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THE UPHILL CLIMB became steeper when Ross Perot announced that he would return to the race on October 1. Perot’s reentry meant that he would share the stage at the presidential debates and put his anti-incumbent TV ads back on the airwaves. Just when Dad had started gaining ground, he had to resume fighting a two-front war.

Perot’s return wasn’t the only setback. In late August, Hurricane Andrew struck the Florida and Louisiana coasts, causing some twenty-five billion dollars in damage and leaving tens of thousands of people homeless. Dad immediately issued a major disaster declaration, which allowed the affected states to receive federal disaster aid. But, as in any large-scale relief effort, it took time for the resources to reach those in need. Dad traveled to Florida to show his commitment, sent troops to help man relief stations, and deployed Secretary of Transportation Andy Card to personally oversee the operation. That didn’t stop Bill Clinton, Democratic officials in Florida, or the media from castigating the federal government’s “slow response.” The criticism echoed the theme that George Bush was out of touch or didn’t care. Of course, when it comes to delivering ice and trailers, there is only so much that the President can do. That was a lesson that I would learn years later in my own encounter with the politics of natural disasters after Hurricane Katrina in 2005. It was frustrating to see critics and opponents exploit the difficult task of dealing with nature’s wrath for political gain.

When he returned to the campaign trail, Dad pressed ahead with his focus on values. He criticized Clinton’s positions on social issues like abortion and denounced his conduct during the Vietnam War, which included avoiding the draft and protesting on foreign soil during his year at Oxford. Nevertheless, he had trouble gaining traction. Bill Clinton was no Michael Dukakis. While he supported most of the traditional Democratic platform, he was also in favor of the death penalty, welfare reform, the North American Free Trade Agreement, and a middle-class tax cut (although after he took office, the middle-class tax cut he promised turned into a tax increase). It was hard to portray him as a left-wing liberal. Just as important, Clinton rarely let an attack go unanswered. And his answers always came back to his two overriding themes: change and the economy.

In the fall of 1992, many in the campaign were banking on the presidential debates to change the dynamics of the race. That was not a good sign. Presidential debates are easy to lose but hard to win. I thought the first debate, held in St. Louis, was essentially a draw. Ross Perot got off the best line of the night when he ended an answer on his deficit reduction plan by saying, “If there’s a fairer way, I’m all ears.” (Perot’s ears were a prominent feature.)

The second debate, in Richmond, was the first presidential debate to adopt a town hall format. Most of the questions came from members of the live studio audience. Instead of standing behind podiums, the candidates had chairs and were encouraged to roam the stage. Once again, I did not attend the debate. But on TV, it seemed that Dad was uncomfortable in the new format. He struggled with an awkwardly worded question about how the national debt had affected him personally. He stayed relatively anchored to his chair as he gave a defensive answer. Clinton, by contrast, sauntered across the stage, looked the questioner in the eye, and spelled out his economic message. The most memorable moment of the night came when Perot was giving a long-winded answer and the cameras caught Dad checking his watch. The image that came across to most voters was one of boredom. (Al Gore did not learn a lesson from Dad’s mistake, because he “lost” a debate in 2000 as a result of his loud sighing during my answers. Of course, I didn’t learn the lesson either, since I “lost” a 2004 debate because I was grimacing during John Kerry’s answers. It is a sign of the shallowness of the presidential debate process that their most memorable moments have centered not on issues but on gestures or quips.)

By the third debate, the story line was set. Clinton was the front-runner, Perot remained a curiosity, and George Bush was in serious trouble. His diary entries show that he had started to contemplate defeat by mid-October. He wrote, “If we should lose, there’s great happiness over the horizon—but it will be a very painful process—not for losing but letting people down.” Despite his doubts, George Bush was not a quitter. He would finish strong. In the last month of the campaign, he finally got some good economic news. The third-quarter estimates showed that the economy had grown by 2.7 percent, the strongest quarter in two years. The polls started to narrow. Dad was making progress head-to-head against Clinton, and Perot supporters were beginning to have second thoughts. With a week to go, many polls were close to the margin of error. The momentum was on Dad’s side.

Then came one final blow. On the Friday before the election, Special Prosecutor Lawrence Walsh announced an indictment against Caspar Weinberger, President Reagan’s Secretary of Defense, for making false statements to Congress related to the Iran-Contra investigation. On the day the story broke, Dad was scheduled to appear on Larry King’s talk show. Instead of focusing solely on the positive economic news, Dad had to rehash Iran-Contra. And then there were the call-ins. “We have a call from Little Rock,” Larry King announced, “from George Stephanopo

ulos.” If there was any doubt about the media’s preferences in the 1992 campaign, it was resolved when Larry King’s producers aired a call-in question from Bill Clinton’s communications director. A polite Stephanopoulos proceeded to hammer Dad about Iran-Contra. That was a fitting capstone to the campaign. From Buchanan to Perot to Hurricane Andrew to Perot (again) and now to Iran-Contra, Dad had faced one distraction after the next. He might have been able to overcome any one of those in isolation. But together they were like that perfect storm that battered Walker’s Point on Halloween 1991.

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MONDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1992, was the last day of the last campaign of George Bush’s public career. I accompanied him on Air Force One as he barnstormed from one battleground state to the next. I tried to stay upbeat, but I had a sinking feeling that this good man would go down in defeat. Dad’s favorite country music group, the Oak Ridge Boys, joined him on the plane. On the descent into one of our last stops, Dad and the campaign team gathered to hear the Oaks, as Dad called them, sing “Amazing Grace.” By the end of the song, all of us were wiping our tears. I remember thinking that the song—a mainstay at funerals—was a way to help us get our hearts ready for bad news.

On Election Day, George Bush was physically spent. He seemed relieved that the campaign was over. And, characteri

stically, he was optimistic about his prospects. After voting in Houston, he and Mother camped out at the Houstonian Hotel, where our extended family had gathered. When campaign manager Bob Teeter called me with the first round of exit polls, I knew that it was going to be a tough night. When he called back with the second round, I knew that it was over. I went to Mother and Dad’s hotel suite. They were the only two in the room.

“How’s it going, son?” he asked cheerfully.

“Not so good,” I said gently. “The exit polls are in, and it looks like you’re going to lose.”

He became very quiet. It seemed like he was steeling himself for the disappointment ahead. He had done his best. He had given it his all. But this was not meant to be. After his decades of public service, eight years as Vice President, and four years as President, the American people had rejected George Bush. Of all the elections he had lost, there was no question that this one hurt the most.