Decision Points Part 5

Five days before the election, at a routine campaign stop in Wisconsin, Karen Hughes Karen Hughes pulled me aside. We walked into a quiet room and she said, "A reporter in New Hampshire called to ask about the DUI." My heart sank. Such negative news at the end of a campaign would be explosive. pulled me aside. We walked into a quiet room and she said, "A reporter in New Hampshire called to ask about the DUI." My heart sank. Such negative news at the end of a campaign would be explosive.

I had seriously considered disclosing the DUI four years earlier, when I was called for jury duty. The case happened to involve drunk driving. I was excused from the jury because, as governor, I might later have to rule on the defendant's case as a part of the pardon process. As I walked out of the Austin courthouse, a reporter shouted, "Have you ever been arrested for DUI?" I answered, "I do not have a perfect record as a youth. When I was young, I did a lot of foolish things. But I will tell you this, I urge people not to drink and drive."

Politically, it would not have been a problem to reveal the DUI that day. The next election was two years away, and I had quit drinking. I decided not to raise the DUI for one reason: my girls. Barbara and Jenna would start driving soon. I worried that disclosing my DUI would undermine the stern lectures I had been giving them about drinking and driving. I didn't want them to say, "Daddy did it and he turned out okay, so we can, too."

Laura was traveling with me the day the press uncovered the DUI. She called Barbara and Jenna to tell them before they heard it on TV. Then I went out to the cameras and made a statement: "I was pulled over. I admitted to the policeman that I had been drinking. I paid a fine. And I regret that it happened. But it did. I've learned my lesson."

Not disclosing the DUI on my terms may have been the single costliest political mistake I ever made. Karl later estimated that more than two million people, including many social conservatives, either stayed home or changed their votes. They had been hoping for a different kind of president, somebody who would set an example of personal responsibility.

If I had it to do over, I would have come clean about the DUI that day at the courthouse. I would have explained my mistake to the girls, and held an event with Mothers Against Drunk Driving Mothers Against Drunk Driving to issue a strong warning not to drink and drive. All those thoughts ran through my head as I went to bed that night in Wisconsin. So did one more: I may have just cost myself the presidency. to issue a strong warning not to drink and drive. All those thoughts ran through my head as I went to bed that night in Wisconsin. So did one more: I may have just cost myself the presidency.

Five days later, the four-point lead I'd held before the DUI revelation evaporated. I campaigned frantically through the final week and went into election day election day in a dead heat with Gore. That night, our extended family gathered for dinner at the Sh.o.r.eline Grill in Austin. Toasts flowed freely until the exit polls starting coming in. The networks called Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Florida for Gore. CBS anchor in a dead heat with Gore. That night, our extended family gathered for dinner at the Sh.o.r.eline Grill in Austin. Toasts flowed freely until the exit polls starting coming in. The networks called Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Florida for Gore. CBS anchor Dan Rather Dan Rather a.s.sured his viewers, "Let's get one thing straight right from the get-go....If we say somebody's carried a state, you can pretty much take it to the bank. Book it!" a.s.sured his viewers, "Let's get one thing straight right from the get-go....If we say somebody's carried a state, you can pretty much take it to the bank. Book it!"

Our guests who did not know much about politics continued to babble away. "The night is young, anything can happen...." Those who understood the electoral map recognized I had just lost. Jeb and I were furious that the networks had called Florida before the polls closed in the Panhandle, the heavily Republican part of the state that lies in the central time zone. Who knew how many of my supporters had heard that news and decided not to vote? Laura and I slipped out of the dinner without touching our food.

The car ride back to the Governor's Mansion was quiet. There isn't much to say when you lose. I was deflated, disappointed, and a little stunned. I felt no bitterness. I was ready to accept the people's verdict and repeat Mother's words from 1992: "It's time to move on."

Shortly after we got back, the phone rang. I figured this was the first of the consolation calls: "You gave it your best shot...." Instead, it was Karl. He didn't sound dejected; he sounded defiant. He was talking fast. He started spewing information about how the exit polls in Florida had overweighted this county or that precinct.

I cut him off and asked for the bottom line. He said the projections in Florida were mathematically flawed. He then got on the phone to the networks and screamed at the pollsters with the facts. Within two hours, he had systematically proved the major television networks wrong. At 8:55 p.m. central time, CNN and CBS took Florida out of the Gore column. All the others followed.

Laura and I followed the returns from the mansion with Mother, Dad, Jeb, and several top aides. Eventually the Cheneys, Don Evans Don Evans, and a contingent of other close friends arrived. As the night went on, it became apparent that the outcome of the election would turn on Florida. At 1:15 in the morning, the networks called the state again-this time for me.

With brother Jeb on election night 2000, when things were looking good. Time Magazine/Brooks Kraft Time Magazine/Brooks Kraft Al Gore called shortly after that. He congratulated me graciously and said, "We sure gave them a cliffhanger." I thanked him and said I was headed out to address the twenty thousand hardy souls freezing in the rain at the state capitol. He asked that I wait until he spoke to his supporters in about fifteen minutes. I agreed.

It took time for the meaning of the news to sink in. A few hours earlier I had been getting ready to move on with my life. Now I was preparing to be president of the United States.

Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed. Then another fifteen. Still no concession speech from Gore. Something was wrong. Jeb got on his laptop and started monitoring the Florida returns. He said my margin was narrowing. At 2:30 a.m., Bill Daley Bill Daley, Gore's campaign chairman, called Don Evans Don Evans. Don spoke to Daley briefly and handed me the phone. The vice president was on the line. He told me his numbers in Florida had changed since the last call, and thus he was retracting his concession.

I had never heard of a candidate un-conceding. I told him that in Texas, it meant something when a person gave you his word. "You don't have to get snippy about it," he replied. Soon after, the networks put Florida back into the undecided category-their fourth position in eight hours-and threw the outcome of the election into question.

I don't know about snippy, but I was hot. Just when I thought this wild race had ended, we were back at the starting gate. Several folks in the living room advised that I go out and declare victory. I considered it, until Jeb pulled me aside and said, "George, don't do it. The count is too close." The margin in Florida had dwindled to fewer than two thousand votes.

Jeb was right. An attempt to force the issue would have been rash. I told everyone that the election would not be decided that night. Most went to bed. I stayed up with Jeb and Don as they worked the phones to Florida. At one point, Don called the Florida secretary of state, Katherine Harris Katherine Harris, to get an update. I heard him yell, "What do you mean you are in bed? Do you understand that the election is in the balance? What's going on?!"

With that, a strange night ended-and an even stranger five weeks began.

Of the 105 million ballots cast nationwide, the 2000 election would be determined by several hundred votes in one state. Florida immediately turned into a legal battlefield. Don Evans Don Evans learned around 4:30 a.m. that Gore's campaign had dispatched a team of lawyers to coordinate a recount. He advised me to do the same. I was confronted with the most bizarre personnel choice of my public life: Whom to send to Florida to ensure that our lead was protected? learned around 4:30 a.m. that Gore's campaign had dispatched a team of lawyers to coordinate a recount. He advised me to do the same. I was confronted with the most bizarre personnel choice of my public life: Whom to send to Florida to ensure that our lead was protected?

There was no time to develop a list or conduct interviews. Don suggested James Baker James Baker. Baker was the perfect choice-a statesman, a savvy lawyer, and a magnet for talented people. I called Jim and asked if he would take on the mission. Shortly thereafter, he was bound for Tallaha.s.see.

Laura and I were mentally and physically worn out. We had poured every ounce of our energy into the race. Once it became clear we were in for a lengthy legal process, we spent most of our time decompressing at our ranch in Crawford.

I first saw Prairie Chapel Ranch in February 1998. I had always wanted a place to call my own-a refuge from the busy life-as Dad had in Kennebunkport. When I sold my stake in the Rangers, Laura and I had money to make a purchase.

I was hooked the moment I saw Benny Engelbrecht Benny Engelbrecht's 1,583-acre place in McLennan County, almost exactly halfway between Austin and Dallas. The ranch was a combination of flat country suited for cattle grazing and rugged canyons that drained into the middle fork of the Bosque River and Rainey Creek. The view of the limestone cliffs from the bottom of the ninety-foot canyons was stunning. So were the trees-huge native pecans, live oaks, cedar elms, burr oaks, and bois d'arc trees with their green fruits. In all, the place had over a dozen varieties of hardwoods, a rarity for Central Texas.

To win over Laura, I promised to build a home and new roads to access the most scenic parts of the ranch. She found a young architect from the University of Texas named David Heymann David Heymann, who designed a comfortable one-story house with large windows, each offering a unique view of our property. He utilized geothermal heat and recycled water to minimize the impact on the environment. Most of the construction took place during 2000. Surviving a presidential campaign and a homebuilding project in the same year is the mark of one strong marriage-and a tribute to the patience and skill of Laura Bush.

Our ranch house in Crawford. White House/Susan Sterner White House/Susan Sterner The ranch was the perfect place to ride out the post-election storm. I checked in regularly with Jim Baker to get updates and provide strategic direction. I decided early on that I would avoid the endless, breathless TV coverage. Instead I took long runs that gave me a chance to think about the future, burned off nervous energy by clearing cedar trees that guzzled water needed by the native hardwoods, and went for hikes by the creek with Laura. If I became president, I wanted to be energized and ready for the transition.

There were some moments of high drama along the way. On December 8, one month and one day after the election, Laura and I were back in Austin. That afternoon, the Florida Supreme Court was scheduled to hand down a decision that Jim Baker was confident would make my victory official.

Laura and I invited our good friends Ben and Julie Crenshaw to watch the announcement. Ben is one of the most accomplished golfers of his era, and one of the most likeable people in professional sports. For the past few weeks, Gentle Ben had joined crowds protesting outside the Governor's Mansion. Some were Gore supporters, but many backed me. One of Ben and Julie's three young daughters carried a poster emblazoned with the words "Sore-Loserman," a play on the Gore-Lieberman ticket. Ben had a homemade pink sign that read "Florida, No More Mulligans."

Ben, Julie, Laura, and I gathered in the living room to await the ruling. I broke my no-TV rule in the hope that I could experience victory in real time. Around three o'clock, the court spokesman walked to the lectern. I prepared to embrace Laura. Then he announced that the court, by a 43 vote, had ruled for Gore. The decision mandated a statewide manual recount, yet another mulligan.

Shortly thereafter, Jim Baker called to ask if I wanted to appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court. He and Ted Olson Ted Olson, an outstanding lawyer Jim had recruited, felt we had a strong case. They explained that appealing the decision was a risky move. The U.S. Supreme Court might not agree to hear the case, or they could rule against us. I told Jim to make the appeal. I was prepared to accept my fate. The country needed closure, one way or the other.

On December 12, thirty-five days after the election, Laura and I were lying in bed when Karl called and insisted that we turn on the TV. I listened intently as Pete Williams Pete Williams of NBC News deciphered the Supreme Court's verdict. By a vote of 72, the justices found that Florida's chaotic, inconsistent recount procedure had violated the equal protection clause of the Const.i.tution. Then, by a vote of 54, the Court ruled that there was no fair way to recount the votes in time for Florida to partic.i.p.ate in the Electoral College. The election results would stand. By a tally of 2,912,790 to 2,912,253, I had won Florida. I would be the forty-third president of the United States. of NBC News deciphered the Supreme Court's verdict. By a vote of 72, the justices found that Florida's chaotic, inconsistent recount procedure had violated the equal protection clause of the Const.i.tution. Then, by a vote of 54, the Court ruled that there was no fair way to recount the votes in time for Florida to partic.i.p.ate in the Electoral College. The election results would stand. By a tally of 2,912,790 to 2,912,253, I had won Florida. I would be the forty-third president of the United States.

My first response was relief. The uncertainty had inflicted a heavy toll on the country. After all the ups and downs, I didn't have the emotional capacity to rejoice. I had hoped to share my victory with twenty thousand people at the state capitol on election night. Instead, I probably became the first person to learn he had won the presidency while lying in bed with his wife watching TV.

For the first 140 years of American history, presidential inaugurations were held on March 4. A president elected in early November had about 120 days to prepare for his administration. In 1933, the Twentieth Amendment changed Inauguration Day to January 20, shortening the average transition to about 75 days. When the 2000 election was finally resolved in Bush v. Gore Bush v. Gore, I had 38 days.

My first big decision was how I wanted the White House to function. That was a question I had pondered before. In 1991, Dad asked me to study the operation of his White House. After interviewing all his senior staffers, a common theme emerged: People were dissatisfied. Most felt that Chief of Staff John Sununu John Sununu had denied them access to the Oval Office and limited the flow of information to Dad. I had always liked John, but my job was not to debate the case; it was to report the findings. I did so several days before Thanksgiving of 1991. Dad concluded that he needed to make a change. He asked me to notify John, which I did in an awkward conversation. He submitted his resignation shortly thereafter. had denied them access to the Oval Office and limited the flow of information to Dad. I had always liked John, but my job was not to debate the case; it was to report the findings. I did so several days before Thanksgiving of 1991. Dad concluded that he needed to make a change. He asked me to notify John, which I did in an awkward conversation. He submitted his resignation shortly thereafter.

I was determined to avoid that problem in my White House. I wanted a structure that was tight enough to ensure an orderly flow of information but flexible enough that I could receive advice from a variety of sources. It was important that advisers felt free to express concerns to me directly, without pa.s.sing through a filter. Plus it would be easier to convince key members of my Texas political family to move to Washington if they would have regular access to me.

The key to creating this structure was to hire an experienced, confident chief of staff who would not feel threatened by my relationships with his subordinates. Ironically, I found the perfect man in John Sununu's deputy, Andy Card. When I visited Dad's White House, I would often kick back in Andy's office to get a candid update on how things were going. Andy was perceptive, humble, loyal, and hardworking. He had served under every chief of staff during both the Reagan and Bush presidencies. He had the sound judgment and steady temperament I needed, along with a caring heart and a good sense of humor. I was convinced he was the right person to lead my White House staff White House staff.

A couple of weeks before the election, I met discreetly with Andy in Florida. It was clear he thought I was asking him to lead the transition. "No, I'm talking about The Big One," I said. I explained that he would be the only chief of staff, but that I would also rely heavily on Texans like Karl, Karen, Al Gonzales, Harriet Miers Harriet Miers, Clay Johnson Clay Johnson, and Dan Bartlett Dan Bartlett for advice. Andy agreed to the job, so long as I informed him of any decisions I made outside his presence. I announced his selection in late November, making him the first official member of my White House team. for advice. Andy agreed to the job, so long as I informed him of any decisions I made outside his presence. I announced his selection in late November, making him the first official member of my White House team.

The next important position to fill was national security adviser. I knew from watching Dad's close relationship with Brent Scowcroft Brent Scowcroft that it was crucial to find someone highly capable and completely trustworthy. that it was crucial to find someone highly capable and completely trustworthy.

On a trip to Maine in the summer of 1998, Dad introduced me to Condoleezza Rice, who had served as a Soviet specialist on his National Security Council staff. The daughter of an African American minister from segregated Birmingham, Alabama, Condi had a Ph.D. from the University of Denver and had become provost of Stanford at age thirty-eight. She immediately struck me as a smart, thoughtful, energetic woman.

With my two closest foreign policy advisers, Steve Hadley and Condi Rice. White House/Paul Morse White House/Paul Morse Over the next two and a half years, Condi and I met frequently to discuss foreign policy. One summer day in 1999, Condi, Laura, and I were hiking on the ranch. As we started to climb up a steep grade, Condi launched into a discourse on the history of the Balkans. Laura and I were huffing and puffing. Condi kept going, explaining the disintegration of Yugoslavia and the rise of Milosevic. That trail is now known as Balkan Hill. I decided that if I ended up in the Oval Office, I wanted Condi Rice by my side.

With Colin Powell. White House/Eric Draper White House/Eric Draper The first selection for the Cabinet was easy. Colin Powell would be secretary of state. I had first met Colin at Camp David in 1989, when he was chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He and d.i.c.k Cheney d.i.c.k Cheney had come to brief Dad on the surrender of Panamanian dictator had come to brief Dad on the surrender of Panamanian dictator Manuel Noriega Manuel Noriega. Colin was wearing his Army uniform. In contrast to the formality of his dress, he was good-natured and friendly. He spoke to everyone in the room, even bystanders like the president's children.

Colin was widely admired at home and had a huge presence around the world. He would credibly defend American interests and values, from a stronger NATO to freer trade. I believed Colin could be the second coming of George Marshall, a soldier turned statesman.

The two key national security positions left were secretary of defense and director of central intelligence. More than a decade after the Berlin Wall fell, much of the Defense Department was still designed for fighting the Cold War. I had campaigned on an ambitious vision to transform the military. I planned to realign our force structure and invest in new technologies such as precision weapons and missile defense. I knew there would be resistance within the Pentagon, and I needed a tenacious, innovative secretary to lead the effort.

My top candidate was Fred Smith Fred Smith, the founder and chief executive of FedEx. Fred graduated from Yale two years ahead of me, earned the Silver Star as a Marine in Vietnam, and built his company into one of the world's most successful businesses. He loved the military and would bring an organizational mind to the Pentagon. Andy Card Andy Card called Fred, learned he was interested in the job, and invited him to Austin. I was prepared to offer Fred the position, but before he made the trip, he was diagnosed with a heart condition. He had to bow out to focus on his health. called Fred, learned he was interested in the job, and invited him to Austin. I was prepared to offer Fred the position, but before he made the trip, he was diagnosed with a heart condition. He had to bow out to focus on his health.

We considered a variety of other names for secretary of defense, including Dan Coats Dan Coats, a fine senator from Indiana. Then Condi threw out an interesting idea: How about Don Rumsfeld?

Don had been secretary of defense twenty-five years earlier, during the Ford administration. He had since served on a number of influential national security commissions. I had been considering Rumsfeld for CIA, not Defense. When I interviewed him, Don laid out a captivating vision for transforming the Defense Department. He talked about making our forces lighter, more agile, and more rapidly deployable. And he was a strong proponent of a missile defense system to protect against rogue states like North Korea and Iran.

With Don Rumsfeld. White House/Eric Draper White House/Eric Draper Rumsfeld impressed me. He was knowledgeable, articulate, and confident. As a former secretary of defense, he had the strength and experience to bring major changes to the Pentagon. He would run the bureaucracy, not let it run him. d.i.c.k Cheney d.i.c.k Cheney, who had been Don's deputy when he was chief of staff in the Ford White House, recommended him strongly.

There was one awkward issue. Some believed that Don had used his influence to persuade President Ford to appoint Dad to run the CIA in 1975 as a way of taking him out of contention for the vice presidency. I had no way of knowing if this was true. But whatever disagreements he and Dad might have had twenty-five years earlier did not concern me, so long as Don could do the job. Don went on to become both the youngest and oldest person to serve as secretary of defense.

With Rumsfeld going to the Pentagon, I no longer had a leading candidate for the CIA. I had great respect for the Agency as a result of Dad's time there. I had been receiving intelligence briefings as president-elect for a few weeks when I met the sitting director, George Tenet. He was the opposite of the stereotypical CIA director you read about in spy novels-the bow-tied, Ivy League, elite type. Tenet was a blue-collar guy, the son of Greek immigrants from New York City. He spoke bluntly, often colorfully, and obviously cared deeply about the Agency.

With d.i.c.k Cheney (seated), George Tenet (left), and Andy Card. White House/Eric Draper White House/Eric Draper Retaining Bill Clinton's CIA director would send a message of continuity and show that I considered the Agency beyond the reach of politics. I asked Dad to sound out some of his CIA contacts. He told me Tenet was highly respected within the ranks. As George and I got to know each other, I decided to stop looking for a replacement. The cigar-chomping, Greek-to-the-core director agreed to stay.

For the most part, the national security team functioned smoothly in the early years of the administration. The economic team economic team did not. The problem was partly the result of a personnel mismatch. As president, I had three key economic advisers: the National Economic Council director, the Council of Economic Advisers chairman, and the secretary of the treasury. I chose did not. The problem was partly the result of a personnel mismatch. As president, I had three key economic advisers: the National Economic Council director, the Council of Economic Advisers chairman, and the secretary of the treasury. I chose Larry Lindsey Larry Lindsey, an accomplished economist and senior adviser on my campaign, to lead the NEC. Glenn Hubbard Glenn Hubbard, another thoughtful economist, chaired the CEA. They did a fine job designing the tax cuts tax cuts I had proposed during the campaign. The legislation pa.s.sed with a strong bipartisan majority. I had proposed during the campaign. The legislation pa.s.sed with a strong bipartisan majority.

My treasury secretary did not share the same enthusiasm for tax cuts. Paul O'Neill Paul O'Neill had come recommended by d.i.c.k, had come recommended by d.i.c.k, Clay Johnson Clay Johnson, and others on the team. His strong resume included success at the Office of Management and Budget and as the CEO of Alcoa, a Fortune 100 company. I felt that his practical business experience would command respect on Wall Street and Capitol Hill.

Unfortunately, things started going wrong from the start. Paul belittled the tax cuts, which of course got back to me. He and I met regularly, but never clicked. He didn't gain my confidence, nor did he build credibility with the financial community, Congress, or his colleagues in the administration. I was hoping for a strong treasury secretary-a leader like Jim Baker or Bob Rubin Bob Rubin-who would advance my economic policies in speeches and on TV. By late 2002, nearly two million Americans had lost jobs in the past year, and Paul wasn't conveying our determination to get them back to work. Instead, he used his meetings in the Oval Office to talk about tangential topics, like his plan to improve workplace safety at the U.S. Mint.

I did not want to repeat Dad's mistake of 1992, when he was perceived as disengaged on the economy. I decided that a shakeup of the economic team was the best way to signal that my administration was serious about confronting the slowdown affecting everyday Americans. For the change to be credible, it had to be sweeping. Larry Lindsey had done a fine job, and it was not easy to ask him to move on. He understood the need for a fresh start and handled the news professionally. Paul did not take it as well. I was disappointed that he departed on bad terms, but glad I made the decision when I did.

The next summer, I received a surprising invitation to make another change. Every week, d.i.c.k Cheney and I ate lunch together, just the two of us. Jimmy Carter Jimmy Carter and and Walter Mondale Walter Mondale had started the tradition, and it had continued ever since. I liked the relaxed setting and the chance to hear whatever d.i.c.k had on his mind. While I had similar meetings with other top aides, d.i.c.k was the only one on a regular schedule. I didn't look at the vice president as another senior adviser. He had put his name on the ballot and gotten elected. I wanted him to be comfortable with all the issues on my desk. After all, it could become his at any moment. had started the tradition, and it had continued ever since. I liked the relaxed setting and the chance to hear whatever d.i.c.k had on his mind. While I had similar meetings with other top aides, d.i.c.k was the only one on a regular schedule. I didn't look at the vice president as another senior adviser. He had put his name on the ballot and gotten elected. I wanted him to be comfortable with all the issues on my desk. After all, it could become his at any moment.

d.i.c.k and I ate in a small dining room off the Oval Office. The room's decorations included a bronze bull sculpture given to me by some East Texas friends and a landscape painting that reminded me of the Maine coast. The dominant piece of art in the room was a portrait of John Quincy Adams John Quincy Adams, the only other son of a president to hold the office. I hung it as an inside joke with Dad. One day early in my presidency, he was teasing me about the special kinship between W and Q. I wanted him to have to look Q in the face the next time he felt the urge to needle. I had read a fair amount about Quincy. I admired his abolitionist principles, although I wasn't crazy about his campaign to exclude Texas from the Union. Nevertheless, I kept the portrait up for the rest of my time in the White House.

In mid-2003, d.i.c.k opened one of our weekly lunches with a startling comment. He said, "Mr. President, I want you to know that you should feel free to run for reelection with someone else. No hard feelings." I asked about his health. He said his heart was fine. He just thought I should have the option to refashion the ticket. His offer impressed me. It was so atypical in power-hungry Washington. It confirmed the reasons I'd picked d.i.c.k in the first place.

I did consider his offer. I talked to Andy, Karl, and a few others about the possibility of asking Bill Frist Bill Frist, the impressive Tennessee senator who had become majority leader, to run with me instead. We all expected 2004 to bring another close election. While d.i.c.k helped with important parts of our base, he had become a lightning rod for criticism from the media and the left. He was seen as dark and heartless-the Darth Vader of the administration. d.i.c.k didn't care much about his image-which I liked-but that allowed the caricatures to stick. One myth was that d.i.c.k was actually running the White House. Everyone inside the building, including the vice president, knew that was not true. But the impression was out there. Accepting d.i.c.k's offer would be one way to demonstrate that I was in charge.

The more I thought about it, the more strongly I felt d.i.c.k should stay. I hadn't picked him to be a political a.s.set; I had chosen him to help me do the job. That was exactly what he had done. He accepted any a.s.signment I asked. He gave me his unvarnished opinions. He understood that I made the final decisions. When we disagreed, he kept our differences private. Most important, I trusted d.i.c.k. I valued his steadiness. I enjoyed being around him. And he had become a good friend. At one of our lunches a few weeks later, I asked d.i.c.k to stay, and he agreed.

As the 2004 election approached, I grew concerned about the growing discord within the national security team. In most administrations, there is natural friction between the diplomats at State and the warriors at Defense. Secretary of State George Shultz George Shultz and Secretary of Defense and Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger Caspar Weinberger famously battled throughout the Reagan administration. President Ford replaced Defense Secretary famously battled throughout the Reagan administration. President Ford replaced Defense Secretary James Schlesinger James Schlesinger largely because he couldn't get along with Henry Kissinger. I didn't mind some creative tension in the organization. Differences of opinion among advisers helped clarify tough decisions. The key was that disagreements had to be aired respectfully, and my decisions had to be accepted as final. largely because he couldn't get along with Henry Kissinger. I didn't mind some creative tension in the organization. Differences of opinion among advisers helped clarify tough decisions. The key was that disagreements had to be aired respectfully, and my decisions had to be accepted as final.

After the successful liberation of Afghanistan, the territorial squabbles between State and Defense seemed tolerable. But when the debate over Iraq intensified, high-level officials within the respective departments started sniping at each other viciously. Colin and Don were always respectful to each other in my presence. Over time I realized they were like a pair of old duelers who kept their own pistols in their holsters, but let their seconds and thirds fire away.

A memorable example came during one of Don Rumsfeld's televised press briefings, which he had been holding almost daily since the war in Afghanistan started. Don's handling of the press was fun to watch. He was an expert at parrying reporters' questions, and he jousted with exuberance and flair. I liked to tease him about his stardom in the early-afternoon TV slot. "You're a matinee idol for the over-sixty crowd," I told him. He took the ribbing in stride.

In January 2003, a Dutch television reporter asked Don why America's European allies were not more supportive of our calls to hold Saddam Hussein Saddam Hussein to account. "You're thinking of Europe as Germany and France," Don said. "I don't. I think that's old Europe." to account. "You're thinking of Europe as Germany and France," Don said. "I don't. I think that's old Europe."

I agreed with Don's point. The new democracies of Central and Eastern Europe understood the nightmare of tyranny firsthand and supported action against Saddam Hussein. But that sensible argument is not what made the news. Don's characterization of Germany and France as "old Europe" ignited a wave of protest.

Colin was furious. He was trying to persuade the Germans and French to join our cause at the United Nations, and he felt Don had crossed into his lane in a way that complicated his diplomatic mission. His subordinates clearly felt the same way. Policy disputes that once took place behind closed doors started spilling out in the press.

It irritated me to read headlines like "A White House Divided: The Bush Administration's Civil War" and "Bush's Next Role: Mediator in Disputes over Running Postwar Iraq." I announced at NSC meetings that the squabbling and leaks were damaging our credibility and giving ammunition to our critics. I spoke to Don and Colin individually. I asked d.i.c.k and Condi to work behind the scenes. I instructed Condi's skillful deputy, Steve Hadley Steve Hadley, to tell the seconds and thirds to cool it. Nothing worked.

In the spring of 2004, Don came to me with serious news. In defiance of their orders and military law, American soldiers had severely mistreated detainees at an Iraqi prison called Abu Ghraib Abu Ghraib. I felt sick, really sick. This was not what our military or our country stood for. While the perpetrators were court-martialed, America's reputation took a severe hit. I considered it a low point of my presidency.

I also felt blindsided. Don had told me the military was investigating reports of abuse at the prison, but I had no idea how graphic or grotesque the photos would be. The first time I saw them was the day they were aired by 60 Minutes II 60 Minutes II. I was not happy with the way the situation had been handled. Neither was the team at the White House. People started talking to the press and pointing fingers, mostly at my secretary of defense. When Don got word of the stories, he gave me a handwritten note: "Mr. President, I want you to know that you have my resignation as secretary of defense anytime you feel it would be helpful to you."

I called Don that night and told him I would not accept his resignation. I didn't blame him for the misconduct of the soldiers at Abu Ghraib, and I didn't want to turn him into a scapegoat. I needed the problem fixed, and I wanted him to do it. Four days later, Don sent another, longer letter. He wrote, During recent days, I have given a good deal of thought to the situation, testified before Congress, and considered your views. I have great respect for you, your outstanding leadership in the global war on terror and your hopes for our country. However, I have concluded that the damage from the acts of abuse that happened on my watch, by individuals for whose conduct I am ultimately responsible, can best be responded to by my resignation.

I respected Don for repeating his offer. It was clear his earlier message had not been a mere formality; he was serious about leaving. It was a testament to his character, his loyalty to the office, and his understanding of the damage Abu Ghraib was causing. I seriously considered accepting his advice. I knew it would send a powerful signal to replace the leader of the Pentagon after such a grave mistake. But a big factor held me back: There was no obvious replacement for Don, and I couldn't afford to create a vacuum at the top of Defense.

While I decided not to accept Don's resignation, the spring of 2004 marked the end of my tolerance for the squabbling within the national security team national security team. What started as creative tension had turned destructive. The stories about the feuds were fueling the impression of disarray within the administration and making me furious. I concluded that the animosity was so deeply embedded that the only solution was to change the entire national security team after the 2004 election.

Colin Powell made it easier for me. That same spring of 2004, he told me he was ready to move on. He had served three tough years and was naturally fatigued. He was also a sensitive man who had been wounded by the infighting and discouraged by the failure to find weapons of ma.s.s destruction in Iraq. I asked Colin to stay through the election, and I was grateful that he agreed.

The early notification gave me plenty of time to think about a successor. I admired Colin, but it sometimes seemed like the State Department he led wasn't fully on board with my philosophy and policies. It was important to me that there be no daylight between the president and the secretary of state. After six years together in the White House and on the campaign, I had grown very close to Condi Rice. She could read my mind and my moods. We shared a vision of the world, and she wasn't afraid to let me know when she disagreed with me.

Condi's range of talents was impressive. I had watched her brief members of Congress and the press on sensitive national security issues. She was a talented pianist who had played with Yo-Yo Ma. She inspired people with her story of growing up in the segregated South. And she knew how to handle some of the biggest personalities in the world.

I saw that in March 2001, when I held a meeting on North Korea North Korea policy to prepare for my visit the next day with South Korean President policy to prepare for my visit the next day with South Korean President Kim Dae-jung Kim Dae-jung, my first with an Asian head of state. The previous administration had offered concessions to North Korean dictator Kim Jong-il Kim Jong-il in return for a pledge to abandon his in return for a pledge to abandon his nuclear weapons program nuclear weapons program. The policy had not worked, and I told the team we were going to change it. From then on, North Korea would have to change its behavior before before America made concessions. America made concessions.

At 5:15 the next morning, I read the Washington Post Washington Post. One story opened, "The Bush administration intends to pick up where the Clinton administration left off in negotiations with North Korea over its missile programs, Secretary of State Colin L. Powell said yesterday."

I was stunned. I figured the reporter must have misquoted Colin, because the story was the exact opposite of what we had discussed at the meeting. I called Condi. Like me, she is an early riser, but she had not yet seen the paper. I gave her a summary of the Post Post story and said, "By the time Colin gets to the White House for the meeting, this had better be fixed." story and said, "By the time Colin gets to the White House for the meeting, this had better be fixed."

I had given Condi a daunting a.s.signment. She had to instruct the secretary of state, a world-famous former general a generation older than she, to correct his quote. Later that morning, Colin came bounding into the Oval Office and said, "Mr. President, don't worry, it's all been cleared up."

The next year, I asked Condi to take on a similar mission with the vice president. It was August 2002, and I was thinking through my decision on whether to seek a UN resolution to send weapons inspectors back to Iraq. d.i.c.k gave a speech at the Veterans of Foreign Wars Convention in which he said, "A return of inspectors would provide...false comfort that Saddam was somehow 'back in his box.'" That made it sound like my decision had been made. But I was still considering my options. I asked Condi to make clear to d.i.c.k that he had gotten out in front of my position. She made the call and, to d.i.c.k's credit, it never happened again.

I prepared to announce Condi's nomination as secretary of state shortly after the 2004 election. To fill the national security adviser post, I decided to promote her outstanding deputy, Steve Hadley, a humble and thoughtful lawyer whose advice was always crisp, discreet, and uncolored by any personal agenda. Then, out of nowhere, Andy informed me that Colin had expressed second thoughts about leaving. I considered Colin a friend and appreciated his achievements, especially his work to rally a strong coalition in the war on terror and lay the groundwork for future peace between the Israelis and Palestinians. But I had already decided on Condi.

I've always wondered if one of the reasons Colin hesitated to leave is that he expected Don Rumsfeld to go, too. He was right to a.s.sume that. I had planned to make a change at Defense as part of a new national security team. Late in 2004, I asked Andy to approach Fred Smith again to see if he would consider the job. I had seen Fred, and he looked perfectly fine. The problem this time was not Fred's health; it was his oldest daughter's. Wendy had been born with a fatal genetic heart condition, and he needed to spend time with her. Sadly, she died in 2005.

I considered other possible replacements at Defense. I thought about sending Condi to the Pentagon, but I decided she would be a better secretary of state. I considered Senator Joe Lieberman Joe Lieberman of Connecticut, but I didn't think he was the right fit, either. At one point, I reached out to Jim Baker. Had he accepted, Jim could have claimed a historic triple crown as the first person ever to serve as secretary of state, treasury, and defense. But he was enjoying his retirement and had no interest in returning to Washington. of Connecticut, but I didn't think he was the right fit, either. At one point, I reached out to Jim Baker. Had he accepted, Jim could have claimed a historic triple crown as the first person ever to serve as secretary of state, treasury, and defense. But he was enjoying his retirement and had no interest in returning to Washington.

The reality is that there aren't many people capable of leading the military during a complex global war. Don Rumsfeld was one of the few. He had valuable experience and shared my view of the war on terror as a long-term ideological struggle. At times, Don frustrated me with his abruptness toward military leaders and members of my staff. I felt he'd made a mistake by skipping the retirement ceremony of General Eric Shinseki, the four-star Army chief of staff who stepped down in 2003 after an honorable career. Don's decision helped feed the false impression that the general had been fired for policy disagreements over Iraq.**

Still, I liked Don. He respected the chain of command. He and his wife, Joyce, devoted themselves to our troops and frequently visited military hospitals without seeking press attention. Don was doing a superb job transforming the military, the mission that initially attracted me to him. He had increased our a.r.s.enal of unmanned aerial vehicles, made our forces more expeditionary, expanded the military's broadband capacity so we could make better use of real-time data links and imagery, begun bringing home troops from former Cold War outposts such as Germany, and invested heavily in the Special Forces, especially in the integration of intelligence and special operations.

Despite his tough external veneer, Don Rumsfeld was a decent and caring man. One day he and I were in the Oval Office. He had just finished briefing me on a military operation, and I had a few minutes before my next meeting. I asked casually how his family was doing. He did not answer at first. Eventually he got out a few words, but then he broke down in tears. He explained to me that his son, Nick, was battling a serious drug addiction. Don's pain was deep, his love genuine. Months later, I asked how Nick was doing. Don beamed as he explained that his son had gone through rehab and was well. It was touching to see Don's pride in his son's character and strength.

I felt for Don again in the spring of 2006, when a group of retired generals launched a barrage of public criticism against him. While I was still considering a personnel change, there was no way I was going to let a group of retired officers bully me into pushing out the civilian secretary of defense. It would have looked like a military coup and would have set a disastrous precedent.

As 2006 wore on, the situation in Iraq worsened dramatically. Sectarian violence was tearing the country apart. In the early fall, Don told me he thought we might need "fresh eyes" on the problem. I agreed that change was needed, especially since I was seriously contemplating a new strategy, the surge. But I was still struggling to find a capable replacement.