“Dick would be a great choice,” he said. “He would give you candid and solid advice. And you’d never have to worry about him going behind your back.”
By the time Dick came to the ranch to deliver his final report, I had decided to make another run at him. As he finished his briefing, I said, “Dick, you are the perfect running mate.”
While I had dropped hints before, he could tell I was serious this time. Finally, he said, “I need to talk to Lynne.” I took that as a promising sign. He told me that he had had three heart attacks and that he and Lynne were happy with their life in Dallas. Then he said, “Mary is gay.” I could tell what he meant by the way he said it. Dick clearly loved his daughter. I felt he was gauging my tolerance. “If you have a problem with this, I’m not your man,” he was essentially saying.
I smiled at him and said, “Dick, take your time. Please talk to Lynne. And I could not care less about Mary’s orientation.”
Later that day, I talked to a few trusted aides. I didn’t want to put all my cards on the table yet. I just told them I was thinking seriously about Cheney. Most were stunned. Karl was opposed. I asked him to come to the Governor’s Mansion to make his case. I invited one person to listen in. That would be Dick. I believe in airing out disagreements. I also wanted to cement a relationship of trust between Karl and Dick in case they ended up together in the White House.
Karl gamely delivered his arguments: Cheney’s presence on the ticket would add nothing to the electoral map, since Wyoming’s three electoral votes were among the most reliably Republican in the country. Cheney’s record in Congress was very conservative and included some hot-button votes that would be used against us. Dick’s heart condition would raise questions about his fitness to serve. Choosing Dad’s defense secretary could make people question whether I was my own man. Finally, Dick lived in Texas, and the Constitution prohibited two residents of the same state from receiving Electoral College votes.
I listened carefully to Karl’s objections. Dick said he thought they were pretty persuasive. I didn’t. Dick’s old congressional record didn’t bother me. I considered his experience on Capitol Hill an asset. His lack of impact on the electoral map did not concern me either. I believe voters base their decision on the presidential candidate, not the VP.*
As for Karl’s concern about picking Dad’s defense secretary, I was convinced that the benefits of choosing a serious, accomplished running mate would compensate for any perception that I was falling back on Dad for help.
Two concerns did need to be addressed: Dick’s health and residency status. Dick agreed to have a medical exam and sent the results to Dr. Denton Cooley, a respected Houston cardiologist. The doctor said Dick’s heart would hold up to the stresses of the campaign and the vice presidency. Dick and Lynne would be able to change their voter registration to Wyoming, the state Dick had represented in Congress and still considered home.
The way Dick handled those delicate weeks deepened my confidence that he was the right choice. He never once pushed me to make up my mind. In fact, he insisted that I meet with Jack Danforth before I finalized my decision. Dick and I went to see Jack and his wife, Sally, in Chicago on July 18. We had a relaxed, three-hour visit. My positive impressions of Jack were confirmed. But I had decided on Dick.
A week later, I made the formal offer. As was my habit, I got up around 5:00 a.m. After two cups of coffee, I was anxious to get moving. I managed to wait until 6:22 a.m. before I called Dick. I caught him on the treadmill, which I considered a good sign. He and Lynne came down to Austin for the announcement that afternoon.
Whistlestop campaigning with Dick Cheney.
Ten years later, I have never regretted my decision to run with Dick Cheney. His pro-life, low-tax positions helped cement key parts of our base. He had great credibility when he announced that “Help is on the way” for the military. His steady, effective answers in the vice presidential debate with Joe Lieberman reassured voters about the strength of our ticket. It gave me comfort to know he would be ready to step in if something happened to me.
The real benefits of selecting Dick became clear fourteen months later. On a September morning in 2001, Americans awoke to an unimaginable crisis. The calm and quiet man I recruited that summer day in Crawford stood sturdy as an oak.
The vice presidential selection came at the end of a grueling primary season. The campaign process has a way of stripping the candidates to the core. It exposes strengths and weaknesses to the voters. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the grind of the campaign helps a candidate to prepare for the pressures of the presidency. Those intense days also revealed the character of the people around me and laid the groundwork for the personnel decisions I later faced in the White House.
The campaign kicked off with the Iowa caucus, the ultimate grassroots experience. Laura and I traveled the state, shook thousands of hands, and consumed untold gallons of coffee. For all our meticulously planned events, one of the most revealing moments of the campaign came unscripted.
In December 1999, I attended a Republican debate in Des Moines. The moderators were Tom Brokaw of NBC and a local anchor, John Bachman. After covering some predictable topics, Bachman let loose a surprise: “What political philosopher or thinker do you most identify with and why?”
I was third in line to answer. I thought about citing someone like Mill or Locke, whose natural law theory had influenced the Founders. Then there was Lincoln; hard to go wrong with Abe in a Republican debate. I was still thinking when Bachman turned to me: “Governor Bush?” No more time to weigh my options. The words tumbled out of my mouth: “Christ,” I said, “because He changed my heart.”
Everybody looked stunned. Where had that come from? On the car ride back to the hotel, Mother and Dad checked in. They almost always called after major events. “Fine job, son,” Dad said. “I don’t think your answer will hurt you too much.” “Which answer?” I asked. “You know, that one on Jesus,” he said.
At first I hadn’t thought about the answer hurting me. I had just blurted out what was in my heart. Upon reflection, however, I understood the note of caution. I was skeptical of politicians who touted religion as a way to get votes. I didn’t believe in a Methodist or Jewish or Muslim approach to public policy. It was not the role of government to promote any religion. I hadn’t done that as governor of Texas, and I certainly didn’t intend to do it as president.
Sure enough, my words prompted an outcry. “There is something unholy about this,” one columnist wrote. “W. is just checking Jesus’ numbers, and Jesus is polling well in Iowa,” another concluded.
The reaction wasn’t all negative. My response had connected with many people who had had similar experiences in their own lives and appreciated my speaking openly about faith.
On caucus night, I won Iowa with 40 percent of the vote. After a brief victory celebration, we made the trek to New Hampshire. I knew that the Granite State could be treacherous for front-runners. New Hampshire voters have a history of knocking down the favorite. I felt good about our operation in the state, led by my friend Senator Judd Gregg. I had spent a lot of time in New Hampshire, marching in parades and perfecting my pancake-flipping skills. On primary day, Laura and I settled into our hotel in Manchester to watch the returns. Early in the afternoon, Karl came by with the first exit polls: I was going to lose, and lose badly.
Laura spoke up. “George, do you want to be president?” she asked. I nodded. “Then you’d better not let yourself get defined again,” she said.
She was right. I had made the classic front-runner mistake. I had let Senator John McCain of Arizona, the other top contender for the nomination, take the initiative in New Hampshire. He had run an energetic campaign that attracted a lot of independents, which overcame my solid support from fellow Republicans. McCain, a member of Congress since 1983, had managed to define himself as an outsider and me as an insider. He talked about reform at every campaign stop, even though I was the one who had reformed a school system, changed the tort laws, and revamped Texas’s approach to welfare. I had to give John credit for a smart, effective campaign. And I had to learn from my mistake.
I went to the gym for a hard workout. On the treadmill, I thought about what to do next. I faced the biggest personnel decision of my young campaign. The conventional playbook called for me to fire a few people and claim a fresh start. I decided to go in the opposite direction. I got the senior staff together and told them I refused to chuck anyone overboard to satisfy the loud voices on TV. One person deserved blame, and that was me. Win or lose, we would finish this race as a team. Then I gave everybody an assignment. Karl called the political directors in upcoming primary states. Joe reassured the campaign staff. Karen reached out to key members of the media. Don
