41: A Portrait of My Father

by George W. Bush

  I made it clear that Mother and Dad had an open invitation to stay at the White House anytime. Laura and I were very happy that they came to Washington frequently, including on September 10, 2001, for a board meeting of a national cancer coalition that they had helped found. That day I flew to Florida, where I had an education event scheduled at a Sarasota school the following morning. Mother and Dad left Washington early on September 11 for a speaking engagement in Minnesota. Later that morning, America suffered the worst terrorist attack in our history—the first major assault on our home soil since the Pearl Harbor attack in 1941.

  I knew Mother and Dad would be worried about me. As I was working my way back to Washington, I placed several calls to them from aboard Air Force One. When we finally connected, I asked where they were. “At a motel in Brookfield, Wisconsin,” came the response from Mother. “What in the world are you doing there?” I asked. “Son, you grounded our plane,” Mother said. Some things never change. Her quip was a light moment on a dark day.

  Three days after the September 11 attacks, Laura and I attended a church service at the National Cathedral. Former Presidents Clinton, Carter, and Ford were there, along with Supreme Court Justices, Members of Congress, and—most important to me—Laura and my parents. “Just three days removed from these events, Americans do not yet have the distance of history,” I said. “But our responsibility to history is already clear: to answer these attacks and rid the world of evil. War has been waged against us by stealth and deceit and murder. This nation is peaceful, but fierce when stirred to anger. This conflict was begun on the timing and terms of others. It will end in a way, and at an hour, of our choosing.”

  Delivering that speech without breaking down was challenging. Many people in the cathedral had tears streaming down their cheeks, including some military personnel. My strategy was not to look at Laura or my parents, because I knew that seeing them would push me over the edge. Fortunately, I made it to the end of my speech and returned to my pew. The former Presidents and their families were seated in chronological order, but Dad had asked Bill Clinton if he would be willing to switch places so that Mother and Dad could sit next to Laura and me. Bill had graciously agreed. Just after I sat down, Dad reached over Laura and gently squeezed my arm. My emotions were raw, and his simple, loving gesture brought me comfort, encouragement, and strength.

  —

  MOTHER AND DAD made many other visits to the White House over the years. One of the most enjoyable came in January 2005, when Laura and I hosted a party to celebrate their sixtieth wedding anniversary. The whole family came for a black-tie dinner filled with loving toasts and lots of laughter. After their fifty-fourth anniversary, my parents had passed John and Abigail Adams to claim the title of longest-married presidential couple. They are now just a few months away from extending their record to seventy years. In typical style, Dad wrote me a gracious note after the party. “I guess it’s fair to say that at 80½ years old I have been to a lot of wonderful events; but, for us, none can compare with the gala…. Young and old, relatives and non-relatives, sophisticates and the unwashed, all had the time of their lives. Thanks so very much from the bottom of my achy breaky heart.”

  Dad and I spoke frequently throughout my presidency, although not necessarily about the topics that some people have assumed. In the limo after a State of the Union address or another big speech, I would often get a call from the White House operator: “Mr. President, your father is on the line.” Dad would offer an encouraging and comforting word. I did not use e-mail during my presidency, but Dad would often forward a corny joke or one-liner to my senior aides, knowing that they would bring it into the Oval Office to brighten my day. For example, in 2007, he sent this along: “An eighty-year-old man was arrested for shoplifting. When he went before the judge he asked him what he stole. He replied, ‘A can of peaches.’ The judge asked how many peaches were in the can. ‘Six,’ he replied. ‘Then I will give you six days in jail,’ the judge said. Then the man’s wife spoke up: ‘He stole a can of peas too!’ ” George Bush understood the pressure of the presidency and the power of laughter to ease stress. His humor was often just what I needed.

  My father and I did talk business from time to time. One common topic was personnel decisions. When I was considering options for my vice presidential nominee, I called to ask his advice about his former Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney. Without hesitating, he said, “Dick would be a great choice. He would give you candid and solid advice. And you’d never have to worry about him going behind your back.” He was exactly right, and for eight years I was glad to have Vice President Cheney by my side.

  Shortly after my election, I called Dad about another former member of his national security team, former Joint Chiefs Chairman Colin Powell. I was considering Colin for Secretary of State, my first Cabinet selection. “Colin is highly respected around the world,” Dad said. “He would be a terrific Secretary of State.”

  Years later, when I was considering a change in Secretary of Defense, I called to ask his opinion on Bob Gates, his former Deputy National Security Adviser and CIA Director who was then serving as President of Texas A&M.

  “Dad, I am considering Bob Gates to be Secretary of Defense,” I said. “Do you have any thoughts?”

  “I do,” he said. “I have the highest respect for Bob Gates, and I think he would do a superb job.

  “Do you think he’ll do it?” he added.

  “The indications are that he will,” I said.

  “Losing him would be a big loss for A&M but a big gain for the country,” Dad said.

  He was right. Bob Gates did a fine job as Secretary of Defense. And President Obama kept him on after he took office, making Bob the only Secretary of Defense to serve two Presidents of different parties.

  During my presidency, Dad and I didn’t talk much about policy. He understood better than anyone that the President is surrounded by experts with in-depth information about the key issues. If I had asked for his advice on a policy matter, he would have said, “Send your briefers so that I know what I’m talking about.” He knew that I had plenty of outside opinions. As the father of the President, he could provide something different: the love and support I needed to handle the pressure of the job.

  One area that interested Dad was my relations with foreign leaders. Throughout his career, he had been a master of personal diplomacy—of getting to know people and earning their trust. I had witnessed how effective his approach had been. I held hundreds of face-to-face meetings (and made many more phone calls) with my key counterparts around the world. I invited fellow world leaders not only to the White House but also to Camp David, our ranch in Crawford, and Walker’s Point.

  In early 2007, I called Dad and asked him if he would invite President Vladimir Putin of Russia to Walker’s Point. I felt that it would be a perfect place to discuss the missile defense systems that we were planning to build in Poland and the Czech Republic.

  Dad was thrilled about the idea. “Just let me know what you need, son,” he said.

  When Putin arrived on July 1, 2007, Dad met his plane at the airport in New Hampshire and accompanied him on the helicopter ride to Walker’s Point. Then he took both of us for a speedboat ride. Although initially startled by the idea of an eighty-three-year-old former President driving the boat at top speed, Putin loved the ride. (His interpreter looked like he was about to fly out the back of the boat.) The next morning, we had a long conversation about missile defenses, in which we found some common ground. We then went fishing. Fittingly, Putin was the only one who caught anything.

  —

  AS THE 2004 election approached, I naturally thought back to my father’s defeat in 1992. In some ways, I was in an ominously similar position. Like him, my first term had included approval ratings around 90 percent: after September 11 in my case, and after the Gulf War in his. Those numbers declined over time, and my race against the Democratic nominee—Senator John Kerry of Massachusetts—looked close. On election
night, the whole family gathered at the White House. I think Dad may have been more anxious this time than he had been four years earlier. He remembered the agony of 1992, and he did not want me to endure the same pain. At the end of election night, I had a solid lead, but Kerry had not yet conceded. Early the next morning, Mother and Dad left for Houston. Later that morning, I got a call from John Kerry, who graciously conceded the election. I became the first President to win a majority of the popular vote since Dad in 1988. When I called to give him the good news, his reaction was more relief than excitement. The wound from 1992 healed a little more.

  —

  ON THE DAY after Christmas in 2004, a massive tsunami in the Indian Ocean devastated several Asian countries. The waves, one hundred feet high in some places, wiped away huge stretches of coastline and killed more than two hundred thousand people. I deployed American naval assets to help with the relief efforts. I decided to ask Dad and Bill Clinton to lead a private fund-raising campaign. I believed that a fund-raising drive led by these two former rivals would send an important signal about America’s commitment to those suffering from the disaster.

  I called Dad and Clinton to tell them about my idea. Both readily agreed to serve, and they raised an impressive amount of money for the relief effort. As part of their efforts, Dad and Clinton took a lengthy trip to the scene of the devastation. They had seen each other at official events over the years, but they didn’t really know each other. That changed on their trip to Asia. Their military plane had only one bed, and Clinton generously let George Bush sleep on it every night. Dad appreciated Clinton’s consideration. Like many, he marveled at Clinton’s boundless energy and genuine interest in people. Outside the pressure cooker of a political campaign, it was hard not to like the man. The friendship that flourished between the two of them was something that I did not expect.

  After Hurricanes Katrina and Rita struck the gulf coast in 2005, I decided to deploy the odd couple again. Once again, they answered the call, making multiple visits to the region and filming public service announcements to raise awareness about the needs of the victims. Their bipartisan appeal inspired more than a hundred million dollars in private donations. When Hurricane Ike struck in 2008, I called Presidents 41 and 42 into action for a third time. Once again, they did a terrific job.

  The friendship they formed through their shared service has endured. Bill Clinton visits my parents regularly in Maine. Over time, it became clear that Clinton treated Dad as a sort of father figure, perhaps because Clinton never knew his father. Mother took to calling Clinton her long-lost fifth son—or, as Marvin put it, “a brother from another mother.” Clinton embraced the image and started calling himself the black sheep of the Bush family. He joked that Barbara Bush would do anything to claim another President in the family. In retrospect, I am not surprised about the relationship that developed between George Bush and Bill Clinton. Dad is a gracious man who always found a way to see the best in others. Even the most painful moment of his political career was not an obstacle to befriending the man who defeated him.

  When my second term ended in 2009, I was fortunate to become the first President to leave office with both parents alive. For one of my final Oval Office meetings, I welcomed the three living former Presidents—Bill Clinton, Dad, and Jimmy Carter—and the incoming President, Barack Obama. While we had our differences on policy issues, we all enjoyed the opportunity to sit together in the office that we shared and to impart some advice to the newest member of the club. The President-elect was gracious, and I noticed that he was particularly deferential to Dad. It was clear that he genuinely respected and admired George Bush. Two years later, President Obama awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the highest civilian honor that the President can bestow. After recounting Dad’s accomplishments, President Obama said, “His life is a testament that public service is a noble calling.”

  In an era characterized by bitter partisanship, George Bush set an example as a man who put civility and decency ahead of the ugliness of politics. When powerful Democratic Congressman Dan Rostenkowski was convicted and sent to prison for his role in the House post office scandal, most of his Washington colleagues abandoned him. Not George Bush. He and Rosty had known each other since they served together on the House Ways and Means Committee in the 1960s. Dad called Rosty in prison, hoping to lift his spirits and helping him pass the time. And it probably helped Rosty’s standing a little bit that the warden knew the former President could call at any moment.

  Earlier this year, President Obama (who is not popular in Texas) stopped in Houston for a political fund-raiser on the way to an event celebrating the civil rights legacy of Lyndon Johnson. When he came down the steps of Air Force One, George H.W. Bush was waiting on the tarmac in his wheelchair. “When the President comes to your hometown,” he said, “you show up and welcome him.”

  Dad set an example in other ways. He continued to play golf, fish, and take long walks well into his eighties. As he said in an interview after a parachute jump on his eighty-fifth birthday, “Just because you’re an old guy, you don’t have to sit around drooling in the corner. Get out and do something. Get out and enjoy life.”

  Around 2010, Dad’s athletic body started to fail him. He was diagnosed with parkinsonism, a condition similar to Parkinson’s disease that affects his ability to move his lower body. He can no longer exercise like he loved to do. Eventually he could no longer walk and had to use a wheelchair. Still, he lives joyfully. Sitting in his wheelchair, he realized that his socks were among the most visible parts of his wardrobe. So he started wearing brightly colored socks. His favorites are red, white, and blues. Even though it is a struggle for him to climb in and out of his wheelchair, he accepts invitations to public events. After all, he is the President who signed the Americans with Disabilities Act. He continues his prolific correspondence and constantly entertains people in Houston and especially at Walker’s Point. As always, he has a special place in his heart for those who were suffering. When he learned that one of his Secret Service agents had a two-year-old son undergoing treatment for leukemia, my eighty-nine-year-old father shaved his head in solidarity with the boy.

  Dad does not do things like that to get attention. He is just living out the values that have defined his whole life. One of his favorite quotes is: “Preach the Gospel at all times; if necessary, use words.” Over time, people began to take notice, and there was an outpouring of public affection for Dad. I am so pleased that George Bush’s accomplishments and character are receiving the recognition that they deserve—and that he is able to see it. Numerous institutions have named things in his honor: Houston’s George Bush Intercontinental Airport, the George Bush Center for Intelligence in Langley, Virginia (the CIA headquarters), the President George Bush Turnpike in Dallas, and—perhaps his favorite—the USS George H.W. Bush, a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier.

  —

  AS DEVOTED AS he has always been to public service, what matters most to George H.W. Bush is his family. When he said that he no longer pursued happiness because he had found happiness, it was his family that he had in mind. He is especially affectionate with his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He devotes enormous time and energy to developing a relationship with each of them, smothering them in a blanket of love. He sends cards or e-mails about their part in the school play or game-winning hit in Little League. And in Maine during the summers, he always loves when they arrive.

  In November 2012, Dad checked into Houston Methodist hospital with a bad cough. When Laura and I went to visit a few days later, he was wearing a brace around his abdomen and obviously suffering serious pain. “How you feeling, Dad?” I asked. He smiled. “It’s not the cough that carries you off; it’s the coffin you go off in,” he quipped. In typical fashion, he lifted our spirits.

  His condition worsened in early December. The brutal, hacking cough turned to pneumonia. I called him often. I wanted to hear his voice and gauge his strength. At the end of every phone call, I
said, “I love you.” He would always reply, “I love you more.”

  Fearing the worst, our family surrounded Dad. My brother Neil sat for hours at his bedside reading aloud to him. Jeb, Marvin, and Doro visited with their families. Laura and I made another trip to the hospital in December. This time we brought Barbara and Jenna, who was five months pregnant. Before we went in, I told everyone not to cry. I did not want Dad to sense our despair. As we entered the room, he could barely open his eyes and his voice was weak.

  “Hi, George, how are you? And there’s Laura. Hi, beautiful.” He lay back contently as Barbara and Jenna rubbed his head. Then he reached out and gently put his hand on Jenna’s pregnant belly.

  “There’s death,” he said, “and there’s new life.” We all left the room sobbing.

  Long ago, Lieutenant George Bush had narrowly escaped death in the Pacific. For the next seventy years, he made the most of the life God had spared. He and my mother raised and loved six children. He served his fellow citizens at the highest level, striving above all to advance the cause of peace. He has lived a life of faith, devoted to his family. In the winter of 2012, when he was still in a weakened state, I reminded him that my presidential library was scheduled to open the following April.

  “I’ll be there, son,” he said.

  Sure enough, when, on a beautiful sunny day in Dallas, the current and former Presidents gathered at SMU, George H.W. Bush was there. He had battled through the illness and regained his strength. He was in his wheelchair sitting tall. When it was his turn to speak, his voice was strong. “It’s a great pleasure to be here to honor our son, our oldest son,” he said, trying hard to control his emotions. “This is very special for Barbara and me…. We’re glad to be here. God bless America, and thank you very much.” The crowd gave him a standing ovation. I cherished the moment, which a few months earlier had seemed like an unlikely dream. Then he turned to me.

  “Too long?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.