I had no idea that the 1981 inauguration would be the first of six that I attended. (The others came in 1985, 1989, 2001, 2005, and 2009.)

At the time, my overwhelming emotion was happiness for Dad. I watched with joy as Mother held the Bible while Dad took his oath of office from Justice Potter Stewart, their longtime friend and former neighbor on Palisade Lane in Northwest Washington, DC. When President Reagan began his inaugural address, I was inspired by his optimism and determination to move the country forward. As he said in his speech, “Americans have the capacity now, as we’ve had in the past, to do whatever needs to be done to preserve this last and greatest bastion of freedom.”

Following the ceremony, Dad and the new President attended a luncheon at the Capitol. President Reagan surprised the guests with a dramatic announcement: After 444 days in captivity, the American hostages in Iran had been released. I’ve always wondered whether the Iranians chose the timing because they feared Ronald Reagan or wanted to insult Jimmy Carter. Either way, the Reagan presidency was off to a great start. When the hostages touched down at Andrews Air Force Base a week later, Vice President Bush was there to welcome them home.

After watching the inaugural parade and attending the inaugural balls, my siblings and I spent the night at the Vice President’s Residence at the Naval Observatory. Situated on a grass lot spanning approximately seventy-two acres, the spacious house was perfect for Mother and Dad. It had plenty of spare bedrooms for family gatherings, and the grounds included a tennis court and a jogging track, which enabled my parents to exercise frequently. The house was open to our family for the next eight years. As Mother later pointed out, that was the longest period that she and Dad had stayed in any house during their married life.

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WHILE SERVING AS Franklin Roosevelt’s Vice President, John Nance Garner (the first Texan to serve as VP) complained that his job was “not worth a warm bucket of spit” and “the worst damn fool mistake [he] ever made.” Fortunately, Vice President Bush had a more positive experience.

My father’s office was on the first floor of the West Wing, down the hall from the Oval Office and right next to the President’s Chief of Staff: James A. Baker. As President Reagan had wisely recognized, Baker was a perfect fit for the job. As a skillful lawyer, campaign veteran, and former official in Gerald Ford’s Commerce Department, he brought expertise on policy, politics, and personnel. Just as important, he had the even temperament and sound judgment to help guide the White House through any crisis. Of course, it was helpful for Dad to have his close friend as one of the President’s top advisers. And it said a lot about Ronald Reagan that he had enough confidence to hire his primary opponent’s campaign manager as his White House Chief of Staff.

Continuing a tradition started by Jimmy Carter and Walter Mondale, Vice President Bush and President Reagan had lunch together once a week in the private dining room next to the Oval Office. Their favorite menu item was Mexican food. The lunches provided an opportunity for Dad to give the President his candid advice on a wide range of subjects. Dad pledged to the President that their conversations would remain confidential. To this day, I have no idea what they discussed or whether they had any differences of opinion.

What I do know is that George Bush was loyal to Ronald Reagan and to his agenda. Dad recognized that it was the President who set policy for the administra

tion; the Vice President’s job was to support the President’s decisions. In Dad’s view, the highest form of disloyalty was for a Vice President to leak disagreements or try to create separation from the President. He impressed upon his staff that the President should never have to worry about being undermined by his Vice President (or any member of his staff, for that matter). I am sure the President’s staff noticed and appreciated Dad’s approach to the job. Before long, he showed his loyalty in a way that no one could have anticipated.

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ON MARCH 30, 1981, George H.W. Bush flew from Washington to Fort Worth, where he attended a routine event at the Hotel Texas—a local landmark because President John F. Kennedy spent his final night there in 1963. Dad then drove to Carswell Air Force Base and boarded Air Force Two for a flight to Austin, where he had been invited to address a joint session of the state legislature.

Back in Washington, a deranged man named John Hinckley shot President Reagan as he was walking out the side door of the Washington Hilton. The shooting wounded Press Secretary James Brady, Secret Service agent Timothy McCarthy, and D.C. police officer Thomas Delahanty. The President was rushed to George Washington University Hospital, where doctors discovered that he had suffered heavy internal bleeding because a bullet had lodged in his lung. They inserted a tube in his chest and wheeled him into the operating room to begin surgery. (From behind an oxygen mask, the President joked, “I hope you’re all Republicans.”)

Dad first heard about the shooting shortly after Air Force Two lifted off in Fort Worth. His lead Secret Service agent, Ed Pollard, initially informed him that the President had not been harmed. A few minutes later, the agent burst back into the cabin. The President had been shot. His condition was unknown, and Dad had to get back to Washington immediately. Around the same time, the secure phone on the plane rang. Secretary of State Alexander Haig was asking for the Vice President. Dad tried to talk to him, but all he could hear was static. The faulty communications added to the uncertainty about the President’s condition. Twenty years later, on September 11, 2001, I would experience similar frustrations with the communications equipment on Air Force One.

Dad took a moment to process what he had learned. He jotted his reactions on one of the flight cards aboard Air Force Two. (The card is now an artifact at the George Bush Presidential Library at Texas A&M.) He thought first about the President as his friend—“de

cent, warm, kind,” he wrote. Then he turned to his responsibilities. He scribbled a reminder to avoid panic. He wrote the word uncertainty, which he knew the country would be feeling. He knew how important it would be to project stability and help calm the nerves of the rattled nation.

When Air Force Two landed at Andrews Air Force Base, the Secret Service wanted Dad to take a helicopter directly to the South Lawn—where the President lands in Marine One. Dad refused. He did not want to send the signal that the President had lost command. He instructed the chopper to take him to the familiar landing zone at the Naval Observatory, and he took a car from there to the White House.

“Only the President lands on the South Lawn,” he said.

By the time Dad arrived in the Situation Room, the President had come through the surgery and had a good prognosis for recovery. Dad went to the Press Briefing Room to make a concise, upbeat statement on the President’s condition—a stark contrast to the haphazard briefings that senior officials had delivered earlier in the day. The next day, Dad visited the President in the hospital and presided over a Cabinet meeting. Journalists noted that Vice President Bush sat in his usual position, rather than in President Reagan’s chair. I’m confident that my father never even considered taking the President’s seat. He understood that his job was to support the President, not supplant him. Within two weeks, the President was back at the White House. Within a month, he was addressing a joint session of Congress.