sh-sh-sh because sometimes the Silver Fox herownself drops in and out of our little office on the Point.
Excitement is building. “Think Surprise Party”.
Respectfully submitted by the recording secretary of the SF2 Committee; Marvin Bush and Doro Koch, co-chairs.
Honorary Members—Neil Bush, Governor Jeb, Governor George.
Once our burial plot was established at the George Bush Presidential Library Center at Texas A&M, Bar and I decided to move our daughter Robin, who was buried next to my parents in Greenwich, Connecticut. I wrote this note to our pastor, Dr. Larry Gipson.
May 16, 2000
Dear Larry,
After graduation speeches at Rice and Monmouth College in Illinois and a family wedding in St. Louis we are now settling in at Kennebunkport.
I have been slow in writing to tell you just how much your coming up to A&M meant to both Barbara and me.
It seems funny after almost 50 years since her death how dear Robin is to our hearts. My tears flowed when you said those lovely prayers. But they were not the same tears of devastation, loss, and pain that I felt when Robin died. Instead they were tears of gratitude that we had her at all and maybe even tears of joy that she was still with us.
I remember when Robin was about to die another parent of another leukemia victim who had also fought the good fight told us “Well, I guess Jesus was right when he said Let the little children suffer so they can come unto me.” She got it wrong, Larry, but maybe she also got it right, too. Her kid and ours did suffer and indeed in their innocence they went to heaven. Of that I am certain.
Friday’s peaceful, private, moving little ceremony was not about suffering nor death—those were both a long time ago. It was about happiness and memories. We are very comforted to know that when we are buried the body of our beloved little four year old will be tucked in right there beside us—right next to her parents who love her so much.
Thank you, Larry, for making this tiny service so special for Barbara and me.
Con Afecto,
George Bush
Brian Mulroney, my friend and the former prime minister of Canada, wrote me a letter after George W. was officially nominated to run for President at the GOP Convention.
August 5, 2000
Dear Brian,
That letter from you means a great deal to Barbara and me.
There is no way I can tell you of the emotion we felt when we saw George P.10, then George W. up there in front of the Convention.
One good thing—when George finished his acceptance speech, it was like a new day had dawned on our family. I felt that finally my political days were over—the record sealed and finished, with the historians left to decide. The baton had indeed been passed; and when Bar and I left the hall, proudest parents in the world, we felt that a wonderful chapter was closed, finished!
For us, the mission is now to stay off stage and pray for our “boy”. When the road ahead for him is rocky, and it will be, we will be here for him, our arms held out to him, just as they were 50 some years ago when he’d fall on the rocks right out this window and come in with a cut on his legs. We are his loving parents. He is our loving son. That, dear Brian, is what this is all about right now.
Love to all in your great family; and, yes, if you can pop over here for a night or two, please do.
Your friend,
George
I wrote this e-mail to our son Jeb, the governor of Florida, the night before the election. He was very nervous about George winning there. Of course it would be the vote count in Florida that would throw the election in chaos the next night.
Subject: you!
Dear Jeb,
It’s almost over! And unless the polls are terribly wrong it looks like your brother will be elected President of the USA. But, Jeb, I just want you to know that your mother and I have never been prouder of you. I don’t know what will happen in Florida tomorrow. But I do know no one could have done more than you to help George carry that state, and to help in other states as well. And then, of course, there is your boy “P”, his father’s flesh and blood who has given his all, too.
I know there have been many tense moments with all the dire predictions about your state, and then with smart alec know-it-all commentators implying Florida should be a “gimme” given your being Governor. Florida demographics have changed as you well know and of course there would be a battle right down to the wire there. In my view it would already have been lost without your leadership.
I have just hung up from Karl11 who tells me the Florida overnights are plus 5. Then I hear the NBC doomsayers downplay our chances there. Who knows. All I know with certainty is that no one could have done as much as you, shown as much grit and leadership, nor cared more. . . .
I am so very proud of you and as your sister Robin used to say “I love you more than tongue can tell.”
I hope God will bless us with victory in Florida and across the land; but whatever happens our family will be strong and solid and your brother George and your Dad will say Jeb gave it his all and we love the guy.
Devotedly,
DAD
I wrote this letter to Hugh Sidey after the Supreme Court decision that decided George W. had won the contested, hanging-chad-infected election.
December 16, 2000
Dear Hugh,
The fat lady sang. The ordeal ended. And now a huge new chapter in the lives of the Bush family opens up. But let me finish my “election watch” series with this the 41st and final entry.
The long, tortuous ordeal that began really early in the morning of November eighth ended when the U.S. Supreme Court took the action it did. When the Court finally ruled, Al Gore’s team of able lawyers saw that it was over. The Vice President and his closest confidantes looked in every corner to find wiggle room; but they wisely concluded that he no longer had a chance. He decided to withdraw.
Right up until Gore spoke to the nation I was not sure in my own mind what he would say, how he would say it. His speech was absolute perfection. He did it with grace and dignity and a genuineness that enthralled the nation. I know how difficult it was for him to do what he did.
As soon as I saw him on the TV leaving the EOB,12 I called the White House switchboard and asked to be connected. I watched him get into his limo and but a few minutes later the phone rang and it was the Vice President. I congratulated him, just one sentence or two, just a few words. I suddenly felt for him, saw him as a man whose disappointment had to be overpowering. I knew he must be hurting. He was very gracious. He thanked me. The conversation was over in a flash, but I suddenly felt quite different about Al Gore. The anger was gone, the competitive juices stopped flowing. I thought of Algore as two words (Al Gore) not one. I thought of his long years of service and of his family. I thought back to my own feelings of years before when I lost, when I had to go out and accept my defeat. He did it better than I did, and his ordeal had to be tougher because the election was so close. True I had to actually give up the Presidency that he was now seeking, but still he had been in public life a long time and he and his family were shattered.
But then for Bar and me, here in our little Houston house the scene shifted to Austin, Texas. I had been on the phone several times to George, his telling me what he planned to do in his speech, telling me of the setting designed to emphasize bi-partisanship. Incidentally I have had more phone conversations over the last month with George than one could imagine. During the ordeal, and even since, we talk all the time.
Barbara and I, alone here, climbed into bed to watch our son. Before he came on I flipped from channel to channel. The chattering class was busy. There wasn’t as much shouting, not quite as much; but there was lots of opining. Law professors and politicians past and present, news people—print and electronic, historians of note and of little note. They were all saying what George had to do. Declaring this the speech of his life. I could just feel the bar being raised. They properly credited Gore with giving a great, generous speech of healing. This they said made it tougher for George. They talked about expectations being low—“the man is not a great speaker, you know.” They set limits—things he had to do or must not do.
I don’t know why I did this to myself but it wasn’t for long and soon we settled on one channel and the announcer began to set the stage, telling America about the Texas Capitol, about the Democratic Speaker, Pete Laney, who was to introduce George.
I saw a couple of shots of George and Laura holding hands. I saw in his posture, in the way he walked in his smile the same mannerisms and expressions we have known ever since he was a little boy.
Pete Laney, a good old boy from the Panhandle, gave a wonderful introduction emphasizing that George had worked in a bi-partisan manner to get things done for Texas. And then he goes: “The 43rd President of the United States, George W. Bush”.
As the camera focused on George and Laura walking into the chamber my body was literally wracked with uncontrollable sobs. It just happened. No warning, no thinking that this might be emotional for a mother or dad to get through—just an eruption from deep within me where my body literally shook. Barbara cried, too. We held hands.
Just before he began to speak we saw in George’s eyes the emotion he was feeling. We know it so well. He did not “lose it”, but he was clearly moved and his mother and dad knew it for fact certain.
We listened to our own son give thanks to God and tell our divided country what he planned to do.
The speech was not a long one—13 minutes maybe. It was in my view just right. Later, on Jim Lehrer’s show David Broder13 and some pundit from the Weekly Standard would say it was not eloquent enough; but I was sure it was good.
When the speech ended I watched until George left the room. Then I called Logan [Walters], George’s assistant, on his mobile phone. Logan is never but a step or two away. I said “Logan, this is George Bush the elder, can you hand this phone to my boy?”
He did and George comes on the phone “What did you think Dad?” I told him how perfect I felt his speech was. I also told him I had lost it. I handed the phone to his mother who reiterated how well he had done, how proud we were.
We hung up. We watched as George left the Capitol and drove to the Mansion. When he turned into the driveway we saw a new white curtain drawn across the front entrance—put there by the USSS so our son could exit his limo out of sight of the public. I knew this security procedure well. This was but one more manifestation of how his life had changed—will change in the days and years ahead.
May God give our son the strength he needs. May God protect the 43rd President of the United States of America.
Your friend, the proudest
father in the whole wide
world,
George
January 21, 2001
Dear Hugh,
The big day has come and gone. I am now trying to figure out exactly when I realized our son was the President of the United States.
I am certain that the moment he took the oath of office standing there with Laura and the twins and the Chief Justice was the key; but there were other moments before and after that helped define the matter.
Let’s finish with the oath. Barbara and I had ridden up to the Capitol from St. John’s, the Church of the Presidents, with the twins, Jenna and Barbara. We were ushered into a holding room on the first floor of the Capitol to await the arrival of George and Bill Clinton. I was apprehensive because I worried I might totally lose control of my emotions right up there on the Capitol Steps.
I had felt a tear or two dripping down when George’s Minister from Dallas made reference to a prayer given by a former President. He didn’t mention my name. I recognized the prayer and was deeply touched that Reverend Mark Craig had included it as his final prayer in his marvelous sermon at St. John’s Church. Family and friends and some of George’s cabinet had attended the very appropriate service of worship before the inauguration.
Another moment of emotion, though not one that tempted the tear ducts, was when we heard the sirens coming and we looked out of our holding room window to see the huge Presidential motorcade arrive. Police cars in large number, followed by two large Presidential limos, both flying the Presidential flag on one fender, the Stars and Stripes on the other. Next to me stood Barbara and Jenna, all three of us straining our eyes to see President Clinton and George sitting next to each other. We couldn’t see into the big limo as it drove by.
We did see the back up wagons loaded with the CAT teams—the counter assault specialists that used to trail us when I was in office. The Cheneys arrived and the action then shafted to the ceremony outdoors.
Tony Benedi, my friend and fantastic helper on a lot of our advances was doing advance for Barbara and me. He stuck his head into the holding room and told us that the time had come and that we should follow him up to the top of the long array of steps leading to the swearing in platform.
Jenna and Barbara looking lovely in their new dresses were to be announced just before us. The twins had on the craziest high heels I have ever seen. In the holding room both had kicked off their shoes to alleviate the pain caused by walking on the stilt like heels—thin, tall, pointed heels, like spikes. Anyway off we all went the girls wobbling on their stilt-heels, Bar and I grinning like Cheshire Cats and waving to a lot of Capitol Staff and Capitol Police who lined the wall waiting for Presidents #42 and #43 to appear.
This I calculated was my 5th inauguration as a platform guest—two as Ronald Reagan’s Vice President. My own inauguration as the 41st President. Then Bill Clinton’s as #42, then this wonderful one. It was very moving as we reached the top of the long stairway. You could see some, not all of the platform guests. You could see a sea of faces out and away below the stage—hundreds of thousands of people gathered for this peaceful transition of power.
The twins preceded us, each on the arm of a 3 stripe military officer. Gone was their cocky banter from the holding room, their feigned nonchalance and indifference left behind.
Then came our turn. Barbara was on my right arm as we went down the steps. I don’t want to be a braggadocio but we did receive a warm welcome from the platform guests and the huge crowd below.
We had a chance to greet by smile or wave to many old friends—Supreme Court Justices, Members of Congress from both parties, Franklin Graham pitching in for the very sick Billy Graham, the Joint Chiefs. I caught the eye of some family members; but then in came the Cheneys and then the Clintons and then, yes our son, the new President. . . .
I must tell you that when the announcer went “President Elect George Bush and Laura Bush” (or whatever) it did once again get emotional. George walked down the steps—not looking overly relaxed, but straight and proper and smiling at friends. He looked good. He looked Presidential.
The Army singing sergeant did one of those mod-versions of a patriotic song medley—the kind where you throw in wobbles and descant noises. Why can’t they just sing ’em straight anymore? Anyway it wasn’t horrible. It was just bad. Franklin Graham delivered the invocation. He sounded at times like his great Dad.
Cheney’s oath taking was next (I am not sure of the order in here); and I was saying to myself I am so glad Dick Cheney is the Vice President. George W. Bush is very lucky to have Dick at his side. Dick and Lynne’s two daughters went up to stand with their parents, bearing the largest bible I have ever seen. I wanted to go with my “Hey, girls, careful lifting that, you’ll get a hernia” comment as they passed in front of us, but that would have been inappropriate.
Next came a group of songsters from—you guessed it, Kentucky, where the inauguration chairman Senator Mitch McConnell is from. They were patriotic—nice medley, good, no woofing and warbling and descant noises.
Then the big moment as George was invited to the podium. Laura was next to him. The twins hung back but soon joined their parents at the podium.
The oath delivered, George shook his V.P.’s hand then hugged his mother and me. This, Hugh, was the only time the tears flowed for me. I thought it would be much worse in that department. I got close to tears several times but never lost it. But this moment was clearly the most emotional of all for both Bar and me. Pride of a father in a son. Why not shed some tears?
The 43rd POTUS14 then gave a fine speech, short, dignified and strong.
Our son was President of the United States of America. It was for real. Our pride knew no bounds. We managed to contain our emotions but they shook us to the core. Wonder. Joy. Amazement. Honor. Happiness. I don’t know how to describe what I felt, but it was good, real good.
Next came the luncheon in a rotunda room. The guest list was restricted because the room was limited but key Senators from both parties joined, Justices, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the house leadership and some notable, worthy strap hangers.
The mood was pleasant and bi-partisan. Teddy Kennedy, looking huge, looked at me and told me in a most sincere voice that he had been thinking of us during the swearing in, knowing how proud we must feel etc. I told him that his dad was the last father to see his son sworn in as President. This pleased him. He later asked someone to take him and his wife up to the head table to meet #43 whom they had apparently never met.
The lunch over, we drove to the White House in our long black limo. We drove by a lot of protesters with their ugly signs. Earlier some of them had broken through the police lines and had thrown bottles and raised hell; but this was not Seattle. This was not a place where anarchists from the hill outside of Seattle would carry the day.15 The Washington [police] and the Feds were ready, and real trouble was avoided.
One sad thing though, Jenna and Barbara, riding with us, seemed very concerned about the demonstrators. I tried to assure them not to worry because this simply went with the territory, all Presidents suffer through this kind of ugliness; but they were not convinced. They hated the signs and the shouting and the vulgarity of it all. I worry about the effect of this kind of thing on these two vulnerable 19 year olds.
Anyway as I drove past these folk I felt a certain anger rising, and the sense of gratitude that I never will have to deal with these protesters again, and then a sense of worry that for the next 4 years George will have to be somewhat concerned over the crazies.
We drove past the reviewing stand, hooked a left and then swung around entering the SW gate that leads up between the EOB and the West Wing. We walked through tons of litter, empty crates, boxes filled to the brim with heaven knows what. Workmen and painters were all over the place. Eight years of President Clinton and his staff had given way to a new team. That meant lots of stuff to get out of the White House before the new possessions arrived. Clinton’s bright blue Oval Office rug was already neatly bundled up and lying outside the Oval Office. The old Reagan carpet had already replaced it.
We all walked over to the White House, then out the North Portico door over to the reviewing stand. Incidentally, by then all our clothes were hanging in the proper closets—my evening shirt all laundered and pressed when I returned later on. My oh my.
The parade was fun. Our prime box was heated but my hip still felt the penetrating wet cold.
The grandkids were like minnows in a pond—they were everywhere—in the front row, squirming, drinking cokes, and restlessly going from row to row. When #43 arrived he didn’t seem to mind at all.
When George walked into the reviewing stand a military escort, guard of honor, had lined up. I said to the Major nearest me, “Let me know when President Bush is arriving.” Soon he leaned over “The President is coming, sir.” We all stood up and greeted the new President—wonderful.
Maybe it was the icy weather but the parade took too long. First of all, all we saw were police cars and motorcycles and people inside limos whom we couldn’t recognize. Then more police cars. Then the Washington [police] band. On and on it went. Finally, after a long gap, a long wait, that followed this display of Washington, D.C., power and support, the actual parade started.
I had hoped that the famous [Texas A&M] Aggie marching band, best in the land, would be up front. No way. I waited and waited. Bar pulled the rip cord and went to the White House. Various grandkids flaked off. The Aggie band was at the very end of the parade. #43 asked me to come forward and stand next to him as the Aggies marched by. I had been sitting right behind him, but I had not wanted to go stand next to him—did not want to “horn in”, as mother used to say.
I’m glad I waited. The Aggies were great. Many of the band members smiled up at their new President.
Before the actual end of the parade I left, joining Barbara over in the Queen’s bedroom. After a while I climbed into a marvelous hot tub. There lying back relaxing, my new hip thawing out nicely, I was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mr. President, President Bush would like you to meet him downstairs to walk over to the Oval Office.”
I hustled. Dried off. Threw clothes on, and went down the residence elevator to the ground floor, only to find the President had walked on over to see his new office. What a thrill to again walk in the terrace door to the Oval Office. Gary Walters [Chief Usher] was there asking #43 for any suggestions. [Chief of Staff] Andy Card was there and soon George sat at his new desk and signed some Presidential Commissions for confirmed Cabinet Officers and for commissioned staff, too.
George and I then walked back into the little office I used a lot—the tiny private one where I did a lot of work, made a lot of phone calls, kept my computer and watched the blossoms break out each spring. Memories rushed back of phone calls made to world leaders, Brent Scowcroft at my side. Memories of personnel problems, of happy days and sad days too. . . .
The small private dining room was next and George and I talked about how useful this had been for me to see friends, to have very private meals with a handful of aides or Cabinet officers, or members of Congress. He will get a lot of constructive use out of that little dining room.
I did not press him, but I reminded him that “Right out that door the horseshoe pit used to be.” It had been covered up or replanted by President #42. I hope under the tutelage of Recreation Minister, Marvin Bush, the pit will be reinstated. I told George how totally relaxing I had found it to go out and throw a few shoes when the tensions mounted and the future was unclear.
We peeked into the little kitchen where Domingo16 hung out. Domingo Quicho, that wonderful man whom I saw first thing every morning. Domingo Quicho owner of one of Millie’s puppies, BJ for Barbara Junior, Domingo Quicho who when I saw him last year burst into uncontrollable sobs as he told me about BJ’s death. I hope George has someone in that little known slot who gives as much to him as Domingo gave to me and to our entire family.
We then walked back to the Residence where #43 began to get ready for the 10 balls. Bar and I wound down with a pleasant drink in George’s den watching TV and reveling in the wonder of being back. Jenna Welch, Laura’s Mom, joined us. We watched Jamie Gangel’s masterful and friendly MSNBC program on our family—a kinder and gentler show that got rave reviews from friends and family later on. George watched a little of it with us.
By 8:45 I had climbed into that nice king size bed in the Queen’s bedroom, reading [James] Patterson’s new mystery “Roses Are Red.” In came Jenna and Barbara and a whole group of University of Texas glamour girls, all in their evening gowns ready for the balls. One guy, Walker something, was there, but he did not seem uncomfortable. They all gathered around the bed as I teased them and told them to behave.
Out they went. Shortly thereafter Barbara and I said our prayers asking the Lord to bless our son and to lift him up when the going gets tough. It will, Hugh. We both know that.
The next day we attended the big ecumenical service at the National Cathedral. Our dear friend Michael W. Smith played but I couldn’t hear the words very well. Franklin Graham preached—good sermon, a tiny bit too long. Others like our wonderful Kirbyjon Caldwell17 had bit parts. Kirbyjon, however, had given the closing prayer at Saturday’s inaugural—a starring role handled with conviction and grace.
By the end of the service I was ready to go home; but a “family and friends” reception from 10–12 lay ahead. It was held on the second floor—all those lovely rooms in use. Many of George’s close friends were there—college friends, neighbors from Austin and Dallas and Midland, too. It was wonderful.
I went over to look at the [Presidential] portrait of me that Gary Walters had thoughtfully placed right there in the entrance room near the North Portico. Suddenly I found myself in a photo-op line. I kept telling the folks lined up with cameras “The President is in the East Room, hustle on down and say hi.” But no they needed a quick shot with their kids with #41 so I stood there for a long time. It was OK, a bit flattering really.
Soon the clock struck noon. I said goodbye to Laura. I interrupted #43 in the middle of yet another photo op for him, said goodbye and we both choked up a tiny bit. This the end of the emotion part of an historic weekend.
I am not sure if there was one specific moment in time when I fully realized that my son was President. If I had to single out one such moment it would be right after the oath taking.
Having been President before there were still moments lingering on of my being #41. Someone goes “Mr. President” and I’d start to acknowledge. Or walking with George someone might say “Hi, Mr. President!” and I’d spin around.
People say all the time “What do we call you now.” I like “#41.”18
Adjusting will take time but it will not be difficult at all.
It is funny after all these years to have to get a new name; but, hey, what does it matter if your boy is President of the United States of America so help me God.
All the best,
George Bush
I wrote this e-mail to my former press secretary and friend Sheila Tate.
May 25, 2001
Subject: Memorial Day: a time for remembrance
. . . I saw Tom Brokaw two days ago. He reminded me that he put me in his Greatest Generation book. I told him I was pleased. I should have told him, however, that back then, everyone fought, everyone did his duty. No one felt that our service, our duty to serve, would set us apart and make us part of a “Greatest Generation.”
Today I feel increasingly uncomfortable as old veterans are remembered, saluted, honored. Maybe it is because they all look so darned old. Maybe it is because many just did what they were supposed to do. Maybe it is because veteran’s groups are so demanding. Who knows!
I dread veteran reunions for some reason. They are so much about living unrealistically in the past.
I will go down soon to The Vineyard to pay homage to my recently deceased exec officer in VT51, our Torpedo Bomber squadron; and my heart will be in it as I help honor a friend; but that’s different than marching with a bunch of other old guys on Memorial Day or sitting around at a reunion talking about the good old days. Veterans, even veterans who fought for their country, ask too much I think—seek too much honor all these years later. I want to look out not back.
If wounded in action then, of course, your country owes you; but if you just plain suited up and served you should not feel entitled to things for the rest of your life. I love the words “Duty, Honor, Country” but for me at least they mean the privilege of serving—of fighting for your country.
And another thing as we veterans get older we exaggerate. We remember things that didn’t happen exactly the way we now say. We are more heroic, more worthy of medals we did not receive. Having said all this, dear Sheila, have a nice Memorial Day. If I were in Kport instead of in Hong Kong I would go to our Norman Rockwell—like parade downtown. It is about the importance of service to this, the greatest freest most wonderful country in the world. It is about giving back not receiving. Giving thanks to Almighty God. We pray in the square and no one thinks this is bad.
Our parade is not about “more for the veterans.” It is about remembering. Our parade assembles and marches less to “honor” the veterans that hobble past the monument in our town square, more about thanking God for our freedoms.
We should of course honor those who gave “the last full measure of devotion”—honor them now, honor them forever. . . .
Honor those who died, and, OK, honor veterans on Memorial Day, but keep in mind that one has an obligation to serve when duty calls and when finished doing what is right he/she should not expect further honor.
Hey you sent me a nice message and now I unload on you.
Con Afecto,
GB
I wrote this for Carl Cannon’s book The Pursuit of Happiness in Times of War.
August 18, 2001
Dear Carl,
Herewith some “pursuit of happiness” thoughts:
You ask about The Pursuit of Happiness at a good time in my life.
I have pursued life itself over many years now and with varying degrees of happiness.
But now at 77, I find that I am perfectly content to let history be the judge of those things I got right, and of my mistakes in life as well.
Mine has been a happy life. In competitive business, I was very happy—though restless and somewhat driven.
In politics, I had victories and defeats, but for the most part I was very happy.
In big government jobs here and abroad, I was fortunate to get to live my life’s creed which says public service is a noble calling.
As President I knew the challenges and liked them; and worked hard to do my best, to accomplish things of magnitude. I grew to detest the “pack” mentality of the national press; and in looking over my shoulder I found that many of my Presidential predecessors felt the same way.
All through those business and political years I was pursuing goals, trying to accomplish things, trying to have my life be one that would benefit others.
Now, I no longer pursue happiness. I have happiness—great happiness.
Some of my happiness still comes from trying to be in my own small way a true “point of light.” I believe I was right when I said, as President, there can be no definition of a successful life that does not include service to others. So I do that now, and I gain happiness.
I do not seek a Pulitzer Prize. I do not want press attention. I don’t crave sitting at the head table or winning one of the many coveted awards offered by the many organizations across the land.
No, I have found happiness. I no longer pursue it, for it is mine. Pride in my family guarantees that happiness. That one son is President of the United States might say it all; but it doesn’t. Our Governor son in Florida is a part of this “happiness,” because through him and the President I can still live and be a part of the vast political scene.
But my happiness stems, too, from our other two sons and our only daughter, from all five spouses and from our 14 grandkids.
I am happy when I read, happy when I can help someone else, happy when surrounded by friends, but much of my true happiness stems from watching those grandkids and fishing with them and challenging them and teasing them.
And then there’s Barbara Bush. With her I pursued my happiness before we were married way back in early 1945; but now there is no pursuit. Our happiness together is locked in. It is as they say in golf a “gimme.” It is strong, unbendable, and rock solid.
So let the great philosophers and those who still strive to be something pursue and write of that “Pursuit.”
For those not quite there yet I can say “Pursue happiness until you find it. The pursuit must include helping others, giving of yourself to a cause bigger than yourself, and it must surely include love of family.”
Some think there is no pot of gold at the end of that striking rainbow. Life is that rainbow and, having pursued happiness during my life, I have found it; and it will be mine until the day I die.
George Bush
September 12, 2001
Dear Hugh,
It is the day after the day of infamy.
Yesterday Bar and I were flying from Washington, where we had spent the night at the White House, to St. Paul, Minn. when we got diverted to Milwaukee airport. We were whisked off to a motel well outside of Milwaukee’s City limits.
We got updated by the USSS on what they knew about what was transpiring, and then at our hotel we did what the whole world did—we watched the television in horror.
I had so many thoughts rush through my head.
First and foremost related to the safety of the President. I had full confidence in his security, but given the coordination of the attacks I did not feel comfortable. I remember feeling very pleased that proper security procedures were being followed. Who knew what might be planned by these monsters as a follow on attack.
I talked to George. I did tell him the sooner he got back to Washington the better. He totally agreed with that; and had so advised the USSS. I notice in today’s press that the vultures are already circling saying he should have come back sooner. Thank heavens that [historian] David McCullough and some others defended him.
It is easy to second guess and we are in for a huge wave of second guessing. The TV will be filled with just that; but it is proper that the President followed the prudent security script. His key National Security team was in place in the White House. Colin19 was flying back; and the President was in very close touch both from Louisiana and from Offutt AFB20 in Nebraska.
A second immediate thought was that Muslims in this country were going to be abused. Many of them are terrified. I see from today’s papers that there has been some of this abuse.
Most touching were the words of a grade school kid, studying in an Islamic school, saying “are they now going to destroy our school?” (I paraphrased here)
I remember the Japanese internment right after Pearl Harbor. I am not sure I was deeply offended by that way back then. Now I am; and I do worry that all Muslims will come under mindless attacks of retaliation right here in the land of the free and home of the brave.
Abroad the Arab leaders now have largely condemned the attack. The Taliban claimed “We didn’t do it. Nor did Osama Bin Laden”.21 Their words rang hollow. They must be a little apprehensive, our President having declared properly and forcefully that those who knowingly harbor terrorists will also pay a price.
Then there was a third thing that cluttered up my worried mind. What can we do about all this? Having headed a Terrorism Task Force for President Reagan back in the ’80’s I am somewhat familiar with what can and can’t be done.
One thing we must carefully look at is how we can use more human intelligence and protect those people willing to cooperate with our CIA. This means dealing with “bad guys”. Evil People. Unsavory folks who will betray their own country. It is not easy to find such people. It is impossible if our sources of human intelligence are not indelibly protected. It is impossible if the CIA continues to be demonized for using “bad guys”.
Congress with its insistence on knowing every detail under the guise of “right to know” must be more disciplined, more leak proof. We have to look carefully at the Executive Orders and Laws governing Humint (Human intelligence). Spying is a tough and ugly game. You deal with unsavory people a la Noriega.22 Yet these people are often the ones that can penetrate organizations.
We must carefully find a way to guard against terrorists that are American and thus exempt from some intelligence gathering.
It is proper to suspect Bin Laden—no question about that; but it is also quite possible that he had support from people right here in the USA. They must be ferreted out and punished.
Bar and I talked to the White House Bushes yesterday. Then we went to bed and we said our prayers asking that God give George the strength to do what is right—the strength to stand in the face of the criticism that will come his way as each day goes past. It is going to be mean and ugly; but, Hugh, he is strong enough to take it and to lead. I am sure of that.
More later—much more.
Oh yes, I have debated whether to make a [press] statement. Clinton did. Ford did. I don’t know about Carter. I think I should say something. I have asked White House staff to advise. It is not easy, dear friend, to sit on the sidelines now, not easy to not make decisions or take actions. But I must continue to stay out of the limelight, out of the news, giving quiet support to #43.
Sincerely,
George
I sent this e-mail to George W.’s aide, Logan Walters, in response to an e-mail from the President about the family gathering at Camp David for Christmas. While in office, George referred to Camp David as Camp Marvin.
Logan, my Lad. Please relay this important message to all those who have a “need to know”.
Re: The Bowling Championship:
Count me in, unless of course my 77-year-old hip acts up. My backhand style should minimize the chance of any flare-up, however. I am ready for the fray. Please enter me in the Championship Flight.
On another subject: One minor suggestion. Why, when considering a name change for what was known as Camp David, can’t the name go up, not down? Ike went down two generations to find Camp David. Now #43 appears to be going down by a few years for Camp Marvin. But doesn’t it make sense to honor age? Really!
Please, dear Logan, ask the President to consider “Camp Gampster.” This would mean a lot to my wife Barbara and would undoubtedly be universally approved by AARP and by my grandkids, who are hoping against hope to be remembered in my will. Just a thought, Logan. Have a great Christmas and if you dare enter the Oval Office feel free to share this thinking with THE PRESIDENT. He’ll love it.
GB
June 23, 2002
Dear Hugh,
58 years ago . . . September 2, 1944 to be exact, I took off from CVL-30, the USS San Jacinto to attack Chi Chi Jima, an island south of Tokyo, slightly north of Iwo Jima.
On September 1 my squadron had attacked the island and the anti-aircraft fire had not been too heavy.
In the ready room before our mission we were told two things if my memory serves me correctly after all these years.
One, we were told we would probably encounter much heavier anti-aircraft fire and, two, we were told that when the day’s missions were completed the entire Task Force 58 under the command of Admiral Mitscher, would head south to the Philippine Sea where all the vessels would be under the command of Admiral Bull Halsey. We would then become Task Force 38.
Quite a lot has been written about my mission that day—the fact that my plane was shot down as I dove to attack a radio station on Chi Chi Jima, that I parachuted and lived while my two crew members did not, that I was rescued by Finback a U.S. submarine, pulled from my little yellow life raft well within sight of land.
I have never told my family much about this experience. I have not felt like talking about it too much. Besides I am not sure that generations that follow are that interested in the exploits of their predecessors. And then there is the fact that I myself get a little disinterested as you see old guys telling of their own heroism, and of how it was back then on the beaches of Normandy or of Iwo Jima. Every Veteran’s Day, out they come, wearing those caps with buttons on them, living wholly in the past sometimes demanding more from the country they served.
But I will tell you that for years I have had on my conscience the loss of my crewmens’ lives. Ted White and John Delaney were killed on that fateful day; and I lived. To this day I have felt a responsibility for their deaths even though I am confident I did what I could to see that they got out of our burning plane.
And I wonder, why was my life spared and their lives taken.
For some reason I have always wanted to go back to Chi Chi Jima and now I have done just that.
On my friend John Rogers’ Challenger we flew from Portland to Anchorage to Tokyo to Iwo Jima. From Iwo we went by Japanese Navy helicopter to Chi Chi. All along the way the Japanese went out of their way to make me feel welcome.
Because some Pentagon lawyers did not want my mission supported by U.S. Military assets as envisioned and supported by our uniformed military, particularly CINCPAC,23 our Embassy in Tokyo under the leadership of Ambassador Howard Baker, encouraged the Japanese to have me come as a guest of the Japanese Government.
When we landed at Atsugi Airfield, a military airbase operated jointly by U.S. forces and Japanese forces, I was greeted by a wonderful welcoming committee, by U.S. sailors and Japanese sailors standing in formation at plane side, by representatives from Japan’s Defense and Foreign Affairs ministries, by General [Thomas] Waskow, a 3-star Air Force general with a huge command out here. And on and on it went. Wreath laying, flag raising, dinners in my honor, flowers galore, dancing kids and old folks doing the hula, now as Japanese a dance as Hawaiian.
On Iwo, where 20,000 Japanese men lost their lives and where 15,000 Marines fell, the Japanese Navy greeted me warmly. We went on a tour of the black beaches of Iwo. As I walked the now famous landing beach the coarse volcanic sand went down into my shoes, and as I sank in I wondered how our Marines could get across this awful beach with heavy packs on their backs.
I stood atop famed Mt. Suribachi. With participation by Japanese Naval officers, Ambassador Baker and I raised an American flag right next to the very spot where American Marines did the same thing. The photo of that event is considered one of the greatest war photos ever taken. It depicts our victory in that the deadliest of battles.
I was able to contain my emotions pretty well on this trip; but when that flag went up I must confess that I choked back a tear. I was surprised that the Japanese Commanders let us raise an American flag there, but they did and I was very grateful.
We spent my first night of the trip on Iwo, and then flew the next morning to Chi Chi.
Our large Japanese Navy helicopter retraced the route that I flew over Chi Chi 58 years ago on that fateful day. Obviously we did not approach the island at 10,000 feet like I did before—we were low, maybe 3,000 feet off the water.
The ocean looked just the same. Indeed the waves and wind were hauntingly familiar, although the wind was blowing in a different direction than on the day I was shot down.
The Japanese had gotten from their historical records a point where my plane went into the water. So we flew the path my plane flew, saw the place where my target had been, then turned out to sea simulating the path that my disabled TBF [Avenger] followed before I jumped and it crashed.
We circled the crash point then proceeded to Chi Chi’s heliport where I was given a fantastic welcome.
The Mayor led the welcoming delegation. The school kids turned out waving Japanese and American flags. The old people of the village cheered and waved.
And what was I thinking? Well, I was thinking that 58 years ago a young Naval aviator, just turned 20 years old, was dropping bombs on some of the people welcoming me now. Today these people cheer not me but the USA. That I had been President of the United States, the first ever to visit the Bonin Islands, helped with the enthusiasm factor—of that I am sure.
So the visit was not only a very personal, emotional visit of remembrance but it was also a visit that highlighted reconciliation between our two countries.
I expect some families who lost loved ones in World War 2 might not share my view on the importance of reconciliation, about forgetting the brutal past; but given the importance of the U.S.-Japan relationship and Japan’s commitment to democracy and freedom I am sure I am right. And, besides, isn’t it good to heal old wounds?
After our welcoming ceremony at a heliport, we boarded a launch for the 30-minute boat ride to the place in the ocean where my plane went down and I went into the water.
The land seemed very, very close. I have a recollection that I saw my chute blow up on an island. Over the years I have wondered how accurate my memory might be.
But now in 2002 when I climbed into a little rubber dinghy and paddled away from the boat that brought us to the site and looked towards ashore I thought, “Well maybe my memory was accurate. Maybe I did see my chute blow ashore. Maybe old age has not made me do what so many old guys do, namely, dramatize one’s own role in events.”
At the site I was handed two bouquets of flowers, these to be dropped into the ocean in memory of my lost crewmen.
CNN, doing a major documentary on my visit, had their cameras at the ready; and I wondered for an instant if this gesture would seem corny or insincere. I went alone to the bow of the boat, threw the flowers into the sea and then watched the current take them away. It felt right. I felt closer to my friends. I think it didn’t appear insincere or too dramatic.
As mentioned above I climbed off the stern of the boat into a rubber raft, bigger than the one I was in when rescued by Finback. I paddled away all by myself. I was in a sense trying to relive what went before, but none of the fear and sickness and prayer came back. I thought I would get emotional in that little boat, but I didn’t. I did think about the fate of White and Delaney, but I do that a lot anyway. Of course, drifting in my little rubber dinghy I did count my blessings.
And again I wondered why God spared my life and their lives were taken. In those few minutes adrift in the waters off Chi Chi Jima I thought about my luck, about my own good fortune, about the wonderful life I have had.
We went back to the harbor where I was honored at a huge lunch given by Mayor Miyazawa and other town officials. Along the way the little flags came out again while people, young and old, waved and made me feel welcome.
Yesterday afternoon I went to high spot above the bay and there met a Japanese man who claimed that he actually saw me being rescued by Finback. He had been working nearby and was told that an American plane was down. He rushed to the cliff where now there is a fence and a regular viewing stand, and from there he and another man saw me in my raft and saw Finback come up, pick me up, and then go down again.
The man’s name is Atasaki.24 He also befriended a captured American pilot. This Marine aviator was shot down and captured shortly after my encounter with fate.
The Marine pilot was actually working with Atasaki monitoring radio broadcasts and translating for the Japanese. I expect he dissembled, but nevertheless Atasaki got to know this Texas Marine pilot very well. They became friends. They took baths in the same deep tub. They slept near each other in a huge concrete reinforced bunker.
One day American planes came again and bombed the island. According to Atasaki, Vernon,25 the Marine pilot, raised his fist waving at the planes overhead and jokingly said something to the effect that those sons of bitches had almost killed him.
Several days later as Atasaki and Vernon were sharing a cool breeze, drinking coffee up against the bunker, some Japanese Naval personnel came around the corner, beckoned the Marine pilot to go with them. Vernon and Atasaki looked at each other. They knew what Vernon’s fate would be. They said farewell to each other as the Marine was led back down the hill to be executed.
Vernon was taken to the spot right next to where I had lunch yesterday. He was told to kneel. He loosened his collar to make it easier for his executioner and he was beheaded.
Atasaki told me “I loved Vernon. I tried to figure out how to honor his memory, so I took his name. My first name is now Vernon.”26
On this trip I heard nothing about the cannibalism practiced on captured American airmen by the Commander of the forces on Chi Chi, a man later tried by a War Crimes tribunal and executed for his horrible crimes. In preparation for this trip I read that livers and thighs were eaten, done so to convey to the soldiers how tough the Commander was. I am told that the Japanese are very embarrassed by what happened. It is understandably never discussed.
At last night’s dinner I sat next to an SB2C dive-bomber pilot who was flying off the carrier Hornet when his plane was shot down over Chi Chi. He parachuted into a bay right near the center of the main town. He was captured and tortured. They hung him by his arms from a tree. The pain was horrible. Then they took him and staked him out near a building, which they felt would be targeted and attacked by our own planes. Finally they sent him to prison camp in Japan. He was the last American POW to leave Chi Chi Jima alive. The rest were tortured and executed.
Why were some lives spared while others were taken?
I am writing this aboard our Challenger in flight to Tokyo from Iwo. It has taken us two hours up to now, so very soon we land back near Tokyo. I will call on Prime Minister Koizumi to thank him for having me as a guest of the Japanese government, thanking him for helping me fulfill this dream of going back to Chi Chi.
Was the trip worth it? Yes, yes indeed in so many wonderful ways.
I hate the overused word “closure,” but it does apply here as I think back to my own experience as a young pilot.
I, of course, will carry with me until I die, my concerns about Ted White and John Delaney. My feeling of responsibility has perhaps been tempered a little as a result of this visit. I am not sure why. But I know it will never ever go away completely.
One thing that helped in some strange way was when I was talking to Bill Connell, the dive-bomber pilot referred to above, I asked what happened to him. He told me of his SB2C being hit by anti-aircraft fire. I asked what happened to his crewman. He said, “He never got out of the plane.” I wonder if he carries with him that same feeling of concern that I do.
Come fall CNN will air a detailed documentary of this return to Chi Chi. I have enjoyed working with Paula Zahn and her team. The bottom line is this—I am glad that this trip will be documented, the tapes all going to my Library at A&M. But for me, the documentary is not what this trip was about. It was far more personal than that.
Next year, James Bradley, prize-winning author of Flags of our Fathers, a marvelous book about the seven men who raised the flag on Mt. Suribachi and about the terrible battle for Iwo, will be coming out with a new book about Chi Chi and American pilots shot down there. Bradley who has done a lot of research, was most interesting. His book Flyboys will trace the lives of seven aviators downed over Chi Chi. I think he is working my little episode with death into the book in some way, too.27
Hugh, the return was very personal to me. I had some quiet time to think and wonder—to remember and even to forget.
Now back home to family. There I will get on with my life and think about my next and only other adventure—the parachute jump on my 80th birthday—June 12, 2004.
I am a very lucky man, Hugh, but the nice thing about that is I do know it and I appreciate the trials and tribulations, the ups and downs with the defining words emerging now as “lucky”, “happy”, and “blessed”.
Love to all Sideys,
George
I wrote this essay about July 4 at the request of James Bradley, for a project he was doing.
RANDOM THOUGHTS BY #41 ON JULY 4TH, 2002
This fourth of July was special because on everyone’s mind was Sept. 11, 2001.
I started my day by reading the lesson at our outdoor church service. St. Anne’s by the sea, our lovely summer chapel was literally overflowing with people. Patriotism knew no bounds. The minister, M.L. Agnew, led the congregation in patriotic songs. These were interspersed with the regular Sunday communion ritual. The sea was calm and the very tranquility of the normally restless sea, next to which this outdoor chapel sits, added to the majesty of the day.
Afterwards we came back to our beloved point of land. Our flags fly there all the time. Lit at night they serve as beacons for our own family, and others in our little community have told me that they love to see the flags flying. Yesterday it was the Texas flag, the Maine flag, and, of course, Old Glory at the top of the flag pole.
Today when the President arrives we will add the Presidential flag. It will fly above the yard arms just below the American flag.
I did think about the flag raising at Mt. Suribachi. I thought about that feeling of wonder and joy I had when, many years after the horrible battle on the sands of Iwo, I was allowed to raise the American Flag right in front of Japanese officers and men within a few feet of where the “Flag of our Fathers” was raised 57 years ago. I also thought of how lucky I was to be alive, how blessed I am to have such a warm and loving family.
At church I thought of the many problems facing our President as he governs this nation. I thought of the war against terror, about the troubled situation in the Middle East, about the threats of more terrorist incidents that might befall our country. I counted my many blessings and prayed that God will spare our nation more tragedy and that God will continue to give strength to our President.
In the evening we went out aboard a large boat owned by friends. We watched the fireworks. And again patriotism and love of country abounded. I hope the young ones with us on that boat will always appreciate how lucky they are to be Americans.
I wrote this for Newsweek magazine when my great friend Ted Williams died.
July 5, 2002
I’ll never forget when Ted accompanied me to a big sports show in Manchester, New Hampshire. I was running for President but nobody could care less. They just wanted to shake the hand of the great Ted Williams.
When his wonderful son John Henry Williams called me last Friday morning to tell me that his great Dad had passed away, my heart was full of grief. Ted Williams was 83, but he will always be remembered as “The Kid.”
This greatest of ball players was a close friend to me and to my family. It’s not just that he was a strong supporter back when I was in the political wars. (After I left the political scene, Ted strongly supported both the President and the Governor of Florida.) More importantly, he was a friend. He was a loyal guy, a good man. When I was a young high school student, a true Red Sox fan back then, I worshiped the ground Ted walked on. So did every other baseball fan. Ted Williams was simply the best hitter in baseball. He knew it, and his confidence at the plate was contagious. Later on, Ted became one of the best fly-casting fishermen in the world. As in baseball, excellence was the key word there.
I also loved the way Ted stood up to the sporting press. He called them as he saw ’em. And he did not hesitate to tell off those whom he felt had been unfair to him or to his beloved Red Sox. He did things his way. Got a home run in his last at-bat, and didn’t tip his hat.
Ted showed courage at the plate, putting his average on the line instead of sitting to protect it. But beyond that, Ted served his country in two wars. (Lost more than four seasons in the prime of his career, in the process.) As a Marine pilot he set a tremendous example for other celebrities in America. He believed in service to country, and indeed he served with honor. While many celebrities found ways to avoid real service, Ted was right there, out front, flying fighter planes.
Long after Ted left Fenway Park, his magic lived on. When he came to the White House to receive a Presidential medal, the entire staff was agog. It was as if he had just finished his record shattering .406 season.
Ted has been fighting illness for a long time. Now he is at peace. His friends will mourn. All baseball fans will say, “Ted, we honor you as the best hitter baseball has ever produced.”
We Bushes will say, “In Ted’s passing, we have lost a true and loyal friend.” Our most sincere condolences go to Ted’s son, John Henry Williams, and to the rest of his family.
Of course there still are heroes. Ted Williams was a true hero in baseball and in life.
I wrote these remarks for the Arab American Cultural & Community Center Seventh Annual Unity and Friendship Gala in Houston.
November 2, 2002
I am here tonight to pay my respects to the Arab American community, and to thank this community center for all you do to benefit our Houston community. . . .
I [asked if I] could make a few remarks before dinner. At 78, I need my rest; and, besides, there was an ugly rumor circulating that the chef here was going to serve broccoli. . . .
Since leaving the Presidency, and especially since our son was elected President, I have tried to stay out of the public eye. I don’t do op-ed pieces, or press conferences; and I darn sure stay out of the shouting matches that we see so often on TV these days.
What I do is sit in front of my TV set and complain and cuss and use that clicker that drives Barbara crazy. I don’t recommend this to you very active, much younger people, but at my age I enjoy this a lot.
Every once in a while I will speak out, but only when I feel something deep in my heart and only when I am convinced that my speaking out will not complicate the life of our President. I had my chance and was given his full support. Now we have a role reversal, and I am very happy to support him in every way.
I wanted to speak here to condemn intolerance, to condemn the stereotyping that has hurt so many American families, adults and children alike.
I reject the tendency to condemn Arabs in general or an entire religion in particular because of the extreme views of some extremists who smear the good name “Muslim.”
I am not here to single out one or two misguided critics of Islam but rather to say how offensive I find the relentless attacks on Arabs.
Some evangelical Christians in this country have made inflammatory statements about Islam. I am very glad that Jerry Falwell corrected the record and apologized for his remarks that caused so much grief, so much hurt in many Arab countries.
But to be fair here, I have seen terrible inflammatory statements made by some Mullahs about our country and about other religions.
I would say that it would be grossly unfair to judge Islam by the extreme rantings of some radical Mullahs, just as it would be grossly unfair to judge Christianity by some of its intolerant practitioners here and abroad.
The 9/11 attacks should not be used by any American to condemn all Muslims and certainly not to teach hatred towards Arabs.
Arab Americans condemn terrorism and yet often they get stereotyped right here in Houston, right here in America. This must not be.
Al Qaida extremists are evil. I hope we can all agree on that. They are our enemy. They have brought death and destruction to our society, killing the innocent to achieve their dishonorable goals.
What bothers me today is that, because all the 9/11 terrorists had Arab surnames, many Americans seem quick to condemn Arabs in general.
Since 9/11, I have felt there is a concerted effort in at least one of our great newspapers and in some political quarters to make an enemy out of Saudi Arabia.
Saudi Arabia is not our enemy. They have been our friend for many years. And so have the other Gulf countries, and Egypt and Jordan, too. Their governments and vast majorities of their people were as offended by 9/11 as you and I were.
I remember back when the Shah of Iran was vilified in our media and by some in our Congress. The Shah was pushed out and replaced by radical Mullahs who preached hatred of our country. We were and I am afraid still are, in their eyes, The Great Satan. I hope and believe that someday we will have improved relations with Iran. The people there do not hate us.
The 9/11 attacks should not be used by believers of any faith to condemn the prophet Muhammad or the peace-loving leaders of Islam today.
After Jerry Falwell apologized for his unfortunate remarks about Muhammad, the deputy head of the Islamic Lama Gathering, a Sheikh Zaeed, said Falwell’s remarks were a huge campaign against Muslims coming from the Bush Administration.
The President spoke to the nation about the need for tolerance yet his administration is attacked like this, thus proving that intolerance often begets intolerance; hatred begets hatred.
And insidious lies often go unchallenged.
Inflammatory statements from here hurt us in the Muslim world, the Arab world; and inflammatory statements from people like Osama Bin Laden or Sheikh Zaeed increase hatred here for Muslims in particular and Arabs in general. So grossly unfair is this.
Though his unfortunate remarks caused great concern in many countries, Falwell apologized. I have seen no such apology for the vicious attacks on America from the radicals abroad.
When Oklahoma City’s Federal building was blown up, many Americans hastened to the conclusion that this must have been the evil work of an “Arab terrorist.”
When the recent sniper attacks were going on,28 I literally prayed, “Please do not have these killers be of Arab descent, be Muslim extremists.” When John Muhammad’s name surfaced, some were quick to again condemn Arabs and Islam. This alleged killer probably knows less about Islam than my dog Sadie, but his actions bring prejudice down on the heads of many innocents because of the propensity out there to stereotype.
Listen to these words from a friend of mine, a dedicated Catholic Seminarian: “What those terrorists did on September 11th a year ago had nothing to do with serving God. They may have called themselves Muslims but they have nothing in common with my Muslim friends, just as I have nothing in common with neo-Nazis who call themselves Christians and try to use the Bible to justify their violence and racism.”
My appeal is for tolerance and understanding, for avoiding polarizing rhetoric, for working as best we can for your goals of “peace and justice.”
I came here to say thanks for all you do for our community; to say I empathize with each and every one of you who may have felt the sting of prejudice right here in this land of the free and the brave.
I deplore the mindless attacks that hurt the feelings of Arabs, be they Christian or Muslim.
I came to assure you that our President does not want war, does not want a conflict where innocent people lose their lives. What he wants is to make Iraq’s brutal dictator give up his ruthless quest for weapons of mass destruction; make him honor the many agreements already made and broken; make him abide by the will of the civilized world.
Speaking of innocents—the President wants to compel Saddam Hussein to account for Kuwaiti citizens rotting in Iraqi jails, something he agreed to in the tent at Safwan when Desert Storm ended in his humiliating defeat.
I can assure you that this President, like his Dad before him, certainly abhors war and the horrors it can bring to innocents.
As President I worried about the loss of innocent life; but I knew in my heart of hearts we could not let a tyrant with the 4th largest army in the world take over his neighbor by force. Yet I worried about the loss of life in Kuwait and in Iraq too.
But innocent lives are at stake in Iraq today as Saddam brutalizes his own people, and as he continues to violate international law and sacred agreements. I will never forget the picture of that Iraqi mother holding her dead baby in her arms, both of them having been gassed to death by Saddam’s forces.
Given our President’s own strong faith, I can assure you that he values the life of every innocent Iraqi man, woman or child (and that goes for the innocent ones in what he hopes will someday be the State of Palestine), just as he valued the life of everyone killed in the Twin Towers on September 11.
So put it this way: No one wants war against Iraq, but no one wants Iraq to get more terrifying weapons of mass destruction.
We must do all we can to work for peace and then, if we have to fight, to protect the lives of the innocents in Iraq.
And, here at home, we must continue to fight against stereotyping as we fight and win the war against terror. No freedom-loving, patriotic American should ever be subjected to prejudice because of his looks or his religious preference.
We must be tolerant, and as the rallying cry of this organization says, we must stand for “Peace and Justice.”
Thank you very much.
I wrote this urgent letter to Dan Amos, chairman of the board and CEO of AFLAC.
November 12, 2002
Dear Dan,
This will be the most unusual request you have ever received from any President of the United States of America.
The truth is, I need two more of those tiny, furry AFLAC ducks. Why, might you ask? Well, the answer is Sadie, our beloved dog who sleeps in our bed and dominates our lives, loves the AFLAC duck you gave me at that marvelous AFLAC meeting in Las Vegas. It’s quiet around our house now because the AFLAC duck is missing. Frankly, I kind of like the quiet, but Barbara and Sadie both miss hearing that duck go, “AFLAC, AFLAC!”
So, if you have a couple of those ducks lying around, would you mind sending them to me. I would be willing to pay for the ducks and even pay shipping and handling. I don’t want that great company of yours to go in the red because of this.
Most sincerely,
George Bush
E-mail to my granddaughters Jenna, Barbara, and Lauren.
March 9, 2003
Subject: Nervous grandfather
It is Sunday morning. I am at my duty station in the office. I am worrying about three of my older granddaughters. Spring break causes the worry. I wonder—are all three off somewhere trying to get on the Wild College Women TV show? Are they having a good time? Are they sticking near their three campuses so they can do what, well, what I used to do during spring break back in the good old days, circa 1946-47-48. Namely, stick near the Library. I found it was almost free of noise and people during spring break. Maybe you three have discovered the same thing. I am here all week in Houston in case you need adult leadership. In spite of these worries, maybe because of these worries, I love all three of you “guys” (who says the Gampster can’t be “with it”?)
Devotedly,
Gampy
E-mail I sent to the President when Saddam Hussein fell from power.
April 9, 2003
Subject: very personal for POTUS
Dear George,
This is a great day for our country, indeed for the world. I talked to Saud al Nasser, Kuwait’s former Ambassador, a great friend. He called to congratulate you and the USA. I said “What about the Arab Streets?” He says, “That is all gone, all over. USA is again widely respected.” I thanked him. I hope he is right.
But this letter is about your leadership and the way you have conducted yourself as you face an accumulation of problems that no American President in the last 150 years has faced.
You have borne the burden with no complaining, no posturing. You have led with conviction and determination; and now the whole world sees that more clearly.
The other day I started to tell a group of very close friends, assembled to help with my 80th birthday charity celebration, how I felt about you and your service to our country.
The tide of the battle had not completely changed, but things were going our way. I got almost through my remarks. But then this father’s love of his son overwhelmed him.
I shamefully choked up, the tears tumbling down my aging cheeks. I was embarrassed; but then I realized that I shouldn’t worry if people see this visible manifestation of a father’s concern, a father’s love. It was pride, yes, but it was also an overflowing of joy from all that you have given your mother and me over the years. . . .
Chemical Bar29 and I are at your side. I hope you can feel it. We will stay out of the way, but I am there beside you, my heart overflowing with happiness on this day of vindication.
No doubt tough times lie ahead, but, henceforth, here and abroad, there will never be any doubts about our Commander in Chief, about his leadership, about our boy George.
Devotedly,
Dad
This was my handwritten response to a request from Henry O. Dormann, chairman and editor in chief of Leaders magazine, to answer this question: “What is the greatest challenge you have had to overcome in your life?”
April 23, 2003
I cannot single out the one greatest challenge in my life. I have had a lot of challenges and my advice to young people might be as follows:
1. Don’t get down when your life takes a bad turn. Out of adversity comes challenge and often success.
2. Don’t blame others for your setbacks.
3. When things go well, always give credit to others.
4. Don’t talk all the time. Listen to your friends and mentors and learn from them.
5. Don’t brag about yourself. Let others point out your virtues, your strong points.
6. Give someone else a hand. When a friend is hurting, show that friend you care.
7. Nobody likes an overbearing big shot.
8. As you succeed, be kind to people. Thank those who help you along the way.
9. Don’t be afraid to shed a tear when your heart is broken because a friend is hurting.
10. Say your prayers!!
I sent this e-mail to my granddaughter Barbara, and the second one to both Barbara and Jenna.
June 27, 2003
Subject: A cat
I am in the QUEENS Bedroom. Your Mum and Dad are gone. There is a black cat on my bed rubbing against my arm pit. What should I do? Now the cat is on the table. Help!
Your devoted Gampy
It is now 5:14 AM. That cat, Willy, is on my bed rubbing against my hand and licking it too. She/he was outside my door when I walked out to go get my coffee. Ramsey30 was bringing the coffee. So I went back to bed, and the next thing I remember is that cat nuzzling me. My question is, “Does the cat really love me?” Or, oops I am now in the bathroom and the cat, after rubbing against my leg, is now sitting on the chair right near my legs. What’s a Gampster to do?
Love,
POTUS 41
E-mail to the grandkids.
October 12, 2003
Subject: Leaving and crying.
In exactly 69 minutes we drive out the gate of the Point we love so much. The trek back to Houston begins. We speak at West Virginia Monday, then fly back to Houston Monday evening.
Yesterday Bill Busch31 and I took a final run in Fidelity. It was heaven. Swells but no real chop on the sea. There were tons of mackerel breaking the water but no blues, no stripers chasing them. We did see some tuna, obviously in quest of a mackerel lunch. I left Bill off on his boat here at the Point then roared back to the river going full blast. I am sure It was over 60. I felt about 19 years old.
The only thing wrong with the last five months is that none of you were here enough. Oh I know some got to stay as long as usual, but there never can be enough of having all of you here. Next year, promise this old gampster that you will spend more time with us here by the sea.
I am a very happy Gampy. My legs don’t bend too well. As you know I have had to give up fly fishing off the rocks, but there is plenty left to do—plenty of wonderful things.
I think of all of you an awful lot. I just wonder how each of you is doing—in life, in college, in school.
If you need me, I am here for you, because I love you very much.
This comes from your
devoted,
Gampy.
PS—I never went in the ocean this year. The first time in my 78 years here (I missed 1944) that I haven’t gone in. Sad am I, but I got huge kicks of seeing you dive off the pier. I got a clear shot at that from Jean’s office window.
Sadie just came in. She is very nervous. She sees the bags. She knows Ariel, Paula and Alicia32 left a week ago. Now she prances around viewing the horrid suitcases wondering what’s next for her. She’ll be OK in Houston but she’ll miss Kport—of that I am sure.
E-mail I sent to J. T. Crawford, husband of one of Barbara’s past aides, Quincy Hicks, after his father died. J. T. is the golf pro at the New Orleans Country Club.
January 05, 2004
Subject: For: JT
Dear JT:
E mail is so impersonal, so distant in a way.
But I have just heard about your terrible loss. I’ll never forget when my own Dad died. I was then Ambassador to the UN back in 1972. The finality of the news hit me hard, hit all of us hard, for our Dad was our true leader and to all of us a true, loyal friend.
I expect you are hurting a lot right now. You will be for some time. But I think you will find that as time goes by you will still ache some. Most of that ache will give way to happy memories of your wonderful Dad. Times together, jokes told, his pride in you—all of these and so much more will be with you forever.
Oh, you’ll still miss him a lot, even when you get to be my age; and that, Dear JT, is way up in the stratosphere. I still think a lot about my Dad, about all he gave to me in terms of values and joy. I can hear him singing with his beloved quartet. I can feel the respect that his peers all had for him. I was and always will be guided by his commitment to serving others. I confidently expect you will have many of the same thoughts about your own Dad.
So take time to grieve, to shed some tears, to honor his memory knowing that happier times lie ahead, knowing that those tears will assuredly give way to smiles then laughter.
Give my Love to your special bride, “Q”.
With respect and sincere
condolences from your
friend,
George Bush (#41)
This is an e-mail I wrote to Hugh Sidey about my 80th birthday celebration—called “41@80”—for which we raised $56 million for MD Anderson Cancer Center, the George Bush Library and Museum, and the Points of Light Foundation. As part of the fun I got to parachute. I would parachute again on my 85th birthday. Still thinking about whether to do it on my 90th . . .
June 23, 2004
Dear Hugh,
My Steuben Eagle, the lovely one you and Anne sent me, is staring at me as I type.
I find it hard to concentrate on the key board because Maine is at its sparkling best today—clear, relatively cool, sunny, flat seas, boats on the moorings in the bay.
But now I stop staring out the window and come back to my eagle and to the 41@80 festivities. I cannot imagine that there could be a better birthday for an old guy—ever. Jean Becker took charge early on and aided by a first class team of volunteers adopted a broad view plan and then executed it.
I was disappointed that they would not let me solo jump. At first I thought it was a Golden Knight33 conspiracy to keep an old guy out of harm’s way. After spending 6 hours in ground training I felt I was ready, but the elements were not. The Knights convinced me that the winds were very tricky. They changed direction at various altitudes, velocity, too. I yielded and after my second tandem jump I became convinced the Knights made the right call.
We are all surprised at how this jump has resonated. We are hearing from people all over the world. No negatives at least until now, and plenty of people whom I know and don’t know do understand that old guys should get out and “go for it”.
I am way behind on our correspondence and there has been a lot to correspond about; but for some reason 41@80 took a lot of my time.
My summer speaking schedule is very light—almost nonexistent, which is the way we have planned it.
And so I breathe in the sea air, sleep well at night, run fast over the waves and say “I am one lucky guy.”
More, much more, later on.
All best,
GB
I sent this e-mail to the staff with us in Kennebunkport: Chief of Staff Jean Becker; Tom Frechette, who was my aide; Michele Whalen, Barbara’s aide; our summer intern, Amanda Biedrzycki;, and Laura Pears, our logistics coordinator. I wrote this right before our grandson George P. married his beautiful bride, Amanda, in Kennebunkport, and right before we left to go to Athens, Greece, for the Opening Ceremonies of the 2004 Olympics and then on to a family cruise in the Greek isles. Yes, it was a very busy time!
August 5, 2004
Subject: Chief of Staff
I address this to our “Chief” asking that she enlist the summer lads or someone to solve this problem:
All of you, each in your own way, have done a good job on paper towels, Kleenex, soap, and toilet paper. Indeed, we have had very few glitches.
But now there is a new danger. The toilet seat upstairs here appears to be misaligned. There is grave danger that if it tilts further someone can fall off and get hurt. What if Laura re-broke her arm just before the cruise. What if Tommy or I had the embarrassment of having to call for help whilst writhing on the floor. How could we explain to Brian34 if M got seriously hurt in this unseemly, undignified, unladylike manner?
Jean—this may seem a tiny matter on this big BBQ day, just as wedding plans come to fruition, just as final decisions on the cruise must be made, security problems wrestled with; but please attend to this matter. Delegate! Lead us!
Do not ask Ariel—the man cooked all night long. Do not ask Teresa35 or Alicia or even Paula—they have other duties.
Perhaps this crisis can safely wait until after we all leave, but suppose we have all gone cruising and special, dear Amanda, while soloing in there, falls off—unattended.
Please Jean. Please do this.
P.S. Do not call a plumber. After Robin’s Nest pond work, increasing demands for champagne, more ordering-out-for pizzas, more “can I borrow the car or the truck?”, more “just have me met in Boston by People Movers,” I am feeling broke so we must fix this ourselves.
The more I think about it: “Tommy just bring me a monkey wrench!”
Sincerely,
George Bush,
41st President of the United
States of America
November 4, 2004
Dear Hugh,
I am all messed up. I started a letter to you. It was to have given you a day by day countdown until this day, election day 2004. But my good intentions gave way to numerous really meaningless phone calls from friends “How’s it look? What do the polls say? How was West Palm in Florida or Green Bay? Or how about Schilling36 being for the President? Or how is your aching gut?”
So the document I started is gone. It isn’t even in “My Documents” where I know I stored it.
But what’s to matter? Yesterday in the morning Jean Becker, who is so closely plugged in with the campaign literally from top to bottom, came into my office with the latest overnights. They were not good. There had been slippage in the battleground states. Though 43 was still leading by a thin smidgeon in many of the states, some of the important ones had slipped into a tie or into a small negative. This, of course, caused my aching duodenum to throb, to pulsate, to hurt. Peristaltic action did not start up, but I expected it at any minute to strike with a vengeance.
Sunday was a nice quiet day for us except I could not help but watch the darned TV. The talking heads seemed even louder, even more obnoxious. The Kerry campaign had given up any “respect for the office” long ago and his minions had apparently been unleashed to go the junk yard dog route. “Liar” was often used to describe the President. Hatred filled the airwaves and oozed into the print media, too.37
I am sure the Kerry people can point to some of our folks as junk yard dogs, mean liars about their man, John. Whatever! But the whole atmosphere is horrible and for this loving Dad it is impossible. I cannot run away and hide.
Though I finished campaigning on Saturday and got to go to a great Texan football game on Sunday it was almost a relief when someone in the campaign—perhaps [campaign manager] Ken Mehlman—called Jean and asked if I would fly to Green Bay for a rally on Monday. I did.
Monday morning I flew the 2hr 20 minute flight to Green Bay. I spoke for 20 minutes or so, shook a few hands, saluted the veterans who were putting on the event, reboarded the lovely jet and flew back to Houston. I am not sure that quick trip helped the cause, but the campaign hierarchy seemed pleased.
This trip though on a much smaller scale for me now, reminded me of my final campaign flight in 1988. We were heading back to Houston. Jim Baker came to me on our plane and said “[Bob] Teeter wants us to turn around, and go back to Illinois (or was it Missouri) for one last rally.” I said “No”, so we flew on to Houston.
(In this election I am a bit player. I want to do my part but now on this election day I do not feel that I have done my part.)
This morning “overnights” are much stronger than yesterday’s. I get a call from Florida with an upbeat appraisal—“up 5.” I call Jeb our realist, our expert on Florida and more. “Dad, we will carry Florida”.
Then I flip on some CNN talking heads who say we are behind by a smidgeon in Florida. Had they seen the tracking polls, the “overnights”? I figure they haven’t seen them. Ohio looks good, but I hear some Kerry minion proclaiming “We will win Ohio.” The Kerry campaign had their hopes sky high because of these ghastly inaccurate exit polls.
I like to watch Don Imus. He knows nothing of exit polls, overnights, you name it; but in his early morning show before the exit polls trickled in he proclaims “It is over, my man Kerry is in. I’ll bet anyone $10,000”. He then gets others on his program. Chris Matthews, [Tim] Russert, two or three other “experts”. None predict a clear cut victory for The President.
This letter ends here. We are arriving at Reagan Airport. Excitement is high.
Later on election afternoon . . .
I feel like I have been hit squarely in the gut—hard. The exit polls that we now hear about as I drive from Reagan to the White House look bad—quite bad. I feel a physical pain in the solar plexus. I cannot believe these numbers. And I certainly do not want to believe them.
White House experts and Ron Kaufman38 by phone tell me not to worry. The exit polls, particularly the first tranche, have historically been wrong. “Wait ’til the 4 o’clock cut.”
I checked in with the President, who was in his sweaty clothes having just vigorously exercised and then gotten a rub down. I also checked in with serene, wonderful Laura. Bar and I then got our modest luggage settled in at the Queens bedroom. I tried to nap, but a total nervous wreck by then, I decided to troll around the West Wing, determined of course to seek out Karl Rove. I checked first in the Oval Office and chatted with Ashley Kavanaugh and Linda Gambatesa who do so much for the POTUS day in and day out.
Ashley was at her desk just outside the Oval. So was wonderful Linda Gambatesa. They didn’t know more at that point than I did. The damn exit polls had cast a bit of a pall over the West Wing, though the more experienced political pros said “Not to worry.” But I did worry.
I said “hi” to Joe Hagin, to Condi, to Al Gonzales39 and then barged into Karl’s office. There he was with all the exit poll data. He was sitting alone at his computer. I sat at his table and he explained to me in great detail why I should not be concerned about the exit polls. Later in the evening he was proven to be 100% correct.
I left Karl’s office feeling a little better about things. I went back to the Residence and tried to nap. No luck. The Talking Heads background first on Fox then on CNN only made my gut start to hurt again.
Then the long night began.
I sat with the President in his Residence 2nd floor office. He fired up a great big cigar, and he made a few quick calls. From his desk on the second floor of the Residence, the same one I used to work from, I called Governor Jeb. He gave us great assurances about Florida’s outcome. “Dad, it will be 51—47. We are going to win Florida for sure.”
He was right. The pundits, who dominated the screens, had Florida “in play”. None at that point predicted a clear win.
In one of the three conversations with Jeb, he told us that Michael Moore . . . had left Florida taking his cameras with him. He had hoped to record controversy and fraud, but Jeb said he left and said he was taking his hit men to Ohio because Florida was fraud free. This is the first time I have ever felt anything remotely positive about “Fahrenheit man.”40 . . .
Ohio soon became the focal point. The fact that the President had done so well in helping many of the newly elected Senators got little focus. It was Ohio, Ohio, Ohio. Fox was the first to call Ohio. The big feet at CBS and ABC refused to give the state to us. NBC did follow Fox after a while. (I may be off on this timing.)
Word came to the President that the margin in Ohio was large enough that he had no worry about the “provisional ballots”. Even if they all went for Kerry this would not change the results. Bush wins Ohio.
We hoped that Ohio’s Secretary of State would so state, but Secretary Blackwell was not to appear, not to say anything.
There was discussion about whether the President should just go out and declare victory. I feared that without the remaining major networks declaring that we had won Ohio, the President would be taking on not only Kerry &Co but the network anchors as well.
John Edwards came out, and we were glued to the TV as he stated in essence that they would fight on, that every vote would count. Those words invoked the Florida situation of 2000. I felt it was strange, a rather sorry performance. I am sure the Kerry campaign had given this unwelcome assignment.
The President decided to go to bed and not claim the victory that we all felt was his. I was totally in accord with that decision.
This morning early, very early, after 2 hours sleep the President was awake getting his coffee. I padded down the hall to get my coffee just as he was going back into his bedroom, coffee in hand. He filled me in on the latest details.
Shortly thereafter he asked me to come over to the Oval Office. I threw on my clothes and went over there. The two of us sat alone in that historic office. For me it was magic.
Then the phone calls to newly elected Senators began. The President also called and thanked some top campaign and White House staffers. Dan Bartlett, the able Communications guy, came in with the very latest.
Andy Card had contacted Mary Beth Cahill, Kerry’s top campaign person. Andy reported that she had been very nice. No word though on if and when Kerry might “fold ’em”. Condi stuck her head in and embraced the Presidents, father and son.
Thought was given to getting some respected Democratic elder statesman to talk sense to Kerry, it being so obvious, to us a least, that he was toast.
I felt Bob Strauss would be the ideal person to call, but none of us wanted to look like it was a White House pressure move. Strauss was totally trusted but I for one worried that some Kerry minion would find out about the call and leak it to the press as an example of unacceptable pressure and/or of trying to deny the people’s right to know or right to have every vote counted.
Andy Card, wonderful, loyal, able Andy Card, came in to fill the President in on the very latest.
I said goodbye, getting a warm abrazo from the President of the USA. I began to tear up a little. I went out the side door and headed for the diplomatic entrance on the ground floor of the Residence. The President followed me. I had a chance to tell him that I loved him and that I was very, very proud.
I went over to get Barbara who was boarding the limo. Together we walked back to the path just outside the Oval Office and she said goodbye to her son. Neil and Maria41 had a chance to congratulate the President, too. The President walked past the cars which by then had pulled up. I started to wave goodbye. He asked me to come over to the putting green where Barney, the Scotch terrier, was picking the golf balls out of the holes as the President sank the putts.
As I stood there along with him on the green, I was thinking to myself what lies ahead. Will God continue to give him the strength and perseverance he needs? What comes next in the fight against terror, in working with the Congress, in bringing our divided country together? What can he do to lower the decibels of hatred and anger?
And then to myself I was saying, I wish I could help this son of ours. I wish I could do something to help ease the burden, a burden incidentally that he never ever complains about.
But I cannot. I am an old guy. My experiences are out of date. Perhaps my instincts aren’t as good as I once thought they were.
The President said to me “Dad, do you realize that this is the first time since 1988 that a President has won with a clear majority of the vote?” My mind raced back to my win over Dukakis in 1988. Who would have thought back then that I would be bonding with my own son in that manner?
As we drove out the White House gate I thought back to many of the things I loved about living in that special house for four years. And I thought about how blessed we are to have a fine son who will now live there for four more years.
Now back to our tiny house in Houston, back to watching Crime TV, to listening to Imus, to reveling in the wonders that our grandkids bring us, and to counting so many blessings that have come my way over the last 80 years.
Your now relaxed friend, his gut quiet, his horizons bright sends his warmest wishes.
Victory. How sweet it is.
GB
I sent this e-mail to Marlin Fitzwater right before Christmas.
December 20, 2004
. . . All is well here. Bar and I and Neil’s family go to Camp David from here on the 23rd; and then, the day after Christmas, we take all the families back to Boca Grande [Fla.]. POTUS and FLOTUS go quietly off to chop cedar at Crawford.
No, life is good, Marlin. I miss friends from our Presidential past. I miss making decisions that matter; but I rejoice in the blessings of family; and I find that if you keep moving no one can lay a glove on you; so I still do “white collar crime” speeches. I avoid yellow pad conferences; and I am cutting back on going out whether to friends’ houses or to events. I rent Blockbuster oldies, mix a nice dry one, then sit with Bar alone reflectively in front of our TV. Our dog Sadie begs for the popcorn or pretzels or parmesan that we nibble on during the movie. We then put her on the leash and walk her like the two oldest most predictable farts imaginable.
I am already thinking “Kennebunkport”.
Have a wonderful Christmas and just know that Bar and I talk about you, think about you, and that we treasure our friendship with you.
Love at Christmas,
gb
A letter to one of my favorite authors.
January 8, 2005
Dear Mr. Wolfe or, since I am 80, is it OK to say
Dear Tom,
I write with a request. I would love to have your signature for my copy of “I Am Charlotte Simmons”. Could you possibly sign the attached book-plate?
I write also as a Book Reviewer, a new role for me. I loved the book. I recommended it to all my family. Three of our college age “grands” are reading it now. This may be confidential, but the President read it too. My Barbara read it, and like me, she loved it. She got past the bad language and the sex stuff, realizing that you were telling a profound tale.
The elitists back in New York’s Sutton Place high altitude simply do not get it. They did not “get” that anyone could vote for my son. And, from some reviews, it seems they did not “get” or want to get the fact that innocent Charlotte was subjected to elite pressures that in a sense overcame her. Charlotte was red state. The book’s negative critics were blue states.
I have often been accused of betraying my own elitist past simply to curry favor down here in Texas. Wrong! I am at home here and have felt that way since 1948 when we first moved to Odessa, Texas. I am Charlotte Simmons not Frank Rich.42 My Presidential library is at Texas A&M not at Yale. I loved Yale but I am at home on the Aggie campus.
I just wanted you to know that you did all readers a great favor by writing about the arrogance and snobbishness of Charlotte’s room mates and about those smartass fraternity boys. Jojo became something of a human being, too. As for the bright nerds they did some good, but they came off to me as trying too hard to be different, and, in their own way, above the others there at Dupont U. They were bright but not loveable. Their woman spokesperson tried to be foul mouthed just to impress. I disliked her, but empathized more with her than with Charlotte’s tormenters.
Thanks so much for a great read. It ranks with your very best and that, dear sir, is high praise for I have loved your other works.
Most Sincerely,
George Bush
PS—Pardon my sloppy typing. My handwriting, at age 80, wiggles like a seismometer (new word) in Sri Lanka.
A devastating tsunami in the Indian Ocean struck Southeast Asia on December 26, 2004. More than 230,000 people lost their lives, and millions more lost their homes and their livelihoods. The President asked President Clinton and myself to head up fund-raising in the private sector—the first of several “disaster” projects we undertook. I wrote this letter to Hugh Sidey after President Clinton and I visited some of the countries devastated by the tsunami.
February 22, 2005
Dear Hugh,
As I sit down to type we have just left Manila, now enroute to Guam, then enroute to Honolulu, then on to the final leg back to Houston. About 8 hours ago we left the Maldives, the final stop on our 4 country swing to inspect Tsunami damage.
It has been an amazing trip. The distances have been mind boggling. On Thursday evening I left Houston and flew to L.A. to join up with President Clinton. From there the Odyssey started. . . .
It is now Monday afternoon back there in Houston; and we have spent only two nights in hotels in the 4 countries we visited. One was in Phuket, Thailand. The other in Colombo, Sri Lanka. The other nights have been on board this plane.
The plane has one very comfortable VIP stateroom complete with private bath and a nice fold-out bed. President Clinton’s staff informed Jean [Becker] that he liked to stay awake at nights playing cards and chatting, so they insisted I take the state room while he took over the next cabin which had 8 seats in it but no place to stretch totally out. I worried about this, but when I offered him the bed along the way he politely declined.
Let me start by commenting on what it has been like traveling with Bill Clinton. I thought I knew him; but until this trip I did not really know him.
First of all, he has been very considerate of me. I think my old age had something to do with it. He always waited so we could go off the plane together, giving the greeters the old familiar “wave from the top of the stairs”. You’ve seen that a million times. You wave even if there is no one there to wave at.
The biggest problem was staying right on schedule so we would not inconvenience others who were waiting or holding traffic, or getting us to the various events.
I had always heard that Bill Clinton had his own time—Clinton Standard time. He does. I on the other hand am compulsively “on time”. It’s a mother thing. Mother used to lecture us about “being considerate of others” or about “not keeping others waiting.”
Our own kids all are good about being on time. The President is a real on time guy; and he has seen, as I did, that the staff stays on time. I’ll never forget one particular trip that helped my own staff realize that being on time was important. As V.P. I was heading off for Yugoslavia leaving out of Andrews AFB. One staffer manifested on the flight was not at the plane when I drove up.
We waited a little while and then I told the Colonel in charge of the plane to take off. Barbara was not happy since we were leaving her staff member in the dust.
We left, and it never happened again.
On the Tsunami trip it was hard to stay on time. President Clinton is very gregarious. He loves interacting with people. (I do, too, but not if it inconveniences a lot of other people.)
Example. Before leaving our hotel in Colombo we told our Ambassador that of course we’d like to meet with his staff and their families. We were told that we were to be downstairs at a certain time. I was there, my staff was there; but no sign of Clinton. The poor State Department advance guy was trying to keep us on schedule. He called and was told “We’ll be right down”. After another 7—10 minutes the Ambassador, worried that we would get off schedule for our helicopter tour ahead, said “Maybe you should go in and start by saying a few words.” I entered the ball room, went to the podium and just then the door flew open and bigger than life itsownself Bill Clinton strode in. “George, sorry if I’m late but I had to stop by the kitchen to say hi and thank all those good people.”
He loved meeting the people all along the way, and they gave him a very warm welcome whether it was the crowds in Malle, the Maldives or school children in ravaged Sri Lanka. He was far more easily recognized and to be frank got a warmer reception than I did, and mine was pretty darn good. Rationalization: Not to detract from Clinton’s star power with the crowds, but I have been out of office for a long, long time.
Bill did have an opinion on everything and asked questions on a lot of things. When the questions were answered he would then opine based on some experience of his own, somewhere, sometime ago.
Does this purification system use reverse osmosis? This is diesel driven isn’t it? I remember the hurricane damage I saw in Xland, or this reminds me of my trip to the Sudan, or I used to love to watch the kids singing in Ulan Bator. Boy, you haven’t seen a wedding til you’ve seen one in Swaziland. These are made up examples, but the point is on every subject at every place he went on about his own experiences. I do think people were fascinated.
Once or twice I got a clandestine high sign from the people we were talking to that we had to move on, that I had to get him going.
In grade school they had a place on our report cards “Claims no more than his fair share of time and attention in the class room”. Bill would have gotten a bad mark there.
When we reached Honolulu my e-mail came back on. I received an e mail from [my] Sister Nan [Ellis] along the way. She had been watching the TV coverage of our trip. Her message was one line that said, “He’s still claiming more than his fair share.”
I guess the TV coverage reflected that he was “on” a lot. But I did not mind this a bit. On many things he is much more au courant than I am, and besides I soon realized as the trip got underway if we got in a bind for things to say or answers to be given to questions it was reassuring to know that “he was deman!”
Clinton went out of his way not to criticize the President. He talked about the generous commitment of the USA, of our effective military support, of the money the private sector had given. I was a little unclear on his new mission for the UN that starts after he and I report to the President on March 8th.
He talked about it all along the way. At times he talked about raising money from other nations. At times he mentioned helping to guarantee that the money is prudently used. . . .
The trip of tears:
I have never seen such devastation. We started off in Thailand at Phuket. Many of the big resort hotels in Phuket are still in operation. But soon after we boarded our helicopters we began to see the real ravages of the tsunami. Many buildings were flattened. Only rubble and cracked up foundations remained. Those left standing had been gutted.
We flew to tiny Takua Pa then drove to Baan Nam Kem village. We chatted with some kids. We watched the building of some new fishing boats, the fishing fleet having been totally demolished. We saw first hand the good being done by U.S. AID43 workers and NGOs of all sorts.
But it was not until the next day when we landed in Aceh (pronounced Ah-chay) [Indonesia] that we began to feel the human side of this tragedy.
Our helicopter made several turns over the hardest hit area. Where there had been hundreds of private homes, there was nothing. Much of the rubble and debris had been cleared, the bodies removed; but I kept thinking what this must be like for the families. Mostly fishermen they lived by the sea, living humbly in tiny homes, but at least they were safe and free to make a living.
Now as we walked from the chopper a few hundred yards to our briefing point we went through lines of people. The old and the young, men and women, all lined up to watch as we came in.
The saddest part for me related to the little children. I saw one father holding his 6 year old son’s shoulder. He was standing, emotionless, just holding his boy and staring. I asked the translator with us what exactly had happened to him. His wife and several other of his kids were all killed, only this one boy alive, with him, at his side.
On and on these tales of sadness went. Kids watching their parents drown, tales of fear, tales of hopelessness. It was so moving and so desperately sad.
Of course the victims had lost all their clothing. I noticed that many had on dirty tee shirts, often with U.S. company logos or sports team logos.
I saw no latrines, though I was told latrines had been dug and were kept sanitary by dumping lime into the pits.
I was told some would not eat the fish beginning to be caught again because the fish might have eaten off the dead bodies, some of which were still being recovered.
Way down in the Maldives 3,000 miles from Aceh the Maldivians told me bodies from Indonesia had been recovered, identified by dog tags or credit cards.
At Aceh most of the body recovery was finished—the bodies taken to a central burial place and buried before everyone was overcome by the ghastly smell of decaying flesh.
The Indonesian official with whom we traveled to Aceh told me how grateful they were for the work and presence of the U.S. military.44 At every stop this was mentioned to me. The Marines, for example, would enter an area, get out in the mire and the muck and start cleaning up, often working side by side with the locals.
As we surveyed the devastation I wondered what it would take to bring about total reconstruction. The task looks so daunting, so impossibly difficult.
I was impressed by the presence and grit of U.S. AID workers. They were right in the mix helping with temporary housing, with clean water, with restoring some hope to the little kids. These are dedicated, compassionate Americans, men and women who obviously care. They will never get proper credit, but I think they are in these villages because they truly care and truly want to help.
On our first stop, Thailand, I was greeted at the airport by Thailand’s first lady, Khunying Shinawatra, the wife of my friend Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra. I had met Thaksin on several occasions in Bangkok long before he was elected, shortly after I was dis-elected (new word). He has just come off of a huge electoral victory, his party getting a clear majority, and now he is in absolute control of the parliament. This was the first time that any party had absolute control and the first time, perhaps in history, that a Prime Minister finished his first term and then would go on to win a big victory in a national election.
Thaksin gave a lovely dinner for us at a resort hotel which had escaped any damage from the storm. He invited several of his key Cabinet people to join us. The food was good. The company was good. But all of us were dead tired and our lids were heavy.
Thaksin, like the rest of the leaders we met, expressed sincere gratitude to the USA for our relief support.
All along the way people commented on how unique and wonderful it was to see Bill Clinton and me, men of different parties and different views, working together on this relief and recovery effort. They seemed genuinely grateful.
The second country we visited was Indonesia. We met the new President, in Medan, a town about half way between Jakarta and Aceh. I was impressed with President Yudhoyono. He told of his plans to guarantee that the goods sent to help his people would actually get to the people. He would fight to see there would be no rip-offs, no corruption. This is important because the American press, as is their wont, now seem addicted to the feeling that graft and corruption are rampant in the relief and reconstruction work.
Bill and I did 3 major network morning shows from the Maldives and we were repeatedly asked how we knew the goods would reach the people for whom they were intended. The truth is there is no guarantee. There may well be incidents of stealing or cheating, but it is important that the recipient countries set up mechanisms to guard against corruption. Another truth is that our mission is to raise the private funds to help, but we do feel obligated to impress on the various officials with whom we meet that the whole world will be watching to see that integrity and honor prevail as the reconstruction effort unfolds.
From Thailand we went on to Sri Lanka.
We were given a lovely coat and tie dinner by Sri Lanka’s President Kumaratunga. The dinner was held in her house which had once been the colonial Governor’s mansion. We had drinks in the spectacular garden, and then went back into the mansion for dinner.
Clinton’s staff told us that he was dead tired and asked that we help get out of there by 10 PM. That was fine by me. The meal was served nicely and quickly, so by 9:50 we were finished. We had been told that the President had originally wanted us to stick around until midnight but was agreeable to a 10PM departure.
She got up and gave a very short and very nice toast. I was next—short and sweet. President Clinton was next—short and sweet. But when it came to getting out of the room it was a different story. He stopped and chatted and explained things to official after official. When he got to the final exit he engaged President Kumaratunga in a long discussion. Leaning up against the exit wall he went on and on. Clinton’s entourage was clearly upset.
But President Kumaratunga seemed to be taking it all in and enjoying it.
As for me, I had said my goodbyes, and trying to accommodate the Clinton staff’s desires, I loitered about making clear we should be in the cars. Hand gestures and shrugged shoulders did not help.
When President Clinton finally emerged and we climbed into our car together, he said, “George, you owe me big time for getting us out of there a lot earlier than we expected.” I thanked him profusely. And I said nothing more. You cannot get mad at the guy. I admit to wondering why he can’t stay on time, but when I see him interacting with folks my wonder turns to understanding, with a dollop of angst thrown in.
I think his staff is scared to death of him. He never bawled them out in front of us, but on the very last time together when we were doing our live TV broadcasts from the Maldives I heard him turn on his aide and take a huge bite out of his ass. It had to do with whether the mike for TV should go down through his shirt and out the bottom of the shirt or whether it could be hooked on the back.
But at that juncture he was very tired. Let’s face it when tired you get angry more easily. Yesterday, for example, I had typed up about 8 pages of my letter to you, and damned if I didn’t lose them. The computer ate my own home work. I was doubly po’d, and I am afraid I let my grumpiness show; but I took it out on IBM and on myself not on Tommy or Jean.45 Fatigue will do that to a guy, especially when he is sure it is the computer’s fault not his. Well, probably!
(Side bar: I have now written 2,747 words, 11,834 characters, make that 14,524 characters with spacing, 53 paragraphs and 276 lines; so, dear Hugh, if this Think Pad now digests my work I will exit with no chute this Air Force’s special mission Boeing 757; but first the IBM Think Pad will go sailing out into these clear Pacific skies only to fall to its just reward.)
Back now to Mission Tsunami.
It is said that the Sri Lankan coast was hardest hit of all. We did not get to go to the place that was pounded the hardest, but we saw plenty of damage.
We stopped in a little village where the people’s houses (shacks) had all been destroyed. They were living in tents. They had nothing. They had lost everything.
I was touched by one group of school children. The kids were sitting on the dirt crayoning pictures. The teacher had told me that this was therapeutic for them. That if they could draw about what they had seen and draw about their fears and maybe even hopes it would be good for them.
In Thailand I had been given a crayon picture showing a head out in the sea. The little girl who gave it to me had lost her mother. Now in Sri Lanka I was seeing the same kind of art as the kids showed me their drawings. Helicopters dropping supplies. Fishing boats hanging from trees. Huge waves. Dead fish. Hands held out to help.
These drawings were so powerful, such vivid reminders of the trauma that had seized their lives on that fateful Dec. 26th day.
We saw the water purification system developed by IT&T, an American company. Though the small purification devices could not handle huge amounts of water the machines were cleaning up filthy looking water and making it potable.
I saw U.S. AID workers that had moved right into the rubble with the Tsunami’s victims, and many had been there since the beginning of the recovery. We heard of the hard work of the U.S. Marines who had come, cleaned up the major debris, and then departed, thus earning the gratitude of the people and eliminating any fears that some officials might have had about the U.S. military coming in the first place.
There is so much sadness, so much grief; and yet there is hope.
Our fourth and final stop was in the Maldives. This island paradise looked pristine from the air as we landed on a tiny airport island but a mile or so from Malé, the capital. We were greeted by President Gayoom, the long serving leader of this tiny country. He showed us a film of the huge waves striking some of the many islands that make up the Maldives.
We then went by fast boat over to Malle, a 15 minute boat ride on the lovely sea this country is famous for. We were given a good briefing. In one large room at the convention center were the many, various departments dealing with recovery.
To list a few of the departments there were health, reconstruction, finances, planning for the future, enforcement to guarantee no rip-offs would occur. There were a lot of people on hand. One gets the feeling they have a solid recovery plan and are going to work hard to get it into play.
The devastation was mainly on islands quite a way removed from Malle, so we did not go see it. Instead we were shown what used to be and what, with proper help, can be in the future.
Following our briefing we drove around Malle and saw large crowds of people lining the streets we traveled. They were very friendly. No sign of anti USA sentiments in this mainly Muslim country—none at all.
70% of Maldives’ tourist hotels are up and running, but occupancy is way off for most people do not know they are open for tourist business. This is really hurting their economy as is the loss of a lot of their fishing boats. Maldives is a fishing country.
We had a delightful lunch in a very nice hotel on yet another island. Tuna is the fish their fisherman mainly make a living from, and we were served without a doubt the best tuna I have ever eaten.
Following lunch we did some CBS radio. This radio broadcast followed interviews on the 3 big network morning shows. The technology worked well and in rapid sequence we talked to NBC, ABC, then CBS.
We said goodbye to President Clinton and his party46 and jumped in a boat for the short ride to the airport. Soon our great Air Force crew had us in comfort and we were airborne, our trip to four countries so hard hit by the Tsunami now all wrapped up.
When we landed in Honolulu we were told our left engine had been leaking some oil; so we overnighted in the VIP quarters at Hickam AFB and then started on this final leg at 8 AM Honolulu time.
It’s been quite a trip, Hugh.
As I fly back I once again realize how very lucky I am, how many blessings I have to be thankful for. I think, too, of how many people are really hurting in this world while I live a life of comfort.
May God truly bless those poor people whose lives have been shattered by nature’s wrath.
All the best to you and yours. Continue to hold your family close, and I will do just that, too.
All the best from your globe
trotting, tired old friend,
GB
Once again the Presidents, current and past, came together to pay our respects to a departed world leader—this time for Pope John Paul II. I wrote this to Hugh Sidey.
April 8, 2005
Sitting here alone in the President’s bedroom on Air Force One, I find my mind reeling with memories.
The long term memories have to do with the joy I used to have flying on this great plane. Laura, I think in being very considerate and kind to me, insisted that she likes sleeping on the couch in the room office, so when I felt like a good nap after leaving the Vatican I climbed right onto her bed as did the President, while Laura slept on the office couch.
On the way over Laura felt horribly. Her face was almost paralyzed and she was in pain. Fortunately, after landing in Rome, the pain went away and she seems fine.
Let’s get my own 81 year old health out of the way. I seem to drip a lot on planes these days. This can be contained by certain types of anti-hists. But today at the service for the Pope, I found myself dripping like a waterfall. We asked a Vatican assistant to bring water; and lo a benadryl saved those around me from the constant honking and the dripping.
On this flight back the Doctor has given me some new stuff, so, as I type, I think things are much better. I caught a cold last night in the Principi hotel where we stayed. A fine hotel it is. It is owned by a friend of Aniello Lauro of the Splendide [Royal] Hotel at Lake Lugano. Robert ____ is his name.47 He came with my friend Aniello to our 41@80 festivities in Houston. The President and Laura stayed at Ambassador [Mel] Sembler’s residence.
There were two memorable events in the short time we were in Rome. The dinner last night given by [Prime Minister] Berlusconi was intimate and wonderful; but of course the highlight was the funeral service for the Pope. Yesterday afternoon, Thursday, all the American Cardinals were invited to the Residence and many of them came.
Every single Cardinal said “We are so grateful to you for coming.” I think it must have meant a lot to them to have the three Presidents48 on hand . . . they said it again when they left.
The dinner with Italy’s charismatic, rich, and successful Prime Minister was wonderful. There were only about 8 people from our side at the table, the same for the Italian side. The food was fantastic. The best was the tri-color pasta. The President says he gets that every time he dines with Berlusconi; but, never mind, it was great. The place itself was very very special. The weather permitted a leisurely stroll in the manicured gardens, and the view of Rome was sensational.
I like Berlusconi a lot. More important the President likes him a lot. They see eye to eye on so many things and as they discussed other world leaders I could readily see they agree with each other about almost all the leaders they discussed.49
I am much more comfortable, having been out of office for a long time now, to be a fly on the wall and listen. It is not that easy for President 42. Bill Clinton loves to opine on world events and on various leaders with whom he had worked in the past. He has tons of opinions. Once again, he was very considerate of me in every way. He also agreed with the President on many if not most matters and he made clear he was not on the delegation as a critic of any kind.
Clinton pushes his health to the limits.50 After the Berlusconi dinner he met with Ukraine’s Yushchenko for another dinner. He stayed up real late, but to his credit he was on time for all our departures. Clinton is a fascinating character. He has opinions on everything—no matter what. He seems to have a great grasp of history’s events and people.
Arrangements were made for the American delegation, 5 in all, to leave the Vatican first. We had a huge motorcade tethered outside; so just as the ceremony was about to end, a priest from the Vatican came and got Condi,51 42, and me. We had been seated about 8 rows behind the President and Laura. But the priest got us to the very front, next to two kings, both men I like, King Juan Carlos of Spain and King Abdullah of Jordan. So I chatted a little with both of them, feeling uncomfortable all the while because we were blocking the view of other ranking visitors.
Clinton for his part so enjoyed seeing a lot of his old friends so while some chanting was still going on he was a couple of rows back greeting people for the various delegations. Amazing.
We did walk out first. I was a tad self conscious, explaining to the two monarchs and others that the Vatican wanted us out first so we wouldn’t hold up traffic. I am not sure the kings and the Presidents appreciated that move, but I saw no faces of angst nor heard no whining.
At the reception for the Cardinals at Ambassador Sembler’s, several of the American Cardinals had prepared me for what we were to see. They couldn’t begin to explain the whole thing but at least I felt oriented; and I will add, inawe.
The service was 10 minutes short of three hours. Much of that time was devoted to serving communion. The pageantry was amazing. The Cardinals, of course, all decked out in their red vestments . . .
Everything was as you’d expect in Latin, but programs which were easy to follow were given to everyone. In addition I was sitting right in front of a very knowledgeable European who was representing his country at the funeral. He knew everything and would lean over and whisper to me what page we were on and what came next. He was a great help. I failed to get his name so I could thank him.
So much will be written about the service, all of it telling about it better than I could, but what moved me the most:
The size of the crowd down below where we VIPs sat was mind-boggling. I was told it was the largest crowd by far the Vatican has ever seen. I believe it was larger than the crowd that assembled in Prague to celebrate the anniversary of the Velvet Revolution. That crowd was estimated to be one million plus. This one I am satisfied was even bigger.
The affection for the Pope symbolized by the various banners and flags in the large square brought home to me so clearly the love that people felt for the Pope.
I asked my new friend behind us to point out what would happen when the new Pope is named. He told me of the walk from the Sistine Chapel to the balcony above our heads. He showed me the balcony from which the new Pope will give his first speech.
I was mightily impressed by the Pope’s casket. It was plain wood, no plush handles or rails to hold. It was plain brown wood, just like I hope to have for my own casket.
The homily by senior Cardinal Ratzinger,52 Dean of the College of Cardinals, was outstanding. The theme was “follow me”. A tad long, but it spoke so beautifully of the Pope’s whole life, about his love of the mother of God.
So here I am having de-briefed sketchily and badly; but here I am feeling deeply about what I was privileged to witness—the funeral of Pope John Paul II.
E-mail I sent to my dear friend since Yale, Lud Ashley, about a trip to Germany where I saw two old friends.
June 24, 2005
The meeting with Gorby and Kohl was at Point Alpha near Erfurt—about a two or three hour drive west of Leipzig. Point Alpha was another place along the FRG-GDR border where the allied forces felt that GDR and Russians might make a break through and head to Frankfurt.
The three of us did not speak before the crowd of 10,000. We did answer questions from the leading German interviewer—a Tim Russert type interview; but she, the interviewer was lovely. Russert is not.
The event commemorated 15 years since Germany was unified. Two Minister-Presidents spoke. There were six laudations. Three eagles were released landing on the handlers’ arms. We had donned claw proof leather gloves. Each eagle was then transferred to one of us. My eagle was the biggest—I was thinking “Oh great symbol of American might and pride, do not claw me, do not shit upon me”. It worked out OK.
Gorbachev looked very well and was good fun to be with. I have a close, very pleasant relationship with him. Helmut, looking bigger than ever, could not have been more pleasant. He has put on some tonnage since he was here in Maine with us just last summer.
There are tons of events of this nature. Gorbachev always wants to get us “used-to-bes” together for one good cause or another. He keeps holding yellow pad conferences trying to save the world on the environment, human rights, health care, Africa. You name the subject—then a conference will be convened, if not by Gorbachev, then by some other former leader. Get a cause and the Gorbachev Foundation will assemble a bunch of the “once-was” crowd. Write a paper that will then gather moss and remain unread by the current world leaders who Gorby and others hoped to enlighten.
I prefer Maine or A&M—besides, if I entered in to these type of things some report would inevitably show differences between the old guys and the current administration; and I do not need to cause the President grief by my signing on to some report that is not necessarily in accord with his policies.
Enough—all the best,
GB
E-mail I sent to Brent Scowcroft, my great friend and former national security advisor, who wrote to me about some mysterious scratches he spotted on my boat.
Subject: RE: Scratches
Dear Curious,
Those scratches are a puzzle to Fidelity’s Captain. The only thing he can think of is this. Over in Cape Porpoise Harbor, a 20 knot tide running, the Captain momentarily looked up to see if the young kids he had generously taken aboard Fidelity were safe. At that very moment there was an ear shattering, screeching sound regrettably heard way down at Nunan’s.53 The port side of Fidelity, which was being pushed sideways by unusually strong tides, had encountered a propeller of a 3 HP outboard motor fastened to the stern of a half sunk dory. Putting the lives of the passengers first, the Captain did the right thing; in putting lives first, his own property second. But, yes, minor scratches did occur. With a lesser seaman at the wheel the damage could have been horrendous. The ugly white marks will soon be erased and over-painted by the generous Captain of Fine Print.
The Captain of Fidelity confidently expects the Harbor Master at Cape Porpoise to recommend him for the coveted “Peeble’s Award”, named for Isaac Peebles, the great grandfather of the man now in charge of the prestigious Peebles Fish market.54 It seems that Isaac was faced with a similar dilemma way back around 1901 when he saved the lives of two drowning kids who were thrown into a 6 foot gale-driven sea off Cape Porpoise lighthouse even though that put his lobster boat, “Peebles of the World”, at risk. The coveted award was created in 1916 and has only been given seven times since then. It is hoped this award will be given because it is rare that lives are saved when the person doing the saving put his own property at risk. “Sacrifice” is the key word here. In this instance the sacrifice was a minor paint job but the damage could have been much worse. The bottom line is lives were saved, real danger averted, and Fidelity’s Captain still has his papers and his Coast Guard medal of distinction. Stay tuned on July 12th when the committee meets to decide about the Peebles Award for Courage.
All the best from another
shimmering Kport day.
GB 41
This is one of the last letters I wrote my dear friend Hugh Sidey. He died unexpectedly in November.
Dear Hugh,
I write this on a down day—down in my normally high spirits.
Yesterday, with President Clinton, I was in Washington where, at the White House, the president asked us to suit up again for money raising. This time our goal is to raise private sector monies for helping the victims of Katrina.
We have decided to resurrect the Tsunami Bush-Clinton Fund but this time under the name Bush-Clinton Katrina Fund. We will be asking for donations large and small. I am convinced we will raise a lot of money.
We got the Governors of Louisiana, Alabama, and Mississippi to create relief funds to which the Bush-Clinton monies will be disbursed. All three Governors promptly responded and the funds have been established.
Just for this letter of record the names are:
Alabama Governor’s Emergency Relief Fund
Louisiana Recovery Authority
Mississippi Hurricane Relief Fund
Wal-Mart has already stepped up to the plate with a $15 million donation.
The response should be good, but as stated above I am down.
I am down watching the suffering of so many people. It is terrible to see people who can’t even locate family members, also the sick and even the dying. I cannot begin to imagine the horrors of the Superdome—the smell and the terror are horrible.
I am really down about the lawlessness that has cropped up in Katrina’s wake. Gangs are running rampant. Looting, shooting, even rapes terrify those who remain in downtown New Orleans. It is sick.
For a while people seemed to condone this mayhem. “What would you do if your kid did not have water? Isn’t it ok then to help the kids by taking water from a store?” This is the question often asked by the press. I was asked this at a little press avail that I did with Clinton at the White House.
There is a kind of hands off from criticizing the law breakers. After all they are minorities, they are poor, and they have no chance. The Black Caucus played up that theme in skewering the President.
But I am really down about the way the President has been attacked. Over and over again the networks attack him. First for being late in moving. Then for over flying Louisiana on the way back to Washington. Then on the snail like pace of relief.
One story in yesterday’s NY Times suggested that the President didn’t care because Katrina’s main victims were African American.
Last night, after our press conference with the President in the Oval Office, I was about to fly back to Maine with President Clinton. We had finished several PSAs and interviews with 5 networks. As I started towards the door one of the President’s aides asked me if I could stay for an early dinner with the President. Of course I did that and at about 6:45 Jean Becker, Marvin Bush and I joined the President in the family dining room.
My heart went out to him. Here is a guy who cares deeply. Who wants every possible resource of the Federal government brought to bear to help people, yet he is being roundly accused of not giving a damn.
I made the mistake of hearing a Black Caucus press conference this morning. Speaker after speaker attacked the President.
Later I was here in my little office flicking from one channel to another. NBC continued to report on the disaster and on how the Federal Government had not properly responded.
Houston has responded by putting a lot of people into the Astrodome. Initial reports were very positive, but Jean has just come in to tell me that crime has broken out in the Astrodome. The people do have food. They do have water. They do have a clean place to sleep, yet the law breakers are apparently starting up their vicious ways. I hope this is not true, but there have been frightening incidents today.
I had wanted to join Clinton on Monday in a Labor Day church service where the victims could come and worship; but, given the terror in the dome, the USSS do not want us to go there—sad, very sad.55
On the TV coverage only Fox has been positive. “Help is on the way.” “You should see the length of the caravan of trucks, buses, boats on trailers, all coming across the bridge headed for downtown New Orleans.” That report was up beat and lifted my spirits, but there are few like that.
These attacks by politicians and news media remind me of those I weathered back in 1992 when Hurricane Andrew hit south Florida. We could do nothing right. Every person who lost a roof or a house aimed their fire at me personally.
Now my own son is under this kind of blistering, mean-spirited attack. People assign to him the worst possible motives. They do not recognize how complex the recovery is. They do not want to say that it was impossible to foresee the extent or even the type of the damage. And also they seem to feel that these gun toting, knife wielding thugs should get a pass.
The critics do not know what is in 43’s heart, how deeply he feels about the hurt, the anguish, the losses affecting so many people, most of them poor. . . .
I am proud to be working on the private sector part; and I am very proud of the President for all he is doing to make the Federal part a success.
Warm Regards,
George
PS—61 years ago to this very day I was shot down by the Japanese over Chi Chi Jima. Now I see some of his most nasty critics trying to shoot down my beloved son—shoot him down by mean spirited attacks. I was a scared kid back then. Now I am just an angry old man hurting for my son.
In October 2005 a devastating earthquake struck the Kashmir region of Pakistan, killing more than 75,000 people. United Nations secretary-general Kofi Annan asked if I would serve as a special UN envoy for Pakistan earthquake relief. It was a frustrating assignment as my main job was to convince other countries to follow up on their pledges to Pakistan. Let’s just say international bill collecting is not easy. This is a note I wrote the secretary-general shortly before I left for the region. Unfortunately, severe weather prevented us from going into the mountainous region hardest hit by the earthquake but we did visit a huge refugee camp outside the capital of Islamabad.
January 2, 2006
Dear Kofi,
First of all, Happy New Year to you and your family. I hope 2006 is a great one for you and for the United Nations.
I am looking forward to being your special envoy for Pakistan. A few days ago, I called President Musharraf and had a nice conversation. He has approved my coming to see him on January 16 or 17; so on January 14, I will leave Texas and head for the devastated area in Kashmir and for Islamabad to see the President and the Prime Minister. I have arranged for a private plane, so there will be no expense to the United Nations on my transportation to and from the area.
I will be traveling with a small staff—namely, Kevin Kennedy,56 who has been assigned to help me out on my overall mission; Jean Becker, my Chief of Staff; and Tom Frechette, who will be my point of contact for anyone at the UN that wants to keep up with what we are trying to do.
After visiting President Musharraf and Prime Minister Aziz, and after working further with your staff, I will try to set priorities for getting people to pay the pledges they have already made.
I am very pleased you asked me to undertake this assignment and I will try to accomplish it with the least possible expense to the United Nations and, hopefully, with some effectiveness.
Respectfully yours,
George Bush
E-mail to Susan Ellis, wife of our nephew John Ellis, upon the passing of her mother.
June 29, 2006
Subject: Sadness
Nan Ellis, sister and mother in law, just left my little office here in Kport. She told me that your Mom had just passed away.
I remember when my Mom died. I was still President. With Doro I went up to Greenwich from Washington to see her. She was in bed in her house. She was having great trouble breathing. Mum was a real fighter and a great competitor. She was our leader, our beacon of kindness, the Captain of our team.
She was fighting hard for every breath. I remember kneeling by her bed asking God to take her on to heaven. She finally drifted off into a troubled sleep so we left and flew back to Washington. It was only a few hours later that I got the call saying that she had passed away, that she was now at rest.
Susan, I have trouble remembering a lot of things now—82 does that to a guy you know. But I remember everything about that visit. I was close to my Mom, very close.
The day she died I wondered if I would ever get over the grief and sadness in my heart. But I did. Time heals so much. Though I remember her struggle in those final hours to stay alive, those sad thoughts have all but given way to happy wonderful memories of my wonderful mother.
I hope the same happens to you. I know it will. Time heals the hurt. Soon I hope you, too, will have only happy memories of love and wonder.
Yes, I am an old guy, but my Mom is still with me. I love you and I want you to have that same joy.
Love,
GB
E-mail to the children and grandchildren, with a CC to my sister, Nancy Ellis, and nephew Hap Ellis.
Subject: The Death of Tranquility
Ever since we got the new Maine Coaster type boat [Tranquility], the stars have been crossed. First the old engine froze up (no oil) and was a total loss. Then came the horror that ended the boat’s life. Last night the sea was really big. Tranquility dragged her anchor right into the rock in front of Ariel’s house. Ariel heard a loud crash and then a grinding as the Fiberglass and the engine were being done in by the seas—all about 3:30 or 4 this morning. He alerted the USSS who made a heroic run in very, very high seas. They pulled the boat off the rocks and towed it to the marina. Wazoo57 picked it up and brought it on a trailer to the Point. I looked at it. Wazoo declared it “dead”, a “total loss”.
I hate to report this tragedy but this new, star-crossed lovely boat had never had time to work its way into our hearts. Tranquility we hardly knew ye.
The good news is Sadie is still alive and so am I. Heck with the rubber sided boat.
Love to all, signed the-one-
the-only,
Gampster.
Handwritten note to President Bill Clinton after he and I received the Liberty Medal at an event at the National Constitution Center for our work after Katrina.
October 10, 2006
Dear Bill,
We are back in Houston now after our five months in Maine. I write regarding the Constitution Center event. Though I had been cool on going, the event was a good one; and the medal, unlike so many “coveted” honors was truly meaningful. As you pointed out to me, we were in good company given that list of previous winners.
This note is to simply let you know that I so appreciated your words about our relationship, about our friendship. It was from your heart—I hope you know I feel the same way. The politics between now and two years from now might put pressure on our friendship, but it is my view that it will survive. In any event, I have genuinely enjoyed working with you. Don’t kill yourself by travel or endless rope lines.
All the best,
George
An essay I wrote for the Kennebunkport Conservation Trust, which does great work trying to save our beautiful coastline in Maine.
March 8, 2007
I am 83 years old. A few years ago I would have thought of myself as “old” at 83. But I don’t.
What keeps me young is Kennebunkport, Maine. Broader still the Maine Coast itself. It is more than the beauty and heart beat of our little town. It is more than the glories of a bright red sunrise out Cape Porpoise way or of that same sun setting over Mt. Agamemnon. This town, this sea are the essence of my soul. I am at peace here.
I am blessed to live in the house my grandfather built 104 years ago on a neck of land he purchased long before that. My beloved Barbara and I go to sleep in our bedroom literally a stone’s throw from the sea. We can hear the pounding of the ocean waves when the ocean is angry and strong; and we can hear the gentle murmurs of that same sea when all is calm. I can feel all this in the fiber of my soul.
But over the years I may have taken this ocean for granted. The waters are clean and pure, and now I realize I have not done enough to keep it that way.
I see a horrid plastic cup floating in the sea or a dreadful plastic bag drifting towards shore; and I ask myself why do people have so little respect for the pristine nature of our ocean. How could they so dis-honor this sacred coast?
I do not know the answer to that question, but I do know that the Kennebunkport Conservation Trust has Trust in our Town and Trust in our future.
I have had an exciting, full life. With the help of many friends in Kennebunkport and across our land, I climbed the highest political mountain in the world. I knew good times and times of great disappointment; but when my body and soul cried out for calm and relief my thoughts came right back here to Kennebunkport. . . .
And today I thank God for those who love our town and love this ocean, who lead us and preserve our sacred heritage.
My sons and daughter all come home to this special place. So do our grandkids, cousins, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews they all come home to Kennebunkport, Maine for this is our anchor to windward. When the storms of life are threatening it is here that all of us get comfort and strength. When we seek tranquility or say our prayers for peace we come here. It is here we count our many blessings.
From this grateful old man out on Walker’s Point, as I sit in my chair out on our deck watching grandkids playing on the same rocks where I played, and my mother before me, I say let us give thanks for our new leaders, to those who do have “Trust in our Town, Trust in our precious future.”
George Bush
Handwritten note to Mrs. William C. Liedtke, Jr., widow of my dear friend and oil business partner Bill. Claire is her daughter.
April 9, 2007
Dear Bessie,
Five days ago we had supper at Fogo [de Chao]. For me it was very special—no, no not the nine different cuts of meat nor the braised bananas. What was so neat was being there with you and Claire and Bar, of course. So many memories came rushing back, wonderful memories of days gone by. Days with Bill. Midland days. Claire was the catalyst. With her sense of humor and her beauty; and yes, her courage, too, I got to thinking. This is what really counts in life. True friendships that last and don’t need daily nourishment.
My life these days is very easy. I get to sit at life’s head table and people are unfailingly polite and nice to both Bar and me.
But there at Fogo, I saw even more clearly how important real friends are. Your Claire made me feel young and made my life even better.
No protocol, no “he used to be this or that”, no formality; just a friend’s love for daughter and mother.
Love to you dear Bessie and
a hug for Claire—
George
A letter to President Clinton.
January 23, 2008
Dear Bill,
My heart went out to you when I saw you trying to keep your eyes open during an MLK Day sermon.
I could indeed “feel your pain.” I have been there myself, more than once I might add, and it physically hurt as I tried to keep my eyes open. I don’t remember if I ever told you about the prestigious Scowcroft Award, given during my White House days to the person that fell most soundly asleep during a meeting. Points were added for “recovery”:
A standard recovery gambit was to awake from a sound sleep, and start by nodding one’s head in agreement to something just said in the meeting, something you had not heard at all. Writing something on a pad, anything at all, scored points. Good recoveries were awarded lots of points in determining the Scowcroft winner.
I remember when [Dick] Cheney won the award one time. We presented it to him at a nice dinner in the Rose Garden. Modest fellow that he is, he proclaimed himself unworthy, though his solid sleep in the Cabinet meeting had been witnessed by all assembled.
Scowcroft, of course, was hopeless. He could sleep in any meeting at any time of day. Always pleasant when he woke up, he was a leader without peers in both the sleep field and the recovery field.
Such was his leadership that the award was named for him. He never fully appreciated that. Anyway having been a Scowcroft Award recipient myself I send you now my total understanding and my warmest personal regards. As I heard that minister droning on I made a challenge for the trophy myself.
Your friend,
George
E-mail to dear friend and longtime staffer Don Rhodes about the death of our beloved dog Sadie. No one loved our dogs more than Don.
September 10, 2008
Subject: Sadie
Ariel and I took Sadie over to the vet in Kennebunk and Dr. Shively put her to sleep. She has been failing rapidly and had no quality of life at all. I was there when they gave her the first of two shots—the tranquilizing shot. She was very peaceful and the same, gentle, wonderful dog we loved so much.
I was too much of a sissy to stay for the final injection, but Dr. Shively just called to say she went peacefully.
I know you loved the pup and she sure knew that. You were so kind to her so caring, and I will never forget it. I’d love it when you’d come over to our house and she’d hear you coming and start jumping with sheer joy.
She is surely at peace now. The crematorium will do its work and her remains will be returned to us in a box that we ordered at the doctor’s office.
We will need a stone. Could you order that up for us—something simple? If you want me to suggest words for the stone58 I will be glad to do that, but your ideas would be the best.
Sorry to be the bearer of such sad tidings, but I did not want you worrying about it because she went on to dog heaven.
Life goes on, of course, but it won’t be the same without Sadie around here.
Your friend,
GB
One of the great privileges of my life was when the Navy named their newest aircraft carrier the USS George H.W. Bush (CVN-77). George W. commissioned the Bush on January 10, 2009, a few short weeks before he left office. Many generous friends helped make it a special day for the sailors and our friends and family. I wrote this thank you note to our dear friends Hushang and Shahla Ansary of Houston, Texas. Hushang, now an American citizen, served as Iranian ambassador to the United States under the Shah.
January 15, 2009
Dear Hushang and Shahla,
The commissioning of the USS George H.W. Bush CVN-77 this past weekend was an overwhelming day not only for me, but for the entire Bush family. The honor and privilege of being associated with this magnificent aircraft carrier and her crew are still hard for me to put into words.
Barbara and I are thrilled that you were there to help us celebrate the day. I hope you and all your guests enjoyed being a part of one of the Navy’s greatest traditions. I’m especially glad the two of you could come a day early and join us for the private tour and lunch on Thursday.
Your very, very generous donation touched me more than I can say. In addition to helping make last Saturday a perfect day, you helped make CVN-77 a better ship. I can tell you from first-hand conversations with the sailors that they are very grateful for the computers, books, movies, etc., that your donation helped buy and that will make their many hours away from home a little easier.
Thank you for being such a big part of a very special day in my already wonderful life.
All the best,
GB
Letter to Jim Baker and Bob Mosbacher. Jim was of course my secretary of state and Bob was my secretary of commerce. They are/were two of my oldest friends. Bob died in 2010. I still miss him.
February 5, 2009
As I headed back to the office after our lunch today I had a serious thought. I wanted to share it with you.
All three of us have had power lunches with famous people. As John Connally59 once put it “I have dined with kings and potentates.”
But the lunch we had today was simply a lunch between dear friends. We didn’t have an agenda and none of us were trying to get our photo taken by that intrusive, persistent camera lady, who has become a minor pain in the a—.
All we had was the joy of real friendship and what a treasure and joy it really is. I am a very lucky guy and I know it. And I want to be sure you two know that I feel that way, and that I am grateful to you both—always will be.
We have all sat at “head tables”, but our little table today trumps any head table in the world. When I say my prayers tonight I will give thanks for the friendships we share and honor.
George
E-mail to our children after Barbara underwent open-heart surgery at Methodist Hospital in Houston.
March 4, 2009
Subject: REPORT ON YOUR MOTHER!
Importance: High
Dear George, Jeb, Neil, Marv, and Doro,
The operation went very well. I just saw your mother in the recovery room. She couldn’t speak or anything this early, but all the valves and gauges show that she is doing perfectly. They did put in the pig valve instead of the metal one, so she may be oinking around for a while when she gets home.
I am so relieved and so happy. I will see her at about 3:00 this afternoon, and she will be able to talk and respond. All in all, according to Dr. Lawrie, the operation could not have gone better. He said, “She is one strong woman,” but I didn’t need the operation to let me know that.
Anyway, I love you all; and cross your Mom off the worry list.
Barbara recovered and was able to go with me when I spent the night on the USS George H.W. Bush that spring. Doro, the ship’s sponsor, also came along. I wrote this note to the commanding officer, Captain DeWolfe “Chip” Miller, after we got home.
May 28, 2009
Dear Chip,
There is not one single thing you could have done to make our trip more enjoyable. Having Doro at my side was, of course, very special to this old father but you, your officers, and your sailors all made me feel welcome. I even got up and down those ladders without falling.
What a magnificent ship, and what a great Commanding Officer!
Most sincerely,
George Bush
Written in response to a letter from State Senator Jake Knotts of South Carolina. He was annoyed when I publicly criticized Congressman Joe Wilson for calling President Obama a liar during the State of the Union address.
January 5, 2010
Dear Jake,
Your December 14 letter severely took me to task. I write to thank you for it.
First of all, Joe Wilson is very lucky to have you as a loyal friend.
Everything I know about Joe is positive. I thought his yelling “Liar” at the President during the State of the Union was beneath him, and I think he apologized for that. I did not mean to “stab [him] in the back.” I simply meant to regret the lack of civility and decorum a President is entitled to when he speaks in that hallowed chamber.
I know little about Senator Jim DeMint, but I gather you are not his biggest fan. When I was President, we got plenty of criticism from Republicans and Democrats alike; and I think our son endured far more than his share of criticism.
But to lay all my cards on the table, I do question Joe Wilson’s civility in yelling out “Liar” during the State of the Union address. Having said that, I do hope Joe, whose voting record I do admire, continues to serve South Carolina as long as he wants to.
You closed with very kind words of support for me and for George, and for that I am very grateful. Have a great New Year, and thank you again for your frank letter.
Sincerely,
George Bush
Handwritten letter to President Barack Obama.
November 16, 2010
Dear Mr. President,
To say I was touched by your call today is a classic understatement.
I am so honored by your offer to bestow on me that “Presidential Medal of Freedom”. So many thanks.
I am not doing any travel these days, but I will be there for this one.
Gratefully and sincerely,
George Bush
I would like to end with this e-mail to our grandson Jebby, upon the birth of his daughter, our first great-grandchild, Georgia Helena Walker Bush. The beginning of a new generation.
August 18, 2011
Dear Georgia,
I haven’t seen you yet and I love you already—more than tongue can tell. You are one very lucky little girl. You have two wonderful parents who will always be with you and love you. You have grandparents who feel the same way. And you have two really old guys, great grand parents, Barbara Bush and me, who worship the ground you will be walking on and who will be for you, at your side, for as long as we live.
So have a wonderful happy life, dear Georgia.