Laura knew she was marrying into a political family. She was less interested in the politics and more interested in the family. As an only child, she was thrilled to gain three brothers-in-law and a sister-in-law. She quickly developed a comfortable relationship with my parents, who welcomed her as a daughter of their own. Among other things, Laura bonded with Mother over their responsibi

lities as spouses of candidates. Laura was supportive of my race, but she had no interest in a starring role. I liked that about her; I was not looking for the stereotypical “political wife.” She even vowed that she would never give a political speech. Fortunately, she broke that vow. She became a very effective advocate in my 1978 congressional campaign—and in many other campaigns that followed.

The front-runner in the 1978 Republican primary was Jim Reese, a former mayor of Odessa who had run a strong race against Mahon in 1976. Reese had lined up some impressive endorsements, including that of former California Governor Ronald Reagan. I had met the Governor at a rally in Jacksonville, Florida, during my time working on a Senate campaign. Reagan made a powerful impression. He was tall and handsome and carried himself like the Hollywood star that he once was. He gave a fantastic speech that electrified the crowd. I was not surprised that he had almost defeated President Gerald Ford in the 1976 primaries or that he was considered a strong candidate for the Republican nomination in 1980.

Naturally I was disappointed that Governor Reagan had endorsed my opponent. When I mentioned the situation to Dad, he said immediately, “Reagan will call you if you win your primary.” Sure enough, when I upset Jim Reese for the Republican nomination, the phone rang the next day. “George, this is Ron Reagan,” he said. “Congratul

ations on proving me wrong. I just want to let you know that I’ll do anything I can to help you win the seat.” I thanked him for the call and hung up impressed by his generosity. I did not ask for his help. I naively thought that voters would appreciate that I was willing to run without inviting him or my dad to campaign in the district.

I campaigned hard through the summer and fall of 1978. After the primary, Laura and I left our home in Midland and rented a house in Lubbock, the largest city in the congressional district. It was asking a lot of my new bride to make her leave her home so soon after we got married. But she embraced the challenge. While we had taken a short trip to Mexico after the wedding, she thought of the campaign as our real honeymoon. We spent long hours together on the road, driving across the sprawling district for campaign stops in small towns like Levelland, Plainview, and Brownfield. On the Fourth of July, we rode in a white pickup truck in a parade in the heavily Democratic northern part of the district. Nobody waved to us—at least not using all five fingers. It’s safe to say that Laura had not envisioned doing anything like this when she planned her career as a public school librarian. For me, she was going three-quarters of the way.

On election night, I came up short. I won my home county of Midland and some of the southern part of the district. But as Governor Shivers had predicted, the district was drawn perfectly to suit Kent Hance. He stressed his Texas roots and painted me as an Ivy League–edu

cated outsider, which played well in the mostly rural district. He won 53 percent to 47 percent.

Even though I lost the race, I learned a lot—about campaigning, and about the partner at my side. And thanks to my father’s example, I knew that life would go on after defeat. In some ways, losing the election might have been for the best. To this day, my friend Kent Hance reminds people that he is the only politician ever to beat me. “I’m responsible for George W. Bush being President,” he says. “If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be stuck in Congress.”

—

I DON’T REMEMBER the exact moment when Dad told me he had decided to run for President. It was obvious that he was leaning strongly in that direction in 1977 when he created the Fund for Limited Government, a political action committee that allowed him to raise money as he explored his options.

It did not require much exploration to recognize that George Bush faced an uphill climb for the Republican nomination. Unlike other prospective candidates, he was not an elected official. He had no natural constituency. His national name recognition was so low that in many early presidential polls he didn’t register enough support to be included in the results. He was listed under the asterisk as one of “others receiving votes.” His early campaign aides formed the “asterisk club.” George Bush had overcome long odds before, and he intended to do it again.

The competition for the 1980 Republican nomination promised to be intense. In addition to Governor Reagan, the field included Senator Bob Dole of Kansas, a former RNC Chairman and Gerald Ford’s running mate in 1976. Another presidential hopeful was John Connally, a former Democratic Governor of Texas whom Richard Nixon had recruited into the Republican Party by appointing him Treasury Secretary. Connally, who had been in the car with John F. Kennedy on the day that he was assassinated in Dallas, was charismatic and had a strong following in the boardrooms of corporate America. Rounding out the field were Howard Baker, a respected Senator from Tennessee, and two Congressmen from Illinois, John Anderson and Phil Crane.

The Chairman of the Fund for Limited Government was my father’s close friend and confidant from Houston, James A. Baker III. Dad first met Jimmy Baker shortly after he and Mother moved to Houston in 1959. While Dad was building his offshore oil business, Jimmy was making his name as a lawyer. A graduate of Princeton and the University of Texas School of Law, Jimmy was a brilliant strategist, a skillful negotiator, and a man who could always make Dad laugh. He was one of the best joke-tellers that I have ever heard (most of his best jokes cannot be repeated). He and Dad struck up a friendship as tennis partners at the Houston Country Club. Before long, they were club champions in men’s doubles.

Jimmy had grown even closer to Mother and Dad when his wife, Mary, died of breast cancer in 1970. My parents reached out to help comfort their grieving friend. Dad explained how he had dealt with Robin’s death by plunging into his work, and he asked Jimmy if he wanted to spend more time on his 1970 Senate campaign. He accepted the offer. For the rest of Dad’s career, James Baker was his most trusted and valuable political adviser—in

cluding in the 1980 presidential campaign.

Another Houston friend taking a leading role in the 1980 effort was Bob Mosbacher, who volunteered to head up Dad’s fund-raising effort. His job was to raise enough money for Dad to travel the country and set up political organizations in a few key states. One of the first staffers hired was Karl Rove, a twenty-eight-year-old political whiz who had led the College Republicans while Dad was at the RNC. Karl played an important role in Dad’s campaign and later became one of my closest advisers and a dear friend.

No account of George Bush’s team would be complete without mention of Don Rhodes. My father first met Don in 1964, when he volunteered on Dad’s Senate campaign. Don would stop by the office on the way home from his job as a convenience store clerk. He worked grueling hours stuffing envelopes and checking mailing lists. At first, few people took Don seriously. He was different. He hardly spoke. And when he did, it was in a loud, slurred way. Many around the campaign pitied Don. Few thought he was capable of more than menial tasks.