But now, that futile feeling was gone. Now, he was turning the corner. Soon, there wouldn’t be any more joint events, other people’s crowds to please, other people’s hosts to thank. Soon, it would be George Bush for President ... he’d waited six years to say that simple phrase again. Just a couple of days now, and it was his turn again. And he’d made it through this last go-round without any major mistakes. He was coming in strong, far better than when he started the last time—just him and young David Bates, flying commercial, flying coach! “Steerage,” he used to call it.
He grabbed a fistful of popcorn and leaned back in his big chair. Yeah, different now. ... Fuller was in the corner, quiet, as always. Atwater was on the bench, talking about Tommy Thompson. Looked good for Thompson in Wisconsin. Looked good, in a lot of the races they’d hit, Lee said.
Bush grunted assent. He had a mouthful of popcorn. He knew good news that none of them knew yet. Still delicate. Wouldn’t say anything with them in the cabin. ... Hard to know if it’d really happen, anyway. In fact, it wasn’t until the next day, Saturday, at the Houstonian, he’d confide to Fuller: “Looks like we might have some good news on the hostages.”
It took Fuller by surprise. The way he had the office set up, Fuller sat astride the channel for classified security stuff. And he hadn’t heard anything about a hostage.
“Really?”
“Yeah, one for sure. One more, maybe two ... maybe tomorrow.”
And sure enough, on that blessed church-and-golf Sunday, an American hospital administrator named David Jacobsen was freed on a street in West Beirut, after seventeen months as a hostage of the Islamic Jihad.
That was the frosting on Bush’s cake. And he was pretty sure there would be more. Timing up in the air ... but they had a lever now. At least they were on the right track. At last, they were talking to the right people!
Bush swung into his last day, his Texas tour, with such a happy air, he was like a kid. In Mesquite, that morning, he told the crowd: “Go out and vote tomorrow, as often as you can!”
In El Paso, he appeared with the GOP’s Attorney General candidate, Roy Barrera, a Hispanic—whose cause so thoroughly enchanted Bush that he attempted Barrera’s slogan—in Spanish! ... “¡Voy con Roy!” (It was the moral equivalent of “I Like Ike.”) ... By the time they hit College Station, Bush was so enthralled with his new friend that he yelled:
“Voy con Roy! It’s not just a slogan! It’s a way of life!”
By the time he’d worked through the day, back to Houston, he was ready to let it all out for the last big Monday crowd. They called the event at the Galleria mall the “Texas Victory ’86 Rally.” But it really had more to do with Bush, in ’88. The Clements campaign didn’t want a big deal: they suggested a simple press conference—just enough to get their man on the local news at six-thirty. It was the Bushies who got the bit in their teeth—insisted on a mega-event, a crowd to fill the Galleria skating rink. It was the Bush people who found the money to put down a floor over the ice, to bus in a half-dozen high school bands, to provide two hours of entertainment to pack the place. The Advance was incredible. The Clements people had never seen anything like it. The Bushies signed on the Houston Astros’ announcer, Milo Hamilton, as emcee. They brought in a few Astros to build the crowd. They hired on country bands, jazz bands, rock ’n’ roll bands ... signs, balloons, giant flags. The scale of the thing was, well ... Presidential. The Bush team didn’t even observe the pretense that this was for Clements. This was for Bush, the kickoff. The Bushies wore special T-shirts while they gussied up the mall. The shirts read: “In the Rink ... On the Brink.”
And when Bush walked in, the place went sky-high. There were more than a thousand people packed into the rink below, hanging off the balconies ... all the way to the roof! The bands were blaring. The noise was amazing. Everybody agreed he got as good a reception as Clements—maybe better. It even knocked him out. He stood on stage with Bar, just looking around the balconies, his mouth hanging open in a grin. Yeah, it was going to be different, this time. ... It was going to be fun! Jeez, all the friends he could see in the crowd. He was pointing, making faces at them. Bar would spot some more, and point them out to him. Then Alan Ashby showed up, the catcher from the Astros. They made Poppy throw the ball again. So he wound up and flung it, good and hard this time, straight across the rink. And Ashby caught it, and the crowd gave a terrific whoop. ... And Bush was happy, home, among friends, and on his own. He’d made the turn, his turn now, and it was coming together, it was going to be okay, it would be ...
How could he tell them? He’d never been too good at saying ... people just had to feel it with him. They were on the right track. He knew it. The people would vote tomorrow, they’d ratify ... it was important. How could he say? ...
So he started with the names, the persons: Bill Clements for Governor, my friend ... and Roy Barrera for Attorney General, my new friend, Voy con Roy! ... the Congressional candidates ... all the Republicans, all friends of his ... and he was talking without text for once, not a speech, and a lock of his hair had fallen on his forehead, like it always did, when he really got going ... the most important day, tomorrow, the big day ... we’ll be voting, we’ll be sending the word, showing our colors ...
He was standing in front of a Texas flag, twenty feet tall. And now, from the floor, a huge Stars and Stripes began to rise in front of the Lone Star, climbing to the rafters behind him as he spoke.
“We’ll be doing the Lord’s work,” Bush said, “for our great city of Houston and the state of Texas ...”
It would be blessed.
So, the next day, he jumped into the limo, and he and Bar voted and made for the plane. On the way back to D.C., the staff gathered with him, packed in the Power Cabin, and gave their assessment of where he stood. Looked good, they agreed: he’d made the turn; no mistakes.
And that night, he and Bar had a few friends at the Residence—maybe twenty people—to watch the returns. It was a shock, the Senate thing. ... Of course, the networks spent the whole night on that. ...
But the bright spots (the only bright spot for Republicans, Brokaw said) were the Governors. The GOP just about swept those clean—picked up eight statehouses that night. There were twenty-four Republican Governors now, and George Bush had spent time with them all. Even he was surprised how well that went. He spent half the night on the phone in his study, while the White House switchboard tracked down the winners. And just when he had one on the line, Lee Atwater would run in with more-news: Carroll Campbell in South Carolina! CBS called it for Thompson! Clements pulling away in Texas! Wasn’t it amazing the way it worked out? The only people who won were the people he helped. His friends! What a Great and Good stroke of fortune!
It was such a good night in the VP house, none of the guests could remember later whether they even heard the other news: that day, the Parliament Speaker in Iran announced that a group of U.S. officials had snuck into his country on phony passports, come to Tehran with a shipment of weapons, bearing for the Ayatollah Khomeini a cake and a Bible from Ronald Reagan.
Dole spent election night in his office. He’d voted in Russell, but then flew East. His home-state Republicans gathered to celebrate in Topeka, as always, in that ratty Ramada overlooking the highway, but this year they’d have to make do with a satellite feed from their victorious Senator. Dole was piling up a handsome majority in Kansas, but he couldn’t stick around to commune with the faithful. He had work to do.
In Washington, the staff had the Capitol suite arranged for the business of the evening: in his inner office, a graceful antique chair and loveseat were arrayed, in state, before four console TVs. That’s where the Senator and Secretary Dole would watch the returns. The outer salon was given over to camera crews from the networks: they’d be in there all night, hooked by a twisting mile of cable to satellite trucks in the parking lot, ready to feed live to their bureaus, so their anchormen could chat for five minutes with Dole. Down the hall, in the grand chandelier
ed Office of the Secretary of the Senate, Jo-Anne Coe’s reception room was stocked as a buffet: shrimp, roast beef, cheese, crudités ... so her staff, the Leader’s staff, the Sergeant at Arms, committee staff, could gather in tribal solidarity to witness the coming of the next Congress. This was not, for them, a matter of idle, or even purely political, interest: if the news was bad, if the Democrats won, there would be no more power for them; if the news was bad, Bob Byrd, the Democratic Leader, would be coming, tomorrow, for this graceful office with the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the Mall; if the news was bad, if the Democrats won, everyone from senior Finance Committee tax specialists (who’d wielded power for six years to make or break whole industries) to the twenty-year-old elevator operators (who smiled and punched buttons on the self-service consoles to make spending money for college), the Sergeant at Arms, doorkeepers, Capitol police, clerical staff, maybe two thousand souls ... could be demoted, or fired, the next day.
And the news didn’t look good: at 7:01 on the evening newscast, the nets called Florida for the Democrats. Wirthlin’s last poll had Paula Hawkins only five or six points behind. But it wasn’t even close. She got killed. One seat, already, gone from Dole’s grasp. One minute into the news! Then, through the night, the tide rolled west, through the time zones, state after state:
Broyhill lost in North Carolina. Mack Mattingly lost in Georgia ... Mattingly should have gone home, shouldn’t have stayed for the end of the session.
NBC called a win for Jerry Denton: Alabama! At last, a state they held! Denton was a war hero, POW ... still went a long way in Alabama.
Wasn’t till late, they reversed the call—said Denton lost. Took away another seat. Took it away from Dole.
Thing was, he’d done the job. He knew he’d kept things moving, tried to make a difference, stuck his neck out to do something on issues that another man might have ducked. What’d it get him? What’d it get any of them? Dole saw the faces around him, the anxious strain. People thought he didn’t notice. But what could he do? From the salon, amid the cables and floodlights, he heard snatches of conversation. Two of the politics guys were arriving for the tribal rite. They’d driven in to the Capitol from the Campaign America office in Virginia. One of them said, plaintively: “How can they throw us out when gas is seventy-nine cents a gallon?”
Good question. Dole couldn’t sit in the throne, kept hopping up to check the ticker in the pressroom. Walt Riker had friends in the networks, so he was getting numbers that weren’t on the air yet. The networks wouldn’t broadcast until the polls closed in each state. Elizabeth stuck it out on the loveseat, watching as the maps and the faces flashed up on the screen ...
Good evening, I’m Peter Jennings in New York. ... And we have a couple of projections to make. ... In North Dakota, that is still too close to call. The incumbent, Republican Mark Andrews ...
Andrews ought to be pulling away. Andrews didn’t make enough friends. Kind of guy who was always there when he wanted something. But when you needed him ... He was the one who beat up Elizabeth when she testified before his committee. He was mean to her! Still asked Dole for help. Guy just had to sneeze and Dole was out there with a hanky.
The TV screens showed maps of the country, but the map in Dole’s mind was the Senate floor. If they held the losses to three seats, Bush could break the tie. Do him good to stick around Washington for a vote once in a while. Even if they lost four ... well, Dole could have another talk with Zorinsky. He was a Nebraska Democrat who used to be a Republican. Might want to switch back, if the price was right—say, the chairmanship of the Ag Committee. Dole had already sounded out Zorinsky.
The Senate in South Dakota. We now project that Tom Daschle is going to win the Senate race in South Dakota, defeating the incumbent, James Abdnor, Senator James Abdnor. ... The issue there was the farm economy, from beginning to end.
Abdnor was the one that hit Dole the hardest. A guy Dole could count on. ... Had a lisp, or some kind of speech problem, and the Washington press never gave him credit: Abdnor didn’t go to receptions, didn’t even own a pinstripe suit. But the guy was solid, knew his fanners, worked like hell ... and what did it get him? Dole tried to put him on TV, took him to meetings at the White House. When the press staked out the West Wing doors, waiting for a statement from Dole, he’d shove Abdnor out instead. Then Dole put him up in the chair to preside on a big roll call—guaranteed TV time. Worked like a charm ... what’d it get him?
Dole was staring down at the carpet between his chair and the TV consoles. The carpet was an intricate masterpiece, dark reds and blues, pale purples, and ivory wool knotted into tiny figures of the ancient Chinese past. Deng Xiaoping made a gift of the carpet to the distinguished Majority Leader on the occasion of his visit in 1985. Zschau in California... Gorton could still win in Washington ... maybe Andrews... The carpet was priceless. Should never have been on the floor. Four seats ... Dole bounced his heels on the rug.
“Senator? ...”
They moved him into the salon, where Jennings and Brinkley wanted him live. They had Bob Byrd on another feed down the hall.
Be nice.
Dole congratulated Byrd on the air. Said he knew they could work together. They’d work out a trade bill that wasn’t protectionist ...
We can now project, James Santini, the Republican, defeated for the Senate in Nevada, a severe blow for the Republicans and for Paul Laxalt, the retiring ...
Then it was Brokaw, Brokaw and Byrd. Dole congratulated Byrd and the Democrats, said he wasn’t entirely surprised. It was a tough year, an off year, but they could work together on the deficit ... tried to smile. He’s supposed to look happy?
But the mood that you saw reflected in Senator Dole’s interview is very much the mood of Republican aides here on Capitol Hill. There are lots of them around, and they are very gloomy ...
Brit Hume was on the screen for ABC, from the Capitol.
But looking at North Dakota ... Kent Conrad, the State Tax Commissioner, who was at one time not expected to do really well against incumbent Mark Andrews, another member of the Republican and Reagan class of 1980, is ahead out there and stands a chance. ... And in that kind of situation, a Democratic takeover of the Senate becomes almost inevitable. Gentlemen? ...
In the salon, Dole moved from chair to chair, wearing his own earplug, so they wouldn’t have to fiddle with his ear and his neck every time he moved to a new interview. He did CBS, went out in the hall for CNN, and C-Span. Then, he did the locals. He was on TV the rest of the night. Had to be. Couldn’t buy exposure like that. ... Had to speak for the Party ... but this was for Dole.
Over and over, he said to the camera: “We’re going to work with the Democrats ... congratulate my friend Bob Byrd ... but keep in mind: Ronald Reagan is still President. He is a very powerful President ...”
But this was for Dole. Reagan’s power was gone. Finished. The old magic hadn’t worked a lick. Reagan went into Nevada, twice. ... Laxalt’s guy still lost that race. People didn’t believe in it anymore. They saw the deficit. Democrats were going to make the agenda. Finished. Bob Dole back in the minority. ... What would he have, forty-six votes? Forty-five?
He tried to do the satellite for Kansas. The damn thing wouldn’t work. “How y’dooonnn there? ... We on? ... Yeah ... How y’dooonnn? ... okay ...”
Soon he gave up and went back to the networks for the West Coast wrap-ups. Wasn’t gonna run in Kansas for a long time. ...
It was over in the Senate. Might be years until Dole got any power again. There was only one way he was going to get it now ...
“Well, sure, I have an interest in ’88 ... Have to see whether people have an interest in Bob Dole ...”
He wouldn’t go into Jo-Anne’s office. Just had Dean bring him a sandwich, between interviews. ... Didn’t want to see the faces in there, those kids ... some of them weren’t kids. Some had spent a lot of years here, waiting for their chance ... chance was over now. Bob Dole was sixty-three this year. ...
We can now project that Alan Cranston has retained his seat against a strong challenge from Ed Zschau ...
“Well, Dan, maybe it’ll give me a little more time. Won’t have to be here every night, turn out the lights. ... Yeah, hegh hegh, Bob Byrd’s gonna have to turn out the lights now. Hegh hegh ...”
He was getting his face right ... Presidential. “Congratulate my friend Bob Byrd. Lotta able people on both sides of the aisle ...”
And standing by live, now, we have Bob Dole ...
It was after midnight when he finished with the networks. After one o’clock when he finished with the big-foot print guys. ... Then he went back to the cameras, started taping for the overnights.
“Of course I have an interest in ’88 ... bipartisan spirit ... people want to see that we’re taking care of some serious problems we have ...” Exposure you couldn’t buy.
It wasn’t till three in the morning that he finished the last interview. Elizabeth had gone home long ago. Now Dole got into the waiting car to go back to the Watergate, too. Dole told Riker before he left: yes to Brinkley and McLaughlin for this weekend ... yes to them all now.
He’d be back after two hours’ sleep to do three morning shows. Smile. ... “Sure we can work with my friend Bob Byrd ...”
It wasn’t till the end of the week he found out his friend Bob Byrd wanted his office: not just Jo-Anne’s with the chandeliers, but the whole thing. Wanted to throw him out of his office!
Be nice.
“Hegh hegh hegh, have to see if the people have an interest in Bob Dole. ... Walked into the cloakroom the other day, and yelled, ‘Mr. President!’ Twenty guys turned around! Hegh hegh hegh hegh ... But we’ve got serious problems in this country.”
It was the only way. ... The Other Thing had become the only thing.
4
1944
What It Takes Page 13
