It’s worth remembering that, at that very same instant, reporters were standing on the steps of the Supreme Court holding the opinion and frantically trying to figure out what on earth it meant. It didn’t contain one simple clear sentence, “George W. Bush wins—the election is over.” Instead, it was more complicated than that.
Afterwards, Heidi couldn’t help but rib me when I told her that story: “Well, it’s a good thing you were right!” she replied, snorting. I laughed, relieved at the same time. I was very glad there hadn’t been some footnote buried in the opinion that I had missed—one that somehow gave a window for the Gore legal team to continue the battle. As it so happened, however, the case was truly over—even though we were yet again only one vote away.
Although Bush had won the initial count by 1784 votes and he led every subsequent tally, the vote differential had varied throughout the recounts, dropping to a low of 300 on November 14, then rising to 930 on November 18 (when overseas absentee ballots were counted), and finally being certified at 537 votes on December 8 (the margin by which Bush ultimately won the presidency).
In my life, a bit of personal drama loomed in the background of the entire recount. I’d met Heidi Suzanne Nelson on January 3, 2000. At the time, she was in her second year at Harvard Business School, and she came to volunteer for a month on the Bush campaign. I was doing domestic policy, and she was there to do economic policy.
Blonde, beautiful, brilliant, she runs marathons and is in ridiculous shape. Her parents were missionaries in Africa, and she is deeply committed to her faith. She’s more driven than any person I’ve ever met, before or since. For a wife, I wanted a life partner, someone who wouldn’t fight against this political journey I hoped to travel, but instead who would be a soulmate and an enthusiastic force multiplier in life. If anything, I underestimated what I was getting into.
I was smitten from the moment I first cast my eyes upon her, and the two of us began dating two days later, on January 5. It was a whirlwind romance, and things got serious almost as soon as they started. When she returned to Harvard for her final semester at the end of January, I drove her to the airport. I asked her, “What now?” She said, without hesitating, “Call me every single night.” She knew that I was getting home each night at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning… so I’d call her—every single night—at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning East Coast time. We’d talk a good hour or so, typically until one or the other of us fell asleep while still on the phone.
A week before the election, it so happened that Heidi’s parents were coming to Texas. They’re Californians from San Luis Obispo, along California’s central coast, but through a weird coincidence they came to Texas because a cousin of hers was getting married in Fort Worth. After the wedding party, we all went to Billy Bob’s, the famed country-Western bar in Fort Worth. Willie Nelson was playing in concert that evening.
Heidi’s father is an intimidating man. A dentist by profession, he and Suzanne served as missionaries in Africa, where Heidi lived several months as a young girl. An avid outdoorsman, Peter climbed Mount Everest in 1990. He nearly died just a few hours from the summit, getting pulmonary edema on the mountain, and to this day he is an extremely talented athlete and a very driven man. To put it mildly, he was more than a little daunting as the father of the love of my life.
Peter and I didn’t know each other well, but I wanted to marry his daughter, and I wanted to ask Peter for her hand. Sitting at Billy Bob’s with his family all around, it was difficult to get him alone, to pull him away from the herd. I spied some pool tables not too far away, and I asked Peter, “So, do you play much pool?” “No,” he answered monosyllabically, looking away and adding nothing more.
I sat there in silence for a couple of minutes and then tried it again. “Would you care to play me in a game of pool?” Eyebrow raised, Peter reluctantly agreed. While we were playing pool, I told him I was madly in love with his daughter, and I asked his permission to ask her to marry me. Peter was surprised. Even for him, he seemed a bit shaken. He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Well, I’ll have to think about it. Let me talk to Suzanne, and I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
The next day, Sunday, Heidi and I had arranged a brunch with her family and my family, many of whom lived in Dallas. At that brunch, Peter pulled me aside and said ominously, “Suzanne and I talked about it, and we decided we’re not ready to give up our daughter.”
Four long seconds of silence ensued, at which point he added, “… but we are ready to gain a son.”
In the movies, when you’re falling off a cliff, your life flashes before your eyes. I have to admit, those four seconds seemed like an eternity for me, as I stood there thinking, “this isn’t really happening.” I recall thinking, “I’m conservative, but I’m not that conservative. You don’t actually have a veto on this marriage. I am asking you out of respect, but I guess Heidi and I are getting married by Elvis in Vegas instead!”
After relieving my crashing fears, Peter then asked me, “Have you talked to Heidi yet?” I said, “No.” He asked, “When do you intend to?” I replied, “Well, the election is the day after tomorrow, Tuesday, and so I intend to ask her
