Chapter 24

FAMILY CONTINUITY

“It’s a name that I wear with pride, but only after I became an adult did I fully appreciate the significance. In my old age I will be able to say I was named after that guy who not only was a great president but also a great human being.”

—George P. Bush

On January 20, 2001, I attended my fourth presidential inaugural involving a direct family member. The day was cold and dreary, with a drizzly rain and temperatures just above freezing. The people sitting behind the podium weren’t allowed to bring umbrellas, because the people behind them wouldn’t be able to see the ceremony. Luckily, the people at the Inaugural Committee thought to put a clear plastic poncho and a package of hand-warmers on each seat where we were sitting on the West Front of the U.S. Capitol.

As for our family, we weren’t going to let the rain bother us. We were all ready to celebrate my brother’s and Vice President Cheney’s inauguration, especially after such a grueling ordeal with the recount. His supporters had been deprived of a celebration on election night—and even later, when he was declared the winner, the mood was more along the lines of “Are you sure?” than anything else. This time, we all arrived at the Blair House proud and relieved.

The inaugural events in 2001 seemed particularly festive to me; and in addition to the regular events, my home state of Maryland hosted a black-tie affair at the Chamber of Commerce building in downtown Washington. George W. won the state in the Republican primary, but during the general election struggle for the so-called blue states—won by Vice President Gore—and the red states, won by my brother, Maryland in 2000 turned a deep blue.

A lot of people are working hard to change the Democratic leanings; Republicans in Maryland remain a very tight-knit group. Someone decided that, as the sister of the president-elect, I should be the honored guest at this special celebration. I remember the long pink and black dress I wore, and since we were welcoming a Texan into the White House, I finished off the outfit with cowboy boots as a tribute to my brother.

Mom and Dad also dropped by that night, and the crowd went wild.

“I think it was more emotional for me when George won,” Dad said, comparing his experience with my brother’s. “In 1988, I had been vice president for eight years at Reagan’s side. I knew how the Oval Office worked. There was still awe and wonder on my part when I sat at that desk for the first time—the same feeling that the current president felt when he sat there.”

“President Bush 43 learned so much about how to instill respect for the office,” said Karen Hughes. “You wear a tie in the Oval Office. You don’t have food in the Oval Office. You don’t wear blue jeans in the Oval Office. You show respect. He knew that from day one, and knew that from watching the example of his dad.”

One time, I was in the Queen’s Bedroom with Dad, and he looked at his watch and he said, “Oh, I’ve got to run.” Quickly, he showered, put on his coat and tie, and looked as crisp as if he were going to a state dinner.

I asked, “Dad, where are you going?”

He said, “I’ve got to run. I don’t want to be late for the president.”

The first picture taken in the Oval Office, on January 20, 2001, featured the forty-third president and Dad together. Dad also has a similar picture taken on January 21, 1989—his first day in the Oval Office—with his mother, Dorothy.

“So there’s kind of a family continuity there,” said Dad.

While George’s election didn’t change us from a family standpoint, it did reverse the roles between my parents and the new president and First Lady. For twelve years, it was us “kids”—George and Laura included—who agonized over each negative story and every cheap political shot directed at Dad. My father was always the one to calm us all down.

Since George and Jeb had entered the political arena in 1994, however, it was Mom and Dad’s turn to worry about their sons’ political fortunes—and that concern only intensified after George and Laura entered the White House. Dad continues to be a voracious consumer of political news and information, and hardly ever misses a slight against the current Oval Office occupant. Now my brother George finds himself telling Dad to stop reading the papers and to stop worrying about whatever the latest line of attack is.

“Dad pays so much attention to the criticism that when we talk he’ll occasionally rehash some attack,” the president said. “So I spend a lot of time comforting him and assuring him that I’m fine. People looking from the outside in on the presidency can draw all kinds of conclusions as to how you’re feeling. Is the burden of the office getting to you? He, of course, has more concern than anybody because I’m his son.”

“It’s much worse, by far, when it’s your son who’s criticized,” Dad said. “It didn’t bother me as president because I could handle it. I know George is strong and can take it, too—but it still burns the hell out of me.”

After the 2000 election, very early on, I remember George asking me to look in on Mom and Dad more often, since he’d probably be less able to with his schedule. He’s always been very good about checking in with them—and still does—but he was worried enough about his impending schedule to say something to me.

George’s election has had several other distinct effects on our family.

Initially, it caused a great deal of confusion to have two presidents in the family. For example, whenever Dad and my brother were in the same room and someone called out “President Bush” or “Mr. President,” they both turned and answered. To cope with this problem, Congressman John Dingell came up with an informal nickname for Dad and George whereby Dad today is frequently referred to as “41,” shorthand for the forty-first president, while George W. is—you guessed it—“43.” Together, Congressman Dingell joked, they make “84.”

To those who study the presidency and revere it as an institution, I recognize this shorthand treatment for the president seems highly inappropriate; yet at times it has proved inescapably necessary. Just ask artist Ron Sherr, who was commissioned to paint a dual portrait of Dad and George that today hangs in the Bush Library at Texas A&M. Ron was given a period of time with Dad and George in Laurel, the main lodge at Camp David. After George and Dad entered the room to begin the sitting, Ron said, “Mr. President, please turn to your left.”

Both Dad and George turned to their left.

“I’m sorry, President Bush,” Ron said, pointing to Dad. “Not you. I meant you, President Bush,” pointing to George.

Dad told Ron he might want to use the 41–43 designations to avoid confusion, but Ron demurred, feeling it was not right. The confusion continued, however, wasting valuable time. Finally, George said, “Ron, you’ve got ten minutes left.”

Flustered, Ron started barking out orders: “41, you do this! 43, sit like that!”

Another impact of George W.’s presidency relates to Dad’s ability to speak out on the issues. Every former president is different, but for his part Dad has never had much interest in trying to shape legislation or influence events as an ex-president. He did go to the White House twice during the Clinton administration—for the NAFTA signing and the Mideast peace ceremony—and Dad later issued a statement of support for the Clinton administration’s stated goals in Bosnia.

For the most part, however, he has kept his own counsel and tried to stay out of the press. That natural inclination for discretion increased dramatically once George W. and Jeb got into public life.

“He has been there as a sounding board, as a loving father, as someone who cares about his son, but not trying to tell his son what he should do or how he should make decisions,” said Karen Hughes.

“I don’t want to do something that in any way—directly or indirectly—complicates the life of the president of the United States,” Dad explained. “If I deviated from one of the president’s policies—even if it was unknowingly—some enterprising reporter would rush into the White House press room and say, ‘Mr. President, your nutty father over here is saying this and that.’ The president doesn’t need that kind of grief, and neither does the governor of Florida.”

Like any father and son, Dad and George do speak often.

“I originate the calls and it’s as much a call just to check in than anything else,” the president said. “Mother says, ‘Dad loves to talk to you.’ Point being that he likes to be kept abreast. He likes to hear what’s going on. But I think he’s got enough confidence in me as the president and as a person to be able to deal with the pressures and the decision-making. I remember fishing with him one time in 1992. Sitting there on the boat, he said, ‘This is a job where you make an enormous number of decisions, and I like making decisions.’ It turned out to be an accurate description of the job. You’ve got to be able to make decisions and stand by them.”

Finally, George’s election also prompted comparisons between the Bushes and the only other American family to have a father and son as president—the John Adams family of Massachusetts. Dad wrote a letter to his friend Hugh Sidey about the phenomenon:

I have just finished David McCullough’s book on John Adams. I loved it. I read every page carefully and with great enjoyment. I kept trying to make comparisons between the Adamses and the Bushes, though author McCullough would probably die if he thought I was doing that . . .

We both had sons who became president. Once out of office Adams largely stayed offstage, although he was more actively involved than I have chosen to be. Like Adams I am very proud of my family.

I am luckier in one sense because, thanks to TV, the telephone, and the papers, I get to see my beloved son actively involved in the problems of the presidency. Whereas by the time John Quincy Adams was elected, John Adams was very old and though sharp until the end he was not able to keep up with events and problems John Quincy was facing. Communications were so different back then.

In many ways Abigail Adams and Barbara Bush are alike. Both are very strong women, both possessed of very strong opinions, both loyal wives devoted to family.

One big difference between John Adams and me related to his education and his reading. A prolific reader, he loved the classics, prided himself on his ability to speak Latin, and had a library of extraordinary proportions.

True I studied Latin for four years—two in grade school, two in boarding school; but I couldn’t wait to stop studying Latin. Big difference there between me and John.

I took eleven years of French, too; but unlike John I never lived in France and thus I am far less fluent in the language than he.

Who had the tougher role as president, John Adams POTUS #2 or George Bush POTUS #41? [POTUS is an acronym for President of the United States.]

I’d have to go with John Adams. Life was tougher back then and the press was sometimes ugly. Adams was attacked in editorial-like letters. But then again I used to be hammered in actual editorials and in the news columns day in and day out.

On the other hand, John was elected by only a tiny handful of people. He did not appear to me to put in the grueling hours I did. He was gone from Philadelphia and Washington a lot. His name-calling evil press was sporadic, whereas mine and every modern president’s press coverage was (is) a constant barrage of attacking articles.

The problems he faced were huge and he took tough positions particularly regarding France and standing up to [Alexander] Hamilton and others.

But my challenges, though different, were pretty big, too. Back then he was an original. I was just one more man in the long line; but the presidency meant every bit as much to me as it did to John Adams.

I loved the fact that toward the end of their lives, [Thomas] Jefferson and Adams overcame their differences and again became friends.

Should I make up with Ross Perot? The answer is no. Perot is no Jefferson, and I am not trying to say I am a John Adams.

Adams dealt with small numbers and big problems. I dealt with huge numbers and big problems, though my problems, unlike those Adams faced, had little do with the survival of our country.

Adams, like everyone back then, had medical problems that plagued his family, and medicines were primitive. I am spoiled by modern medicine.

Adams spoke in flowery words. I don’t speak such words.

Adams had some humor but that does not appear to be a main trait for him. I love humor of all kinds; and I have the Internet to keep the jokes rolling in. No Internet for old John, and besides, I am not sure he would approve of the Monica Lewinsky limerick that has given me so much laughter.

John Adams had a son who was a real disappointment, a black sheep. I have no such son—only four wonderful men who bring me nothing but joy. They are of fine character and they are strengthened by their loving families. John Adams’ daughter, Nabby, seemed close to him, but not as close as my beloved Doro is to me.

John Adams died at 90 or was it 91? I want to live to at least 90 unless of course my health is such that I become a burden on others.

When John Adams wanted to convey his pride in John Quincy, it took horses and carriages and plenty of time to get the letters through. When I want to talk to #43 I just pick up the phone and usually the president answers. As a matter of fact I just hung up from calling him. I saw him give a great speech in Missouri. I called him and in but a few minutes I got him in his car sitting there in Independence, Missouri. Amazing!

When he got older, John Adams had bad tooth problems. No crowns or drills or Novocain for Old John; but for me a broken tooth is nothing. Music in the dentist’s office. A fine assistant passing the tools and pumping in the Novocain and shortly afterward a new gold crown. Lucky me, poor toothless John.

John and I both enjoyed working on matters foreign. The problems he faced as envoy and president were enormous. Mine were less formidable, but certainly they were important, sometimes urgent.

At time John Adams seemed a bit cranky. I am not a cranky guy.

So I shall end this treatise. Don’t show it to McCullough for he will look at these rambling comments and say “Harvard educated, cultured, well spoken and well written, John Adams would never write such trivia. I feel I know John Adams. And I do know George Bush. And George Bush, you are no John Adams.”

John Adams was reportedly happy in his later years, but he could not possibly have been as happy a man, as lucky a man, as I am.

When George W. became president, he told my brother Marvin and me that every time he and Laura go to Camp David on the weekends, we were invited. Marvin, Margaret, Bobby, and I live close by and feel lucky to be able to be a part of George W.’s presidency. When I heard the president’s invitation, I thought how very nice it was, but I wouldn’t dream of imposing. He was the newly elected president, after all, and would have so much on his mind. All he needed, I thought, was his sister hanging around and getting in the way. I quickly learned, or the president and Laura quickly made me feel, that I was completely and utterly welcome.

One weekend, I was there with my two younger children, Robert and Gigi. We were sitting around the dinner table with a big crowd: the president, Laura, Dr. Condoleezza Rice (who was then the national security adviser), and other family and friends. Robert, eleven years old at the time, loves the food at Camp David and really looks forward to the dinners. The president enjoys Mexican food and southern fare, and it’s usually served family-style on the table and passed around.

At this particular dinner, Robert was looking around the table to see what he might have, and I suddenly heard him say very politely to Condoleezza Rice, “Dr. Fruit, could you please pass the rice?” at which point he turned as red as a tomato, and then stammered, “I mean, Dr. Rice, could you please pass the fruit?” Everyone laughed at such an innocent faux pas.

I realized then we could provide these family moments for the president—to lighten his burden for just a moment, in the way that only family can.

In July 2001, Jeb visited Walker’s Point, and, as usual, the agenda called for a little fishing. Jeb showed up that first morning on the dock wearing a red windbreaker and took off with Dad and Bill Busch. The fishing was as great as the weather, but before they headed home Bill decided to play a little joke and slipped a mackerel they were using as bait fish into the pocket of Jeb’s coat. Bill fully expected to hear from Jeb regarding this “souvenir from Maine” before long.

A few days later, the president arrived at Walker’s Point—and Dad and Bill took him fishing as well. After a good morning trip, they returned to the dock, tied up the boat, put away the gear, and headed up to the Big House for one of Ariel’s great lunches.

“We came inside, passing the big closet by the door, which was open with all of its contents over chairs, on the floor, and on a rolling garment rack,” Bill recalled. “There was even a fan inside the closet blowing air out toward the screen door. Everyone looked—puzzled—and continued into the dining room for lunch,” Bill said.

A few moments later, Ariel passed by with a funny look on his face. He stopped and declared, “I found the smell in the closet. It was a mackerel in your pocket, sir.”

Mom looked at Dad and said, “George Herbert Walker Bush! What are you doing with a mackerel in your pocket?” Bill started to sweat, as he realized how the mackerel got there. He sensed certain death at the hands of my mother and quickly came up with, “Mr. President, you didn’t have to save the bait, I’ll get more tomorrow!”

On September 11, 2001, Al Qaeda terrorists crashed four commercial airplanes filled with innocent men and women into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and a field in rural Pennsylvania. A fifth plane was reportedly supposed to crash into the White House or the Capitol building, but that attack never materialized.

Mom and Dad attended a Washington, D.C., event on September 10 and stayed the night at the White House. That next fateful morning, they kissed Laura good-bye as she was getting ready to testify on Capitol Hill and jumped on a plane bound for St. Paul, Minnesota, where they were scheduled to give a joint speech.

At 9:45 a.m., the Federal Aviation Administration grounded all air traffic for the first time in history, forcing Mom and Dad to land in Milwaukee. They were taken to a motel on the outskirts of town and started to catch up on the surreal, devastating news. Bobby, likewise, was grounded in California and was not able to get home to us for a week.

As soon as I heard about the attacks, like everyone else, my first thoughts concerned my family. Our four children were in four different schools, and there was a lot of phone calling as to whether to pick up the children or leave them at school, where they may have been safer. Some of the schools told the kids what had happened, some left that to the parents. I walked down the street to pick up Robert at school, where he was in third grade. Gigi and Ellie, meanwhile, were retrieved by friends. The only child I could not get to was Sam, whose school in downtown Washington would not release him until later that day.

Also nerve-racking was the fact that Marvin was in New York, and we couldn’t get in touch with him. It turned out that he was in the subway near the Twin Towers when the attacks happened, and he had to evacuate from where the train stopped on the tracks.

Of course, “my family” also included my brother, the president of the United States, who was thrust into a crisis unlike any other since our nation was attacked at Pearl Harbor sixty years before, in 1941. God only knows how he coped with the shock and the enormity of such a catastrophe, as the world watched the Twin Towers collapse, as we saw the Pentagon in flames. And yet, while everyone was struggling to understand the meaning of these atrocities, the president was already reaching out to his advisers, assessing the information, and preparing our government to fight the global scourge of terrorism that descended from the sky that day.

Naturally, when I saw the president get off Marine One on the White House South Lawn that night, I was relieved and concerned—relieved that he and the First Lady were safe, but also deeply concerned about the awesome responsibility now set upon his shoulders.

The next day, Mom and Dad received special permission to fly back to Maine. All air travel was still grounded, so they didn’t see a single plane on the way. That afternoon, Jim Dionne, who owned a fishing store in Kennebunkport and is an occasional fishing partner of Dad’s, took his boat out on the Kennebunk River and headed over to Walker’s Point. He encountered Dad and a Secret Service agent in Fidelity coming out of the cove.

“What are you doing out here, Jimmy?” Dad asked.

“I came out to see if you were okay,” Jim responded.

In what would become a familiar refrain from Dad in the aftermath of the attacks, Dad said, “We’re fine, but please say a prayer for my son George.”

Jim then pointed to the American flag flying high on Walker’s Point. “Those colors never run, sir,” he said.

Dad turned to look at the flag, then told his friend, “You’re right, Jimmy. They don’t.”

Like New York, Washington was a traumatic place to live in the aftermath of 9/11. Everywhere you looked, you saw a reminder of the new world in which we were living. Fighter planes routinely screamed overhead at all hours, and helicopters were flying low over the city. Heavily armed Humvees and antiaircraft batteries were also positioned throughout our nation’s capital.

Within a couple of days, my children and I had Secret Service protection. I remember shortly after that, Robert fell on the playground at his all-boys’ school. Within minutes, the Secret Service had rushed across the lot with a first-aid kit—to Robert’s surprise and the teacher’s chagrin. The school’s motto is “Play hard, pray hard, be a good guy.” Usually, if Robert falls at school, the teachers tell him to shake it off—and while he’s at it, get a haircut.

There was great turmoil and uncertainty across the country as well, and my brother—and our First Lady—sought to comfort our nation while also showing our resolve to the world. I was particularly proud of Laura, whose calm demeanor and nurturing personality reassured us all. One of the media outlets dubbed the First Lady the “Comforter in Chief” for the way she helped to pull us all through, and for once I think the media got it right!

On September 14, the president and First Lady led the nation in prayer at a service held at the National Cathedral. I felt very fortunate to be able to attend that service with Mom and Dad. Also present were Vice President and Mrs. Cheney, most of the cabinet, President and Senator Clinton (with Chelsea), President and Mrs. Carter, President and Mrs. Ford, and other national and international dignitaries.

I remember sitting in the National Cathedral, where I had gone many times as a schoolgirl, and thinking how much our nation had changed since those innocent days. Our nation was under attack. There was a tremendous amount of emotion within those stone walls that day. After the president delivered his remarks, he returned to his seat, and Dad reached over to squeeze his arm in a silent show of support.

From there, the president flew to New York to see for himself the wreckage at Ground Zero. There, overcoming concerns for his safety raised by the Secret Service, he stood on the rubble of the towers and, using a bullhorn, promised that “the people who did that will be hearing from all of us soon.”

Then on September 20, my brother went to Capitol Hill to address a joint session of Congress.

“I was very proud of his leadership,” Dad said, “and I thought his statement to the joint session of the U.S. Congress made very clear to the nation what our priorities are and what he was determined to do. The country saw a man who was in charge, who wanted to do what is right, and wanted to do it in a just manner. He did not want to hurt innocent people in the process, but he was determined to root out this terror. And I think that statement to the country was perhaps the proudest moment Barbara and I had—sitting there watching him with tears in our eyes.”

In the weeks that followed, Washington was a different town. People displayed American flags everywhere—on cars, in front of homes, on lapel pins—and people were far more courteous to each other than usual. Like everyone else, I felt the need to do what I could to support our president and our troops. That Christmas, I joined a group of friends who had figured out what we could do in our own small way: we partnered with a computer company to videotape messages from families to the troops overseas, and they made sure the tapes got to our soldiers in Afghanistan in time for the holidays. We felt it was the least we could do for the brave men and women who were protecting us.

Two quick postscripts to 9/11: About a year later, I was at the White House visiting the president with family and friends in the private quarters when a Secret Service agent approached the president. The agent had broken into a sweat, and after taking one look at him, my brother immediately asked what was wrong. The agent explained that an airplane had unexpectedly flown into the restricted airspace near the White House. The president turned to us and said, “Everyone, we have to leave right now. Let’s go!”

Children were rounded up, the presidential dogs were grabbed, and we all started running as fast as we could down the back stairs of the White House to safety. I grabbed my youngest daughter Gigi’s hand in a death grip and led her downstairs with the other children right behind. In the rush, Sam called out, “Hey, Mom, do you want me to grab that painting of George Washington off the wall?” He was a history major, and I guess he was thinking of following in Dolley Madison’s footsteps when she rescued the painting when the British burned the White House. Sam’s humor was not appreciated by his mother at the time, although now it does seem funny. Thankfully, the whole episode turned out to be a false alarm.

September 11, 2002—the first anniversary of the terrorist attacks—was a beautiful day in Kennebunkport. At 8:15 a.m., Dad called the staff office and Secret Service command post on Walker’s Point and asked everyone to come to the Big House. Jim Nantz and his wife, Lorrie; pro golfer Davis Love and his wife, Robin; and the head pro at the Shadow Hawk Golf Club in Houston, Paul Marchand, and his wife, Judy, were all visiting. The night before, the group piled into Mom and Dad’s bedroom at the Big House in Kennebunkport and watched a DVD about a man who lost two sons on that awful day in New York City—one a fireman and one a policeman. The film left everyone speechless.

“At 8:46 a.m., we gathered around the flagpole overlooking the ocean with the flag waving in the light morning breeze and bowed our heads for a moment of silence,” remembered Paul Marchand. “There were no cameras—just a personal moment of grieving.”

From there, they watched the national service that included my brother George and Laura and then the group attended a church service in Kennebunkport conducted by several area ministers. Paul noticed that, upon arriving at the church and before entering his pew, Dad genuflected on one knee and lowered his head. For maybe thirty seconds, he was lost in prayer before taking his seat.

The service was short with prayers, homilies, and hymns.

“As it happened, I was the only one to drive back to Walker’s Point with the president from the service,” Paul said. “In the car, President Bush’s tears were flowing. I said, ‘Are you okay?’ He said, ‘I think about the families of those who were lost and I think about George and how difficult these times are.’”

Just as Dad fulfilled a long-held desire to make a parachute jump in 1997, he also completed another special mission in July 2002 when he traveled back to the Pacific island of Chi Chi Jima where he was shot down in September 1944. Jean Becker and CNN’s Paula Zahn made the journey with Dad, as did author James Bradley, whose book Fly Boys detailed eight navy and marine airmen who were shot down, captured, and executed by the Japanese forces on Chi Chi Jima. The ninth airman in Bradley’s book, Lieutenant George H. W. Bush, escaped capture.

Before they left, Dad told Paula, “This is something I have thought about every single day since the day I was shot down.”

“He said that there were all these unanswered questions that troubled him that he was hoping this trip would answer for him,” Paula recalled.

Because his trip was facilitated in part by the Japanese government, Dad first visited Atsugi on the Japanese mainland, a facility near Tokyo shared by the U.S. Navy and Japan’s Maritime Self-Defense Force. From there, they flew to Iwo Jima, where they stayed for the night.

The next morning, Dad took part in raising a ceremonial U.S. flag on Mount Suribachi on Iwo Jima, site of a vicious 1945 battle where the U.S. Marines suffered some 28,000 casualties [killed and wounded] and where Japan lost some 21,000.

His hosts asked him if he would mind stopping at a memorial for the kamikaze pilots. “I felt funny at first, since my own ship had been attacked by kamikaze pilots, but I am glad I did it. Those Japanese pilots were not terrorists. They were uniformed officers who paid the last full measure of devotion attempting to save the lives of their embattled compatriots,” Dad said to me.

Then the group jumped into helicopters, and some of the Japanese military officials handed Dad a map of the coastline they would be flying over.

“Once we landed on Chi Chi Jima, his mood changed tremendously,” Paula said. “In the helicopter, we were in the air for about an hour and he was looking at maps of the coastline very, very carefully with a couple military officials pointing out to him what some of the bombing runs involved; and as we got closer and closer to Chi Chi Jima, they actually flew over the exact spot where his Avenger went down. I could see he was thinking very intensely about that day.”

When they landed on Chi Chi Jima, roughly a hundred people with beautiful leis around their necks waved American flags, and it seemed every woman who came to honor Dad placed a lei around his neck as well. At one point, he was wearing about fifteen leis.

From the airport, the group traveled in a very small motorcade to what would be the equivalent of the island’s town hall, where the local politicians held a reception for Dad and talked about his war experience.

“As I watched this lunch unfold with local politician after local politician honoring him and saying incredible things about his valor, I was trying to imagine how many of them had relatives who perhaps targeted him when he was doing his bombing runs,” Paula recalled. “As it turned out, we actually united the president with a man now who must be in his late eighties who was on duty the day President Bush was shot down, training his guns on the president’s plane.”

The Japanese military officials did a lot of research before this trip and were able to pinpoint the exact spot where Dad’s TBM Avenger was shot down—not far off the coast. So they took boats a half mile out, and Dad got into a rubber dingy by himself and floated out to the spot where he landed in the water.

“He wanted to try and remember what it was like to be in the water that day,” Paula explained. “He wanted to be able to focus on the coastline, remember how far out he was and how terrified he was. More importantly, he was coming to this exact spot to pay honor to his fallen friends, John Delaney and Ted White.”

Dad took a couple of wreaths with him in the rubber dingy and spent ten minutes reflecting before he very slowly placed the wreaths in the water in honor of his two fallen comrades.

“During that trip, I saw the sands on which so many gave their lives,” Dad said. “I hate the word ‘closure’—it’s overused these days—but maybe the whole trip was about closure. It was certainly about reconciliation.”

Lud Ashley once said that Dad’s greatest accomplishment in life is his family. Mom and Dad now have seventeen grandchildren. I’ve spoken with some of the older ones while working on this book. Each of them has their own unique relationship with my father—all of them tender and sweet in their own way.

As Dad has become more computer literate, he has found that a great way to keep in touch with his grandchildren is by e-mail. He uses the technology to stay in touch with them from wherever he is in the world, and wherever they are in their lives.

“He e-mails all the time, so he’s always caught up with everyone,” my niece Barbara said. “He definitely knows what’s going on in our lives. For example, once when I broke up with my boyfriend, he made me reenact the breakup. Gampy played my boyfriend, and I played myself doing the breakup. It was at the [Crawford] ranch. He just wanted to see how I handled that. He was curious how it went and wanted some serious details.”

Dad also wrote to my nephew Jebby, Jeb and Columba’s youngest son, after he got into trouble while at college.

Jebster,

I, of course, was disappointed to hear about your woes. Just vow not to do it again. I think of the worries that your Dad, and probably your Mom have. But you can make all that right by making a good record as you finish out UT.

Advice from Gampy: Remember to be a good sport when the Aggies beat UT.

When we get back (leave here October 11) we want you to come stay with us either in Houston or up at Aggieland.

I love you, and except for this incident, I am very proud of you. You are a good man, so don’t let ’em get you down.

Devotedly, The one, the only Gampster

Here’s a note from Dad to Lauren, Neil’s daughter, who had asked if she could have a few friends from Princeton University up to Kennebunkport before the summer:

Darn it, darn it, darn it. The plumbing at the point is all off, no water running, no flushing, no washing. The houses do not get opened up until the second week in May when we get up there (hopefully). I am so sorry we can’t have those other tigers there. I would have sung “Boola Boola” and in other ways tried to make them feel at home, too.

How is your thesis going? How are your marks over all? Any Ables? Any Dogs?

Do find time later in the summer to come up to Kport after we are all settled in on “the Point.”

This from your devoted, Gampy, with tons of love.

At the end of the summer of 2003, he wrote to George P., Noelle, Jebby, Lauren, Pierce, Ashley, Barbara, Jenna, Marshall, Walker, Sam, Ellie, Robert, and Gigi. He refers to his English springer spaniel, Sadie, at the end:

In exactly 69 minutes we drive out of 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 Busch 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 1949) 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 Alicia 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.

The grandchildren can tell how much he is enjoying life after the White House. “After he was past the presidency, Gampy just became very carefree and let all of the burdens that he had as president go,” my niece Jenna said. “He loves to travel and do fun things. Gampy has given us so many opportunities after he’s been president to be together as a family.”

Jenna’s right, and as a result the cousins have grown especially close over the years despite how public their lives have been at times. “There are always reasons for us to see each other and stay in touch, but also I think the whole political environment makes you cautious sometimes about who you trust and who you are going to choose as your friends,” her sister Barbara added. “No one has ever had to be like that in our family because everyone trusted each other and everyone depends on each other. I don’t really have that many issues with it, because I have really great friends. All of our family members have really great friends, too, but that’s something you have in the back of your mind.”

On June 5, 2004, President Reagan passed away after a ten-year struggle with Alzheimer’s disease. Thousands of mourners filled the streets of Washington, D.C., after his body lay in state in the U.S. Capitol and was taken to services at Washington National Cathedral. Both my brother and my father spoke at the service, and in his eulogy, Dad said, “As his vice president for eight years, I learned more from Ronald Reagan than from anyone I encountered in all my years of public life.”

It was an emotional moment for Dad, as he has a difficult time getting through any funeral, but especially for a good friend like President Reagan. Seeing the Reagan family hold up so strongly helped him get through his remarks without choking up.

After the services concluded, Dad and Mom left immediately for Dad’s long-scheduled eightieth birthday celebration in Houston.

The birthday extravaganza was named “41@80” and thousands of old and new friends were invited to Houston for an elaborate celebration at Minute Maid Park. Larry King emceed, and entertainers such as Crystal Gale, Ronan Tynan, and Amy Grant and Vince Gill performed. Dad’s friends from the sporting world spoke—Chrissie Evert, Greg Norman, among others. Many current and former world leaders who had been previously invited to Dad’s celebration joined him at President Reagan’s funeral and then came to Houston. There were fireworks, and, to the delight of the crowd, the Golden Knights, the elite skydivers from the U.S. Army, sailed through an opening in the stadium roof.

Larry King told me, “The proudest thing I did was when he asked me to host his eightieth birthday. That was the night I had to settle things when every foreign leader wanted to talk.”

Larry continued, “We’re running late, so I said to them all, ‘Listen, fellows, why don’t one of you speak for all of you?’ So Mulroney said, ‘Well, I know him the best. I’ll speak for two or three minutes, represent all of us.’ Gorbachev goes, ‘Nyet! I will speak or no one will speak.’ And then Gorbachev sits down. I’ve got them all standing back there and now I don’t know what to do. I go over to your father and I said, ‘Listen, I’ve got a problem here. I got them all, it’s running close to eleven o’clock, what do I do?’

“Your father said, ‘Gorbachev saved the world. We can’t dump Gorbachev. This is a diplomatic thing.’ Then he said to me, ‘Figure it out.’ I went back and said, ‘Okay, come back, Mr. Gorbachev, you speak and the others will stand behind you. You’ll represent them all, two or three minutes.’ He said, ‘Three minutes? Nyet. Don’t limit me to three minutes.’

“Now the world leaders are all looking at each other, like, oh, boy. Then Dan Quayle leans over and says to me, ‘I told you.’ It was a comedy. Gorbachev got up, but they couldn’t stand next to him, they had to stand behind him. And he gave a very witty seven-minute speech. Prime Minister Mulroney was very sporting. They all understood. They said, ‘Listen, this is what we’ve got to do.’ That was a terrific moment.”

The next day, everyone boarded buses and a special Union Pacific train to College Station, where the Bush Library is located. The Oak Ridge Boys sang under a big tent, the Texas A&M Wranglers danced, and everyone ate barbecue. The highlight of the day, of course, was when Dad jumped out of an airplane with the Golden Knights.

On the day of the big jump, my niece Lauren went out at dawn with Dad for a practice jump. (Some members of our family had done a jump the day before, without Dad, and she wanted to go again.) “I drive out to the airfield and it’s just Gampy and me jumping, because he wanted to prove to them that he could go alone. I’d gone the day before, so I wasn’t panicked. There were all these younger guys who obviously idolized Gampy. They’re in the plane, too. Gampy and I were at separate ends of the plane so it’s hard to talk. It was a really special moment. It was really early, so the light was beautiful. I just liked being there with him.”

Dad’s big jump at the party—in front of the crowd—went off without a hitch, and the entire weekend was a great success. Overall, it raised almost $60 million for my parents’ favorite charities and brought together an international cast of dignitaries.

“George really wanted me to jump with a parachute together with him on the day of his eightieth birthday,” President Gorbachev told me. “I replied, half in jest, that he shouldn’t subject my life to such a risk, since I had not had the same practice that he had. I promised him that after his landing I would meet him with a bouquet of flowers. I kept my promise, adding a bottle of vodka into the bargain.”

George’s 2004 reelection campaign was approaching, and Barbara and Jenna were thinking about going out on the campaign trail for the first time. In 2000, they were just freshmen in college when their dad ran for president. He never wanted them to be in the public eye if they didn’t want to. This time around, however, they were at a good time in their lives to help and didn’t want to feel that they hadn’t helped if their dad lost. They traveled together and were very effective letting people know more about the president.

Many of the grandchildren were old enough to participate in the campaign. George P., who was a star in 2000, was not able to campaign as much as he wanted because of his job as a law clerk; but the campaign sent Sam and Ellie to Colorado, to put up signs and pass out brochures.

I was happy to join Jenna and Barbara on the campaign’s “W Stands for Women” grassroots effort aimed at getting out the women’s vote. Every vote counted. George thought the women’s vote was key—naturally, because he’s surrounded himself with so many strong women, like his chief political adviser, Karen Hughes, Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, and Margaret Spellings, his former domestic policy adviser and now secretary of education, to name a few.

My sister-in-law, Tricia Koch, and I packed our bags—that way, when a call from the campaign came, we were ready to go at a moment’s notice. The eight children between us whom we left behind were well taken care of, and when we were gone, they wore their George W. gear. My mother was worried about our husbands, but thanks to the miracle of microwaves and frozen food, we knew everyone would be fine. This was a close election, and as we later found out the hard way, everyone’s efforts made an enormous difference.

My favorite part of being on the campaign was traveling to places I’d never been and meeting all kinds of people who genuinely care about their country. I marched in parades and rode on fire engines. Along the way, I experienced the innate decency of the American people.

Here’s an e-mail Dad sent to my nieces Barbara and Jenna, George and Laura’s twins, just before the 2004 election.

After leaving you I went to a good rally with Gov Jeb. Now I head to Houston on this great plane. But it is lonely here now. No twins to brighten my life. No cute and stylish introducers. No sleeping beauties to look over at saying to myself “are those 2 sleeping beauties the same two who bugged me about the aliens and sic-ed that cat on me in Austin?”

I am getting older, girls. Maybe you noticed that I walk a little different and that my hearing is less able to handle the diphthongs and the decibels.

But what you cannot possibly know is what is deeply ingrained in my heart. I tease you. I show off in front of your friends. You name it.

But you can’t really know the depth of my pride in you. And you cannot possibly know how much I love you both.

I am an old man now. I hate to admit it, but one reason I want to stay alive a lot longer is to watch you go on now to your exciting lives ahead and maybe, just maybe, get to hug your kids.

Win or lose on Tuesday, and I am now more confident it is “win,” I will be there for you. You have your own great Mom and Dad but if you ever need a shoulder to cry or an old guy to laugh with count me in.

I just want to be sure that you both know of my pride in you and of my love.

This from the one, the only Gampy aka The Gampster

On election night, November 3, the early exit polls looked terrible. I was so worried that I told Mom I’d rather not come down to the White House where everyone was gathering. I had been doing satellite television interviews up to the final hours and couldn’t stand the thought of my brother losing. But Mom ordered me to come, in that voice from my childhood: “Get. Down. Here. Right. Now.”

After 2000, the last thing my brother, the First Lady, the nation, and the rest of us needed was another cliff-hanger. After Minnesota was called for Senator Kerry at 4:38 a.m. the next day, as well as Michigan at 5:30 a.m., my brother was leading 269 to 238. Only Ohio and its 31 electoral votes hung in the balance. Thankfully, Senator Kerry spared the nation another contentious recount. He decided not to legally challenge the Ohio results and called the president at 11:00 the morning after the election to concede. Upon hearing the news, we took the kids out of school and joined thousands of supporters at the Reagan Building in Washington, D.C., for the president’s victory speech.

In all the excitement of the night before, Laura remembered seeing Dad in a touching scene: “Little Kate Cheney, the vice president’s granddaughter, was here. Kate was in second or third grade. She was the only little person there. Gampy had this very long conversation with her. She was telling him about her teacher who had fifteen cats. On the night of such an emotional roller coaster, here was the father of the candidate centered enough that he could have a conversation like that.”