The scandal, which became known as Iran-Contra, put Dad in a difficult position. While he was aware of the arms sales to Iran, he knew nothing about the diversion of funds to the Contras. Regardless, he knew the press and his political opponents would try hard to wrap him into the scandal. Although none of the commissions that studied the scandal concluded that he had done anything wrong, the specter of Iran-Contra haunted him. President Reagan’s approval rating plummeted below 50 percent in the weeks following the revelations. Even worse, a poll showed that 39 percent of voters favored a Democrat in 1988, while only 27 percent favored another Republican.

The big question facing George Bush was whether to distance himself from the President. Some advisers and friends told him it was his only hope to win the nomination. Reporters pressured him to explain where he disagreed with the President. George Will of the Washington Post mocked him as Reagan’s “lapdog.” Dad refused to take the bait. He was a loyal man in good times and bad. He understood the political risks, but he was not the kind of person to turn his back on his friend.

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AS THE 1988 primaries approached, the campaign strategy began to take shape. Unlike Dad’s 1980 campaign, which focused primarily on Iowa and New Hampshire, the campaign built a national infrastruc

ture. The campaign paid particular attention to the seventeen states that scheduled their primaries for the same date in early March, Super Tuesday. Those primaries represented a firewall—if George Bush crashed and burned in the early states, victories on Super Tuesday would keep the damage from spreading.

While Dad’s place as the front-runner had its advantages, it also created challenges. He spent all of 1987 with a target on his back, and the press and his political rivals in both parties let plenty of arrows fly. One of the most outrageous charges was that he had engaged in an extramarital affair. The whisper campaign started in June 1987. Tellingly, the gossip peddlers could not agree on who the “other woman” was. Around the same time, Senator Gary Hart withdrew from the Democratic presidential race amid allegations of adultery.

As I watched the Washington circus unfold, I grew incensed. The rumors were not only false; they were hurtful to Mother and Dad. Lee Atwater and I agreed that we should not let the gossip go unanswered. He set up an interview for me with a Newsweek reporter.

“The answer to the Big A question is N-O,” I said.

When Mother heard about my interview, she was furious.

“How dare you disgrace your father by bringing this up?” she demanded.

Although Mother was the one who expressed her displeasure, I was certain that she was reflecting Dad’s concern too. They feared that my denial would give credence to the gossip and spark a new round of coverage. My quip did make national news. Thankfully, the story died shortly thereafter.

In retrospect, I don’t know whether my response helped. It’s possible that the story was so ridiculous that it would have died on its own. Mother was correct that sometimes the best way to handle a false allegation is just to ignore it. That was generally my approach when people leveled false charges at me during my candidacies. But when the lie impugned the character of a man I loved and respected, I couldn’t hold back.

It turns out I wasn’t the only one in our family who felt that way. When I was running for reelection as President in 2004, my daughter Jenna wrote me a letter offering to work on my 2004 campaign. “I hate hearing lies about you. I hate when people criticize you. I hate that everybody can’t see the person I love and respect, the person that I hope I someday will be like…. I may be a little rough around the edges, but with the proper training I could get people to see the Dad I love.”

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ON OCTOBER 12, 1987, Vice President George Bush formally entered the race for President. He made the announcement in Houston. He promised to continue the policies of the Reagan administration while injecting new ideas of his own. One of those ideas was a pledge that he would repeat often in the months ahead: “I am not going to raise your taxes—period.” His campaign slogan highlighted his experience: “Ready on Day One to Be a Great President.” Everything went well until the balloon drop. Some of the balloons had popped overnight, and as Dad put it, “for a frightening moment it looked like a condom drop—raw rubber appearing from the ceiling.”

I attended the speech, but I was fuming. On my recommenda

tion, members of our family and campaign aides had given interviews to Newsweek reporter Margaret Warner for a profile about Dad. I expected the story to be objective, so I was shocked to see the cover of the magazine scheduled to hit newsstands that week: “George Bush: Fighting the ‘Wimp Factor.’ ” The thrust of the story was that Dad was not tough enough to be President. I was amazed that anyone who knew his life story—the Navy pilot who fought in World War II, the Congressman who endured death threats to vote for the open-housing bill—could even suggest that he was a wimp. (Twenty-five years later, Newsweek ran a cover story headlined “Romney: The Wimp Factor.” Apparently only Republican candidates are wimps in their eyes.)

The wimp criticism caused great concern among Dad’s friends and supporters. Many of them had advice for the candidate—and often I was the recipient. I knew it was important not to burden Dad with all the suggestions being given to me. My role was to serve as a filter. At first my filter was not very refined. I remember telling Dad that one of his friends had called with the suggestion “Just be yourself.” He rolled his eyes and said, “Who the hell else would I be?” From that point on, I was more judicious.

Over the course of the 1988 campaign, I came to understand that most politicians have plenty of professionals giving them advice. What they need from their friends and loved ones is comfort and support. That is one reason why I was so grateful that my brother Marvin, my sister Doro, and their families lived nearby when I was President. They frequently came to the White House for family dinners, and Marv would drop by to watch sports or work out. They had no agenda. They just wanted to help me relax. I tried to provide that same kind of support for Dad.

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IN THE WEEKS leading up to the Iowa caucus, CBS News ran a profile on each of the major candidates. There was some anxiety that Dan Rather would not cover the same topics that other candidates had discussed on CBS—their backgrounds, families, and experience

s—but rather would exploit the opportunity to relitigate Iran-Contra. The campaign agreed to the interview, but it insisted that the interview be aired live, so that Rather’s producers could not chop up Dad’s quotes or take them out of context.

Shortly before the interview, Dad’s top media adviser, the savvy Roger Ailes, heard rumblings from some of his friends in the TV world that Rather was planning to focus exclusively on Iran-Contra. Sure enough, as Dad sat waiting to begin the interview, he watched as Rather played a six-minute video reviewing the allegations related to Iran-Contra. Rather’s first question was why Dad continued to employ an adviser who had been involved in the scandal. Dad explained that the aide had been cleared of any wrongdoing. After several more questions on Iran-Contra, Dad told Rather that he found the topic of the discussion to be “a rehash” and a misreprese

ntation on the part of CBS.

The anchor pressed on with his cross-examination about Iran-Contra. Dad remained calm, but I knew he was seething. With time ticking down on the interview, Dad reminded the newsman that they had agreed to discuss other topics. When Rather followed up with yet another round of Iran-Contra questions, Dad delivered the knockout punch that he and Roger Ailes had planned.