documentary that was nothing more than campaign propaganda. In return, Kerry said that Hollywood entertainers conveyed “the heart and soul of our country.” Wealthy donors like investment mogul George Soros gave Kerry huge amounts of money through 527s, fundraising organizations that circumvented the campaign finance laws so many Democrats had championed.**** Renegade staffers at the CIA leaked information intended to embarrass the administration. The assault culminated in Dan Rather’s false report, based on forged documents, that I had not fulfilled my duties in the Texas Air National Guard.
While the media was eager to scrutinize my military service, their appetite was noticeably less ravenous when Kerry’s came into question. In February 2004, I sat down for an hour-long, one-on-one interview with Tim Russert. After grilling me mainly on Iraq, he pushed me on whether I would make all my military records available to the public. I promised I would. Soon after, I instructed the Defense Department to release every document related to my Guard service.
“You did yourself some good today, Mr. President,” Tim said after the cameras went dark.
“Thanks, Tim,” I said. “By the way, I sure hope you will be as tough on John Kerry about his military records as you were on me.”
“Oh, believe me,” he said, “we will.”
Tim interviewed John Kerry two months later, and he did ask about the military records. Kerry promised to release them to the public during the campaign, but he never did.
At the Democratic National Convention in Boston, Kerry invited former shipmates and accepted the nomination with a salute. “I’m John Kerry, and I’m reporting for duty,” he declared in his opening line. His speech called for “telling the truth to the American people” and promised he would “be a commander in chief who will never mislead us into war.”
Kerry’s argument that I had misled the country on Iraq didn’t pass the commonsense test. As a member of the Senate in 2002, he had access to the same intelligence I did and decided to cast his vote in support of the war resolution.
Kerry had trapped himself in a contradiction. “My opponent hasn’t answered the question of whether, knowing what we know now, he would have supported going into Iraq,” I said at a campaign stop in New Hampshire. A few days later, standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon, Kerry took the bait. “Yes,” he said, “I would have voted for the authority.”
It was a stunning admission. After using the grand stage of his convention to charge that I had misled America into war—one of the most serious allegations anyone can level at a commander in chief—John Kerry said he would vote to authorize the war again if he had the chance.
Making the case against Kerry was important, but it was even more important to show voters that I would continue to lead on the big issues. I had seen incumbents like Ann Richards run backward-looking campaigns, and I vowed not to repeat their mistake. “The only reason to look back in a campaign is to determine who best to lead us forward,” I said. “Even though we’ve done a lot, I’m here to tell you there’s more to do.”
At the Republican National Convention in New York, and in speeches across the country, I laid out an ambitious second-term agenda. I pledged to modernize Social Security, reform the immigration system, and overhaul the tax code, while continuing No Child Left Behind and the faith-based initiative, implementing Medicare reform, and above all, fighting the war on terror.
Taking the stage with Laura at the 2004 Republican National Convention.
I crisscrossed the country throughout the fall, with interruptions for each of the three debates. The first was held at the University of Miami. Debating was a strong suit for John Kerry. Like a prizefighter, he charged out of his corner and punched furiously after every question. It was an effective technique. I spent too much time trying to sort through which of his many attacks to answer.
I did land one roundhouse. When Kerry suggested that American military action should be subject to a “global test,” I countered, “I’m not exactly sure what you mean, ‘passes the global test’ … My attitude is you take preemptive action in order to protect the American people.”
On the car ride to the post-debate rally, I received a phone call from Karen Hughes. She told me the networks had broadcast split-screen images showing my facial expressions while Kerry was speaking. Apparently I hadn’t done a very good job of disguising my opinion of his answers. Just as Al Gore’s sighs dominated the coverage of the first debate in 2000, my scowls became the story in 2004. I thought it was unfair both times.
An even stranger story unfolded a few days later, when a photograph from the debate surfaced. It showed a wrinkle down the back of my suit. Somebody came up with the idea that the crease was actually a hidden radio connected to Karl Rove. The rumor flew around the Internet and became a sensation among conspiracy theorists. It was an early taste of a twenty-first-century phenomenon: the political bloggers. In retrospect, it’s too bad I didn’t have a radio, so Karl could have told me to quit grimacing.
The second and third debates went better. My face was calm, my suit was pressed, and I was better prepared to counter Kerry’s jabs. But as is usually the case in presidential debates, the most damaging blow was self-inflicted. At our final debate in Tempe, moderator Bob Schieffer raised the topic of same-sex marriage and asked, “Do you believe homosexuality is a choice?”
“I just don’t know,” I said. “I do know that we have a choice to make in America, and that is to treat people with tolerance and respect and dignity.” I then expressed my conviction that marriage is between a man and a woman, and said the law should reflect that time-honored truth.
Kerry, who also opposed same-sex marriage, began his answer, “We’re all God’s children, Bob, and I think if you were to talk to Dick Cheney’s daughter, who is a lesbian, she would tell you that she’s being who she was, she’s being who she was born as.”
I glanced at Laura, Barbara, and Jenna in the front row. I could see the shock on their faces. Karen Hughes later told me she heard audible gasps. There is an unwritten rule in American politics that a candidate’s children are off-limits. For John Kerry to raise my running mate’s daughter’s sexuality in a nationally televised debate was appalling.
It was not unprecedented. In the vice presidential debate a week earlier, Kerry’s running mate, North Carolina Senator John Edwards, also found a way to bring up the issue. One reference might have been an accident. Two was a plot. Kerry and Edwards were hoping to peel off conservative voters who objected to Dick’s daughter’s orientation. Instead, they came across looking cynical and mean. Lynne Cheney spoke for a lot of us when she called it a “cheap and tawdry political trick.”
In 2000, our October Surprise had come in the form of the DUI revelation. In 2004, it came from Osama bin Laden. On October 29, the al Qaeda leader released a videotape threatening Americans with “another Manhattan” and mocking my response to 9/11 in the Florida classroom. It sounded like he was plagiarizing Michael Moore. “Americans will not be intimidated or influenced by an enemy of our country,” I said. John Kerry made a similar statement of resolve.
The final election day of my political career, November 2, 2004, began aboard Marine One, on a midnight flight from Dallas to the ranch. We had just finished an emotional rally with eight thousand supporters at Southern Methodist University, Laura’s alma mater—my seventh stop on a daylong, 2,500-mile blitz across the country.
Laura, Barbara, Jenna, and I were up at dawn the next day. We eagerly cast our ballots at the Crawford firehouse, four solid votes in the Bush-Cheney column. “I trust the judgment of the American people,” I told the assembled reporters. “My hope, of course, is that this election ends tonight.”
I checked in with brother Jeb. “Florida is looking good, George,” the governor said.
Then I spoke to Karl. He was a little worried about Ohio, so off we went for my twentieth campaign stop in the Buckeye State. After thanking the volunteers and working a phone bank in Columbus, we loaded up for the flight to D.C.
As the plane descended toward Andrews Air Force Base, Karl came to the front cabin. The first round of exit polls had arrived.
“They’re dreadful,” he said.
I felt like he had just punched me in the stomach. I was down more than twenty points in the battleground state of Pennsylvania. Rock-solid Republican states like Mississippi and South Carolina were too close to call. If the
