To convince the country that he deserved another four years, Dad would need an active, forward-looking message. Tragically, his top strategist, Lee Atwater, had died of brain cancer in 1991. No one of Lee’s talent had stepped forward to guide the reelection campaign. The perils of the political landscape became clear in November 1991 when Dick Thornburgh, Dad’s former Attorney General and a popular former Governor of Pennsylvania, unexpectedly lost a Senate race in Pennsylvania. In retrospect, that should have been an alarm bell about the dangers that were ahead for George Bush.
The last thing any family member should do is burden the President with complaints or concerns, but in the early fall of 1991, I told Dad that I was worried about the reelection effort. I knew that he shared my misgivings when he asked me to take on a sensitive assignment. He wanted me to analyze how to improve the functioning of the White House and to make recommenda
I took the job seriously. Several times I traveled from Dallas to Washington to interview all of the top White House and campaign officials. What became clear is that many senior advisers felt disconnected from the President. They felt that the President was isolated and that the lack of access to him was weakening morale. The consensus of the interviews was that Dad should change the way the White House was operating, starting with the Chief of Staff.
In late November 1991, Mother, Dad, and I had dinner in the family dining room of the White House. Over the first course, a nice soup, I gave him a summary of the interviews that I had conducted. Dad took it all in and didn’t say much during the main course. Finally, during dessert, he said that he agreed with the conclusion that the White House needed to be reorganized and that he needed to find a new Chief of Staff. Then he asked, “Who do you think should tell John Sununu?”
I was surprised by the question. “Why don’t you talk to him?” I asked.
He said, “I’d rather it be someone else.” We ran down a list of possible names, none of whom he wanted to handle it.
Finally, in spite of my misgivings about the awkwardness of a President’s son delivering such a message, I said, “Dad, look, if no one else can do it, I can talk to Sununu anytime you’d like.”
To my amazement, after a long pause, he said, “Fine.”
Over the years, there has been widespread speculation about my conversation with John Sununu. I merely told John he should go see the President, have a heart-to-heart discussion, and give him the opportunity to make a change if the President so desired. I don’t know what transpired after that, but I do know that a few days later John went to talk to Dad at Camp David. Shortly after Thanksgiving 1991, John Sununu—an able man and a loyal friend to George Bush—stepped down as Chief of Staff.
I’ve always wondered why Dad didn’t approach his Chief of Staff himself. I’ve never asked him. The experience taught me a lesson. When I became Governor and President, I resolved to either make personnel changes myself or to have a close confidant (not a family member) who could speak on my behalf make them. When I decided to reorganize my White House five years into my presidency, I told my dear friend and Chief of Staff Andy Card that I felt it was time for a change. And when I decided to replace Secretary of the Treasury Paul O’Neill and Secretary of Defense Don Rumsfeld, I asked my Vice President, Dick Cheney, to deliver the message.
At that same White House dinner, Dad and I began to discuss how to organize the 1992 campaign. Unlike in 1988, I did not plan to be in Washington for the 1992 campaign. I was busy with the Rangers back in Texas. I suggested to Dad that he ask Jim Baker, who had been with Dad in every one of his national campaigns, to leave his post as Secretary of State and run the 1992 campaign. Dad was reluctant to ask his friend to leave the State Department and step back into the political arena. I understood his decision, but with Atwater gone and Baker off the political playing field, my concerns about the reelection intensified.
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THE YEAR 1992 did not get off to an auspicious beginning for George Bush. He started the year with a long trip through Asia, where he was negotiating several important trade agreements. The final stop was Japan. After a day of meetings, he and Mother attended a banquet with Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa. Dad hadn’t been feeling well all day, but he was too polite to cancel on his host. Everything went fine until about halfway through the meal, when nausea overtook him. His head drooped and he passed out, falling sideways from his chair and vomiting on the Prime Minister. The Secret Service raced over, as did Mother with a napkin. Dad quickly regained consciousness.
“Why don’t you just roll me under the table and you can go on with the banquet?” he cracked.
He went back to his hotel while Mother stayed and delivered Dad’s toast. The incident made international news—and provided plenty of fodder for late-night comedy skits.
There was nothing funny about the problem brewing back in New Hampshire. In December 1991, the political commentator and TV show host Patrick J. Buchanan had announced that he was challenging Dad in the New Hampshire Republican primary. Buchanan had never held any elected office and seemed to be running in part to boost his TV ratings. A few months earlier, it had seemed inconceivable that any Republican would challenge George Bush. Buchanan’s entry in the race showed how badly Dad’s position among Republicans had slipped. Polls in early 1992 showed that Buchanan could pick up more than 30 percent of New Hampshire Republicans—a significant protest vote. I had seen protest candidates run in New Hampshire before: Eugene McCarthy in 1968, Ronald Reagan in 1976, and Ted Kennedy in 1980. Every time, the incumbent was significantly wounded.
Buchanan’s basic message was that George Bush had betrayed the conservative legacy of Ronald Reagan—a legacy that Republican politicians continue to invoke today, even though some of them overlook the details of Ronald Reagan’s record. He attacked the President not only for breaking his “no new taxes” pledge but also for signing the civil rights bill.
Buchanan described the contrast with Dad in his announcement speech. “He is a globalist and we are nationalists. He believes in some pax universalis; we believe in the old republic. He would put America’s wealth and power at the service of some vague new world order. We will put America first.” Buchanan opposed the Gulf War, which he saw as a sellout to “the Israeli defense ministry and its amen corner in the United States.” The message echoed the isolationist position of the America First Committee, which opposed American involvement in World War II. It also reminded me of the Texas far-right movement that I had encountered in the 1960s and 1970s, and it was a forerunner of today’s Tea Party. And yet, one out of every three Republicans in New Hampshire was supporting Buchanan.
After initially ignoring the primary challenge, Dad’s political advisers decided that the President should go to New Hampshire to counter Buchanan’s attacks and reassure Republican voters. At one town hall, he delivered an underwhelming line to New Hampshire voters: “Message: I care.” No doubt he did care, a lot. And he laid out a proposal for modest tax reductions that would help ease some of the pain. Beyond that, Dad was banking on what his economic advisers had assured him of—that the economy was growing and that jobs reports would improve soon. So far, the results had not appeared. On primary night, Buchanan garnered more than 37 percent, which the media spun as a repudiation of George Bush.