Decision Points Part 4

I tried hard to focus on the inauguration, but I couldn't. As we walked into the church, I told Mother I had been struggling with the decision of whether or not to run for president.

"George," she said, "get over it. Make up your mind, and move on." It was good advice, but not too helpful at the time.

Then Mark Craig struck. In his sermon, he spoke about the Book of Exodus, when G.o.d calls Moses to action. Moses' first response was disbelief: "Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?" He had every excuse in the book. He hadn't led a perfect life; he wasn't sure if people would follow him; he couldn't even speak that clearly. That sounded a little familiar.

Mark described G.o.d's rea.s.surance that Moses would have the power to perform the task he had been called to do. Then Mark summoned the congregation to action. He declared that the country was starving for moral and ethical leadership. Like Moses, he concluded, "We have the opportunity, each and every one of us, to do the right thing, and for the right reason."

I wondered if this was the answer to my question. There were no mysterious voices whispering in my ears, just Mark Craig's high-pitched Texas tw.a.n.g coming from the pulpit. Then Mother leaned forward from her seat at the other end of the pew. She caught my eye and mouthed, "He is talking to you."

After the service, I felt different. The pressure evaporated. I felt a sense of calm.

Laura and I had been discussing the presidential race for eighteen months. She was my sounding board as I talked through the pros and cons. She didn't try to argue me out of the race, nor did she attempt to steer me in. She listened patiently and offered her opinions. I think she always sensed that I would run. As she put it, politics was the family business. Her goal was to make sure I made my decision for the right reasons, not because others were pushing me to run.

If she had objected, she would have told me so, and I would not have run. While she worried about the pressure I would feel as president, she shared my hopes for the country and had confidence I could lead. One night she just smiled at me and said, "I'm in."

Breaking the news to our daughters was more difficult. Barbara and Jenna were seventeen years old, with independent streaks that reminded me a lot of their dad. From the very beginning they had asked me not to run-sometimes joking, sometimes serious, often at the top of their lungs. One of their favorite lines was, "Dad, you're going to lose. You're not as cool as you think you are." Other times they asked, "Why do you want to ruin our lives?"

Those were tough words for a father to hear. I don't know if our daughters really thought I would lose, but I did know they did not want to give up their semi-private lives. One evening I asked Jenna to come out on the back porch of the Governor's Mansion. It was a beautiful Texas night, and the two of us sat and talked for a while. I told her, "I know you think that I'm ruining your life by running for president. But actually, your mom and I are living living our lives-just like we raised you and Barbara to do." our lives-just like we raised you and Barbara to do."

She told me she had never thought of it that way. The notion of living life to the fullest appealed to her, just as it always had to me. She was not thrilled. But from that point on, I think she and Barbara understood.

Looking back on it a decade later, our daughters appreciated the opportunities that came with the presidency. They traveled with us on international trips, met fascinating and inspirational people like Vaclav Havel Vaclav Havel and and Ellen Johnson Sirleaf Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, and learned about public service. Ultimately, Laura and I probably saw Barbara and Jenna more during the presidency than we would have if we had stayed in Texas.

One of our favorite places to spend time with the girls was Camp David. One weekend in the summer of 2007, Laura and I invited Jenna and her boyfriend, Henry Hager Henry Hager, a fine young man from Virginia she'd met on the 2004 campaign. At dinner Friday night, Henry mentioned that he'd like to talk to me the next day. "I'll be available at three o'clock in the presidential cabin," I said.

Henry arrived at the appointed time, clearly well prepared. "Mr. President, I love your daughter," he said, and then began a touching speech. After a couple of minutes, I cut him off. "Henry, the answer is yes, you've got my permission," I said. "Now let's go get Laura." The look on his face said, "Wait, I'm not done with my talking points!"

Laura was as thrilled as I was. Wisely, Henry also asked Barbara's permission. A few weeks later, at Acadia National Park in Maine, he proposed to Jenna. They were married at our ranch in Crawford in May 2008. We had an altar carved out of Texas limestone set on a peninsula in our lake, and our family friend Kirbyjon Caldwell Kirbyjon Caldwell-a wonderful pastor from Houston-officiated at a sunset ceremony. The bride was stunning. Laura and Barbara were radiant. It was one of the joys of my life to walk sweet Jenna down the aisle. After my eight years in the presidency, our family had emerged not only stronger, but bigger, too.

Walking Jenna down the aisle. White House/Shealah Craighead White House/Shealah Craighead

After I announced my candidacy in Iowa in June 1999, Laura and I went to Maine to visit Mother and Dad. I gave them an update on the campaign. Then the four of us walked out onto the lawn together. At our back was the beautiful Atlantic Ocean. In front of us was a large group of photographers. Mother got off one of her cla.s.sic one-liners. She looked at the press corps and asked, "Where were you in '92?"

I laughed. I was amazed by this wonderful woman. She was responsible for so much good in my life. I turned to Dad. My mind went back to my early days spent looking at pictures of him in sc.r.a.pbooks. Like those old photos, his face was worn. But his spirit was still strong. I told the press what I had known for a lifetime: It was a huge advantage to be the son of George and Barbara Bush. What a journey we had shared. Seven years earlier, Dad's final campaign had ended in defeat. Now I was standing proudly at his side, with a chance to become the forty-third president of the United States.

When I got back to Texas, my first stop was Bob and Jan Bullock's house. The years of abuse had taken their toll, and Bob's body was giving out. His skin was losing its color, he was bedridden, and he was wearing an oxygen mask. I gave him a gentle hug. He lifted his mask and picked up a copy of Newsweek Newsweek from his bedside table. My photo was on the cover. from his bedside table. My photo was on the cover.

"How come you didn't smile?" he said. I laughed. It was vintage Bullock.

Then he caught me by surprise. "Governor," he said, "will you eulogize me at my funeral?"

He slipped his oxygen mask back on and closed his eyes. I told him about my visit to Iowa and my announcement speech at the barbecue. I'm not sure he heard a word I said. After our extraordinary run together, my unlikely friend and I would both be moving on.

*Don Evans was the campaign chairman; was the campaign chairman; Joe O'Neill Joe O'Neill was the treasurer; was the treasurer; Robert McCleskey Robert McCleskey handled the accounting. handled the accounting.

**I am particularly grateful to Commissioner Peter Ueberroth Peter Ueberroth, American League President Bobby Brown Bobby Brown, and Jerry Reinsdorf Jerry Reinsdorf of the Chicago White Sox for their help in navigating the buying process. of the Chicago White Sox for their help in navigating the buying process.

***The final tally was 110 to 95 in books, 40,347 to 37,343 in pages, and 2,275,297 to 2,032,083 in total square inches.

****The team included my friend Jim Francis Jim Francis as chairman; as chairman; Don Evans Don Evans as finance director; Karl Rove as the top strategist; Stanford-educated lawyer as finance director; Karl Rove as the top strategist; Stanford-educated lawyer Vance McMahon Vance McMahon as policy director; former Texas a.s.sociation of School Boards official as policy director; former Texas a.s.sociation of School Boards official Margaret LaMontagne Margaret LaMontagne as political director; as political director; Dan Bartlett Dan Bartlett, a recent University of Texas graduate, on the communications team; and Israel Hernandez Israel Hernandez, a hardworking UT grad who took pressure off Laura and me, as traveling aide.

ick's face was hard to read. He betrayed no emotion. He stared at the cows grazing under the broiling sun at our ranch in Crawford, Texas.

It was July 3, 2000. Ten weeks earlier, after securing the Republican presidential nomination, I had sent campaign manager Joe Allbaugh Joe Allbaugh to visit d.i.c.k Cheney in Dallas. I asked him to find answers to two questions. First, was d.i.c.k interested in being a candidate for vice president? If not, was he willing to help me find a running mate? to visit d.i.c.k Cheney in Dallas. I asked him to find answers to two questions. First, was d.i.c.k interested in being a candidate for vice president? If not, was he willing to help me find a running mate?

d.i.c.k told Joe he was happy with his life and finished with politics. But he would be willing to lead the VP search committee.

As I expected, d.i.c.k did a meticulous, thorough job. In our first meeting, I laid out my top criteria for a running mate. I wanted someone with whom I was comfortable, someone willing to serve as part of a team, someone with the Washington experience that I lacked, and, most important, someone prepared to serve as president at any moment. d.i.c.k recruited a small team of lawyers and discreetly gathered reams of paperwork on potential candidates. By the time he came to see me at the ranch in July, we had narrowed the list to nine people. But in my mind, there was always a tenth.

After a relaxed lunch with Laura, d.i.c.k and I walked into the yard behind our old wooden ranch house. I listened patiently as d.i.c.k talked me through the search committee's final report. Then I looked him in the eye and said, "d.i.c.k, I've made up my mind."

As a small business owner, baseball executive, governor, and front-row observer of Dad's White House, I learned the importance of properly structuring and staffing an organization. The people you choose to surround you determine the quality of advice you receive and the way your goals are implemented. Over eight years as president, my personnel decisions raised some of the most complex and sensitive questions that reached the Oval Office: how to a.s.semble a cohesive team, when to reshuffle an organization, how to manage disputes, how to distinguish among qualified candidates, and how to deliver bad news to good people.

I started each personnel decision by defining the job description and the criteria for the ideal candidate. I directed a wide search and considered a diverse range of options. For major appointments, I interviewed candidates face to face. I used my time to gauge character and personality. I was looking for integrity, competence, selflessness, and an ability to handle pressure. I always liked people with a sense of humor, a sign of modesty and self-awareness.

My goal was to a.s.semble a team of talented people whose experience and skills complemented each other's and to whom I felt comfortable delegating. I wanted people who agreed on the direction of the administration but felt free to express differences on any issue. An important part of my job was to create a culture that encouraged teamwork and fostered loyalty-not to me, but to the country and our ideals.

I am proud of the many honorable, talented, hardworking people who served in my administration. We had low turnover, little infighting, and close cooperation through some of the most challenging times in our nation's history. I will always be grateful for their dedicated service.

I didn't get every personnel decision right. Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher Margaret Thatcher once said, "I usually make up my mind about a man in ten seconds, and I very rarely change it." I didn't operate quite that fast, but I've always been able to read people. For the most part, this was an advantage. But there were times when I was too loyal or too slow to change. I misjudged how some selections would be perceived. Sometimes I flat out picked the wrong person for the job. Personnel decisions were among my first decisions as president-and my most important. once said, "I usually make up my mind about a man in ten seconds, and I very rarely change it." I didn't operate quite that fast, but I've always been able to read people. For the most part, this was an advantage. But there were times when I was too loyal or too slow to change. I misjudged how some selections would be perceived. Sometimes I flat out picked the wrong person for the job. Personnel decisions were among my first decisions as president-and my most important.

A president's first major personnel decision comes before taking office. The vice presidential selection vice presidential selection provides voters with a window into a candidate's decision-making style. It reveals how careful and thorough he or she will be. And it signals a potential president's priorities for the country. provides voters with a window into a candidate's decision-making style. It reveals how careful and thorough he or she will be. And it signals a potential president's priorities for the country.

By the time I clinched the Republican nomination in March 2000, I knew quite a bit about vice presidents. I had followed the selection process closely when Dad was discussed as a possible running mate for Richard Nixon Richard Nixon in 1968 and in 1968 and Gerald Ford Gerald Ford in 1976. I had watched him serve eight years at President Reagan's side. I had observed his relationship with in 1976. I had watched him serve eight years at President Reagan's side. I had observed his relationship with Dan Quayle Dan Quayle. And I remembered the vice presidential horror story of my youth, when Democratic nominee George McGovern George McGovern picked picked Tom Eagleton Tom Eagleton to be his running mate, only to learn later that Eagleton had suffered several nervous breakdowns and undergone electroshock therapy. to be his running mate, only to learn later that Eagleton had suffered several nervous breakdowns and undergone electroshock therapy.

I was determined not to repeat that mistake, which was one reason I chose someone as careful and deliberate as d.i.c.k Cheney to run the vetting process. By early summer, we were focused on the finalists. Four were current or former governors: Lamar Alexander Lamar Alexander of Tennessee, of Tennessee, Tom Ridge Tom Ridge of Pennsylvania, of Pennsylvania, Frank Keating Frank Keating of Oklahoma, and of Oklahoma, and John Engler John Engler of Michigan. The other five were current or former senators: of Michigan. The other five were current or former senators: Jack Danforth Jack Danforth of Missouri, of Missouri, Jon Kyl Jon Kyl of Arizona, of Arizona, Chuck Hagel Chuck Hagel of Nebraska, and of Nebraska, and Bill Frist Bill Frist and and Fred Thompson Fred Thompson of Tennessee. of Tennessee.

I talked through the choices with d.i.c.k, Laura, Karl, Karen, and a few other trusted aides. Karen recommended Tom Ridge, a Vietnam veteran from a key swing state. As a fellow chief executive, Tom would be plenty capable of running the country if anything happened to me. He was also pro-choice, which would appeal to moderates in both parties, while turning off some in the Republican base. Others made the case for Chuck Hagel, who sat on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and would bring foreign policy experience. I was close with Frank Keating and John Engler, and I knew I would work well with either. Jon Kyl was a rock-solid conservative who would help sh.o.r.e up the base. Lamar Alexander, Bill Frist, and Fred Thompson were fine men, and they might help me pull off an upset in Tennessee, the home state of the Democratic nominee, Vice President Al Gore Al Gore.

I was intrigued by Jack Danforth. An ordained minister, Jack was honest, ethical, and forthright. His voting record over three terms in the Senate was solid. He had earned my respect with his defense of Clarence Thomas Clarence Thomas during his Supreme Court confirmation hearing in 1991. He was a principled conservative who could also appeal across party lines. As a dividend, he might help carry Missouri, which would be a key battleground state. during his Supreme Court confirmation hearing in 1991. He was a principled conservative who could also appeal across party lines. As a dividend, he might help carry Missouri, which would be a key battleground state.

I thought seriously about offering the job to Danforth, but I found myself returning again and again to d.i.c.k Cheney. d.i.c.k's experience was more extensive and diverse than that of anyone else on my list. As White House chief of staff, he had helped President Ford guide the nation through the aftermath of Watergate. He had served more than a decade in Congress and never lost an election. He had been a strong secretary of defense. He had run a global business and understood the private sector. Unlike any of the senators or governors on my list, he had stood next to presidents during the most gut-wrenching decisions that reach the Oval Office, including sending Americans to war. Not only would d.i.c.k be a valuable adviser, he would be fully capable of a.s.suming the presidency.

While d.i.c.k knew Washington better than almost anyone, he didn't behave like an insider. He allowed subordinates to get credit. When he spoke at meetings, his carefully chosen words carried credibility and influence.

Like me, d.i.c.k was a westerner. He enjoyed fishing and spending time outdoors. He had married Lynne Vincent, his high school sweetheart from Wyoming, and he was deeply devoted to their daughters, Liz and Mary. He had a practical mind and a dry sense of humor. He told me he had started at Yale a few years before me, but the university asked him not to come back. Twice. He said he had once filled out a compatibility test designed to match his personality with the most appropriate career. When the results came in, d.i.c.k was told he was best suited to be a funeral director.

As I mulled the decision, I called Dad for an outside opinion. I read him the names I was considering. He knew most of the candidates and said they were all fine people. "What about d.i.c.k Cheney?" I asked.

"d.i.c.k would be a great choice," he said. "He would give you candid and solid advice. And you'd never have to worry about him going behind your back."

By the time d.i.c.k came to the ranch to deliver his final report, I had decided to make another run at him. As he finished his briefing, I said, "d.i.c.k, you are the perfect running mate."

While I had dropped hints before, he could tell I was serious this time. Finally, he said, "I need to talk to Lynne." I took that as a promising sign. He told me that he had had three heart attacks and that he and Lynne were happy with their life in Dallas. Then he said, "Mary is gay." I could tell what he meant by the way he said it. d.i.c.k clearly loved his daughter. I felt he was gauging my tolerance. "If you have a problem with this, I'm not your man," he was essentially saying.

I smiled at him and said, "d.i.c.k, take your time. Please talk to Lynne. And I could not care less about Mary's orientation."

Later that day, I talked to a few trusted aides. I didn't want to put all my cards on the table yet. I just told them I was thinking seriously about Cheney. Most were stunned. Karl was opposed. I asked him to come to the Governor's Mansion to make his case. I invited one person to listen in. That would be d.i.c.k. I believe in airing out disagreements. I also wanted to cement a relationship of trust between Karl and d.i.c.k in case they ended up together in the White House.

Karl gamely delivered his arguments: Cheney's presence on the ticket would add nothing to the electoral map, since Wyoming's three electoral votes were among the most reliably Republican in the country. Cheney's record in Congress was very conservative and included some hot-b.u.t.ton votes that would be used against us. d.i.c.k's heart condition would raise questions about his fitness to serve. Choosing Dad's defense secretary could make people question whether I was my own man. Finally, d.i.c.k lived in Texas, and the Const.i.tution prohibited two residents of the same state from receiving Electoral College votes.

I listened carefully to Karl's objections. d.i.c.k said he thought they were pretty persuasive. I didn't. d.i.c.k's old congressional record didn't bother me. I considered his experience on Capitol Hill an a.s.set. His lack of impact on the electoral map did not concern me either. I believe voters base their decision on the presidential candidate, not the VP.*

As for Karl's concern about picking Dad's defense secretary, I was convinced that the benefits of choosing a serious, accomplished running mate would compensate for any perception that I was falling back on Dad for help.

Two concerns did need to be addressed: d.i.c.k's health and residency status. d.i.c.k agreed to have a medical exam and sent the results to Dr. Denton Cooley Denton Cooley, a respected Houston cardiologist. The doctor said d.i.c.k's heart would hold up to the stresses of the campaign and the vice presidency. d.i.c.k and Lynne would be able to change their voter registration to Wyoming, the state d.i.c.k had represented in Congress and still considered home.

The way d.i.c.k handled those delicate weeks deepened my confidence that he was the right choice. He never once pushed me to make up my mind. In fact, he insisted that I meet with Jack Danforth Jack Danforth before I finalized my decision. d.i.c.k and I went to see Jack and his wife, Sally, in Chicago on July 18. We had a relaxed, three-hour visit. My positive impressions of Jack were confirmed. But I had decided on d.i.c.k. before I finalized my decision. d.i.c.k and I went to see Jack and his wife, Sally, in Chicago on July 18. We had a relaxed, three-hour visit. My positive impressions of Jack were confirmed. But I had decided on d.i.c.k.

A week later, I made the formal offer. As was my habit, I got up around 5:00 a.m. After two cups of coffee, I was anxious to get moving. I managed to wait until 6:22 a.m. before I called d.i.c.k. I caught him on the treadmill, which I considered a good sign. He and Lynne came down to Austin for the announcement that afternoon.

Whistlestop campaigning with d.i.c.k Cheney. a.s.sociated Press/Eric Draper a.s.sociated Press/Eric Draper Ten years later, I have never regretted my decision to run with d.i.c.k Cheney. His pro-life, low-tax positions helped cement key parts of our base. He had great credibility when he announced that "Help is on the way" for the military. His steady, effective answers in the vice presidential debate with Joe Lieberman Joe Lieberman rea.s.sured voters about the strength of our ticket. It gave me comfort to know he would be ready to step in if something happened to me. rea.s.sured voters about the strength of our ticket. It gave me comfort to know he would be ready to step in if something happened to me.

The real benefits of selecting d.i.c.k became clear fourteen months later. On a September morning in 2001, Americans awoke to an unimaginable crisis. The calm and quiet man I recruited that summer day in Crawford stood st.u.r.dy as an oak.

The vice presidential selection came at the end of a grueling primary season. The campaign process has a way of stripping the candidates to the core. It exposes strengths and weaknesses to the voters. I didn't realize it at the time, but the grind of the campaign helps a candidate to prepare for the pressures of the presidency. Those intense days also revealed the character of the people around me and laid the groundwork for the personnel decisions I later faced in the White House.

The campaign kicked off with the Iowa caucus, the ultimate gra.s.sroots experience. Laura and I traveled the state, shook thousands of hands, and consumed untold gallons of coffee. For all our meticulously planned events, one of the most revealing moments of the campaign came unscripted.

In December 1999, I attended a Republican debate in Des Moines. The moderators were Tom Brokaw Tom Brokaw of NBC and a local anchor, of NBC and a local anchor, John Bachman John Bachman. After covering some predictable topics, Bachman let loose a surprise: "What political philosopher or thinker do you most identify with and why?"

I was third in line to answer. I thought about citing someone like Mill or Locke, whose natural law theory had influenced the Founders. Then there was Lincoln; hard to go wrong with Abe in a Republican debate. I was still thinking when Bachman turned to me: "Governor Bush?" No more time to weigh my options. The words tumbled out of my mouth: "Christ," I said, "because He changed my heart."

Everybody looked stunned. Where had that come from? On the car ride back to the hotel, Mother and Dad checked in. They almost always called after major events. "Fine job, son," Dad said. "I don't think your answer will hurt you too much." "Which answer?" I asked. "You know, that one on Jesus," he said.

At first I hadn't thought about the answer hurting me. I had just blurted out what was in my heart. Upon reflection, however, I understood the note of caution. I was skeptical of politicians who touted religion as a way to get votes. I didn't believe in a Methodist or Jewish or Muslim approach to public policy. It was not the role of government to promote any religion. I hadn't done that as governor of Texas, and I certainly didn't intend to do it as president.

Sure enough, my words prompted an outcry. "There is something unholy about this," one columnist wrote. "W. is just checking Jesus' numbers, and Jesus is polling well in Iowa," another concluded.

The reaction wasn't all negative. My response had connected with many people who had had similar experiences in their own lives and appreciated my speaking openly about faith.

On caucus night, I won Iowa with 40 percent of the vote. After a brief victory celebration, we made the trek to New Hampshire. I knew that the Granite State could be treacherous for front-runners. New Hampshire voters have a history of knocking down the favorite. I felt good about our operation in the state, led by my friend Senator Judd Gregg Judd Gregg. I had spent a lot of time in New Hampshire, marching in parades and perfecting my pancake-flipping skills. On primary day, Laura and I settled into our hotel in Manchester to watch the returns. Early in the afternoon, Karl came by with the first exit polls: I was going to lose, and lose badly.

Laura spoke up. "George, do you want to be president?" she asked. I nodded. "Then you'd better not let yourself get defined again," she said.

She was right. I had made the cla.s.sic front-runner mistake. I had let Senator John McCain of Arizona, the other top contender for the nomination, take the initiative in New Hampshire. He had run an energetic campaign that attracted a lot of independents, which overcame my solid support from fellow Republicans. McCain, a member of Congress since 1983, had managed to define himself as an outsider and me as an insider. He talked about reform at every campaign stop, even though I was the one who had reformed a school system, changed the tort laws, and revamped Texas's approach to welfare. I had to give John credit for a smart, effective campaign. And I had to learn from my mistake.

I went to the gym for a hard workout. On the treadmill, I thought about what to do next. I faced the biggest personnel decision of my young campaign. The conventional playbook called for me to fire a few people and claim a fresh start. I decided to go in the opposite direction. I got the senior staff together and told them I refused to chuck anyone overboard to satisfy the loud voices on TV. One person deserved blame, and that was me. Win or lose, we would finish this race as a team. Then I gave everybody an a.s.signment. Karl called the political directors in upcoming primary states. Joe rea.s.sured the campaign staff. Karen reached out to key members of the media. Don Evans Don Evans bucked up the fundraisers. bucked up the fundraisers.

I called Policy Director Josh Bolten Josh Bolten, who was with the majority of our staff back at campaign headquarters in Austin. "How is everyone holding up?" I asked.

"Most people are in shock," he admitted.

I knew the team would be looking to me for a signal. "Get them together and tell them they ought to hold their heads high because we're going to win this thing," I told Josh.

Looking back on it, the loss in New Hampshire created an opportunity. Voters like to gauge how a candidate responds to adversity. Reagan and Dad showed their resilience after losing Iowa in 1980 and 1988, respectively. Bill Clinton Bill Clinton turned his campaign around after defeat in New Hampshire in 1992, as did turned his campaign around after defeat in New Hampshire in 1992, as did Barack Obama Barack Obama in 2008. In 2000, I looked at the defeat as a chance to prove I could take a blow and come back. The lesson is that sometimes the best personnel moves are the ones you don't make. in 2008. In 2000, I looked at the defeat as a chance to prove I could take a blow and come back. The lesson is that sometimes the best personnel moves are the ones you don't make.

In South Carolina, we picked a new theme to highlight my bipartisan accomplishments in Texas: Reformer with Results. We set up town hall events, where I fielded questions until the audience ran out of things to ask. I worked the phones, enlisting the support of leaders across the state. Then McCain ran an ad questioning my character by comparing me to Bill Clinton. That crossed a line. I went on the air to counterpunch. The response, combined with a well-organized gra.s.sroots campaign, paid off. I won South Carolina with 53 percent of the vote, took nine of thirteen primaries on Super Tuesday, and rode the momentum to the nomination.

In early May, John and I met for an hour and a half in Pittsburgh. He was justifiably upset about insulting language some of my supporters had used in South Carolina. I understood his anger and made clear I respected his character. After our meeting, he told reporters I could restore integrity to the White House "more than adequately."

That wasn't the most scintillating endors.e.m.e.nt I've ever received, but it was the beginning of reconciliation between John and me. In August, John and his wife, Cindy, hosted us at their beautiful ranch in Sedona, Arizona. It was fun to see Chef McCain behind the grill, relaxed and barbecuing ribs. We campaigned together in 2000 and again in 2004. I respect John, and I was glad to have him at my side.

Al Gore was a talented man and an accomplished politician. Like me, he had graduated from an Ivy League school and had a father in politics. But our personalities seemed pretty different. He appeared stiff, serious, and aloof. It looked like he had been running for president his entire life. He brought together a formidable coalition of big-government liberals, cultural elites, and labor unions. He was plenty capable of engaging in cla.s.s-warfare populism. He was also vice president during an economic boom. He would be tough to beat.

When I look back on the 2000 campaign, most of it collapses into a blur of handshaking, fundraising, and jousting for the morning headlines. There were two moments when the political merry-go-round stopped. The first came at the Republican National Convention Republican National Convention in Philadelphia, which was managed well by Dad's former deputy chief of staff and transportation secretary, in Philadelphia, which was managed well by Dad's former deputy chief of staff and transportation secretary, Andy Card Andy Card.

I had attended every convention since 1976, but nothing compared to the feeling when I took center stage. I waited backstage in the dark, listening for the countdown: "Five, four, three, two, one." Then out into the packed arena. At first the scene was disorienting. Light and sound exploded all around me. I could feel the body heat and smell the people. Then the faces came into focus. I saw Laura and the girls, Mother and Dad. All my life, I had been watching George Bush speak. I was struck by the reversal of roles.

"Our opportunities are too great, our lives too short to waste this moment," I said. "So tonight, we vow to our nation we will seize this moment of American promise. We will use these good times for great goals....This administration had its moment, they had their chance. They have not led. We will."

Two months later the campaigns paused again, this time for the debates. Karen Hughes Karen Hughes oversaw my preparation team, with oversaw my preparation team, with Josh Bolten Josh Bolten taking the lead on policy. Josh combines a brilliant mind, disarming modesty, and a buoyant spirit. I'll never forget standing at the Ames, Iowa, straw poll in August 1999 watching several hundred motorcycles barrel into town. Among the riders were Governor taking the lead on policy. Josh combines a brilliant mind, disarming modesty, and a buoyant spirit. I'll never forget standing at the Ames, Iowa, straw poll in August 1999 watching several hundred motorcycles barrel into town. Among the riders were Governor Tommy Thompson Tommy Thompson of Wisconsin and Senator of Wisconsin and Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell Ben Nighthorse Campbell of Colorado. When the lead man hopped down from his shiny blue-and-chrome Iowa-made Victory bike and pulled off his helmet, I was stunned to see Josh, clad in a bandana with our campaign logo. "Governor," he said, "meet the Bikers for Bush." of Colorado. When the lead man hopped down from his shiny blue-and-chrome Iowa-made Victory bike and pulled off his helmet, I was stunned to see Josh, clad in a bandana with our campaign logo. "Governor," he said, "meet the Bikers for Bush."

The first debate was in Boston. In the holding room backstage, I called Kirbyjon Caldwell, and we prayed over the phone. Kirbyjon asked the Almighty to give me strength and wisdom. His voice gave me such comfort and calm that I made the telephone prayer with Kirbyjon a tradition before major events for the rest of the campaign and during my presidency.

The next voice I heard was that of the moderator, Jim Lehrer Jim Lehrer of PBS, introducing the candidates. We emerged from our respective corners and met at center stage. Gore deployed the ultra-firm handshake. I suspected he was trying to play a head game, just like of PBS, introducing the candidates. We emerged from our respective corners and met at center stage. Gore deployed the ultra-firm handshake. I suspected he was trying to play a head game, just like Ann Richards Ann Richards had in 1994. had in 1994.

I concentrated on answering the questions, although at times I felt like I was on autopilot. By the time I glanced at my watch-which I had taken off and placed on the lectern to avoid repeating a debate mistake Dad had once made-we were almost done. We gave our closing statements, shook hands again-normal grip this time-and partic.i.p.ated in the post-debate stage rush of family, friends, and aides.

Immediately afterward, Karen told me Gore had made a big mistake. He had repeatedly sighed and grimaced while I was talking. That was news to me. I had been so focused on my performance that I had not noticed.

The second and third debates had different formats but similar results. Neither of us made any quotable gaffes. There was one interesting moment in the third debate, at Washington University in St. Louis. The town hall format gave us the freedom to roam the stage. The first question was about the Patients' Bill of Rights. I was giving my answer when I saw Gore heading toward me. He is a big man, and his presence filled my s.p.a.ce quickly. Was the vice president about to deliver a chest b.u.mp? A forearm shiver? For a split second I thought I was back on the playground at Sam Houston Elementary. I gave him a look of amused disdain and moved on.

I felt good about the debates. I believed my performance had exceeded expectations, and I figured the dramatic moments of the campaign were behind me. I was wrong.