All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings Read online

  Steel, Jack—Jack was one of the people who encouraged me to get into politics, way back in 1963. When he retired in 1980 from his “day” job, working for the Prudential Insurance Company, he worked for me full-time in Houston, but always as a volunteer. I relied on him always and lost a close friend when he died in 1996.

  Steiger, William—Bill was elected to Congress from Wisconsin on the same day I was elected from Texas in 1966. He was exceptionally bright and talented, a leader in our large class. We were close friends and he was a great supporter. He died in 1978. I appointed his wife, Janet, chairman of the Federal Trade Commission. She died in 2004.

  Straus, Joci and Joe—When I ran for the Senate in 1964, Joci was one of the earliest Republican workers at my side. She and Joe worked hard in the Republican vineyards way back in the days when the party hardly existed in Texas. True philanthropists, they are among San Antonio’s greatest civic leaders. Their son Joe is Speaker of the House in the Texas State Legislature.

  Sununu, John—The former governor of New Hampshire is one of the brightest men I know, and his all out support was critical in helping me win the New Hampshire primary in 1988. He was a logical choice to be my White House Chief of Staff and he did a first rate job until he left in late 1991.

  Teeter, Robert—Bob, one of the most respected political pollsters in the country, gave me sound advice through many campaigns, and when I was in the White House, he helped me understand public opinion on various issues. He was my campaign chairman in 1992. He died in 2004.

  Untermeyer, Charles (Chase)—Chase, starting as a volunteer in 1966, has worked for me off and on over the years. When I was elected President, he played a key role in staffing our entire administration as director of presidential personnel. In 1991, I appointed him director of the Voice of America. He later served as George W.’s ambassador to Qatar. Chase now lives in Houston.

  Walker, G. H., Jr. (Herbie)—My mother’s oldest brother headed G.H. Walker & Co. of St. Louis and New York. After his father died, Herbie became the Walker family patriarch. His financial support and advice were key to getting me started in the oil business. An original stockholder in the New York Mets, he died in 1977.

  Weintraub, Jerry and Jane Morgan—World-class singer Jane Morgan still owns a home in Kennebunkport, where she and I became friends as children. She later married our friend Jerry Weintraub, music, movie and TV producer. They have been great friends and supporters throughout the years.

  Zeder, Fred—Fred was one of my earliest political supporters when he lived in Dallas, and then later when he moved to Hawaii. He was my ambassador to Micronesia, then head of the government agency, Overseas Private Investment Corp. He remained a close friend until he died in 2004.

  EDITOR’S NOTE

  The letters and other entries in this book appear in their original form with the following exceptions: 1. Some letters were edited for length; 2. For the sake of clarity, typos were corrected; punctuation and grammar were not; 3. For consistency, the format of the letters (position of date, spacing, paragraphing, etc.) are uniform; 4. To protect the privacy of letter recipients, street addresses and P.O. box numbers were removed from inside addresses.

  PREFACE

  June 1, 1999

  Dear Reader,

  When I left office and returned to Texas in January 1993, several friends suggested I write a memoir. “Be sure the historians get it right” seemed to be one common theme. Another: “The press never really understood your heartbeat—you owe it to yourself to help people figure out who you really are.”

  I was unpersuaded. Barbara, in her best-selling Barbara Bush: A Memoir, wrote a wonderful book about our days together both in and out of public life and about our family. Then last year General Brent Scowcroft and I finished our book, A World Transformed, which dealt with the many historic changes that took place in the world when we were in the White House.

  I felt these two books “got it right” both on perceptions of the Bushes as a family and on how my administration tried to handle the foreign-policy problems we faced.

  But then along comes my friend and editor Lisa Drew, who suggested that what was missing is a personal book, a book giving a deeper insight into what my own heartbeat is, what my values are, what has motivated me in life. And then she said something that got me interested: “You already have done such a book. I am talking about a book of letters already written.”

  But there was a major sticking point. The private life I have returned to is challenging and rewarding and chockablock full of things to do. I have never been busier; nor, might I add, happier. I knew I did not have the time to do the research necessary to find, edit, and then publish the letters—letters that start when I was eighteen years old and go right on up through the present time.

  So I turned to my trusted friend Jean Becker, who had helped Barbara with her memoir. We became partners, Jean and I. I told her, I have done my part—I wrote all these letters. Now it’s your turn.

  Jean spent endless hours contacting people whom I had written, digging through endless boxes of letters now in the archives at the George Bush Presidential Library at Texas A&M University, going through my records from my United Nations and CIA days, listening to pathetic little scratchy tapes I had made for my spotty diary. She dug, and edited. She cajoled and pleaded for letters. She pushed me for my ideas as to what to include, what to leave out. She never gave up. I will never be able to properly express my gratitude to Jean Becker.

  So what we have here are letters from the past and present. Letters that are light and hopefully amusing. Letters written when my heart was heavy or full of joy. Serious letters. Nutty letters. Caring and rejoicing letters.

  Along the way we expanded our original mission and decided also to include diary entries, mainly to fill in some blank spaces. Please keep in mind, as you read some of these disjointed entries, that I dictated my diaries to a tape recorder. The diary entries are really me thinking out loud.

  This book is not meant to be an autobiography. It is not a historical documentation of my life. But hopefully it will let you, the reader, have a look at what’s on the mind of an eighteen-year-old kid who goes into the Navy and then at nineteen is flying a torpedo bomber off an aircraft carrier in World War II; what runs through the mind of a person living in China, halfway around the world from friends and family; what a President is thinking when he has to send someone else’s son or daughter into combat.

  It’s all about heartbeat.

  It took me fifty-seven years to write this book. If you enjoy reading it even just a tenth as much as I’ve enjoyed living it, then that is very good indeed.

  All the best,

  ADDENDUM

  September 1, 2012

  I was very surprised when a few weeks ago our editor and friend, Lisa Drew, called to say that Scribner was interested in reissuing All the Best, thirteen years after it was first published. In addition, they wanted to add a seventeenth chapter, with some of the letters I had written since then. My first reaction was, “No way.”

  You see, at age eighty-eight, I feel like I’ve run out of things to say. My letter writing fell off a few years ago and I mainly kept in touch through e-mail. And now, even those exchanges have become few and far between. But then Jean Becker, my chief of staff, who put together the first All the Best, confessed to me that she and Linda Poepsel—my director of correspondence—had been filing away letters for years, thinking there might someday be a Volume II. As it turns out, I had said more than I remembered (that’s a common problem these days), especially to my friend Hugh Sidey, with whom I had a wonderful letter exchange until he died in 2005.

  It has been a busy and sometimes tumultuous thirteen years: A son became President of the United States; our country endured and survived 9/11; Bill Clinton and I became—according to Barbara Bush—the “Odd Couple” as we teamed up to raise money for disaster relief both here at home and abroad; and our family continued to grow and thrive as grandchildren married and star
ted having children.

  And through it all, Barbara and I grew old, happily and peacefully together.

  I indeed have been blessed.

  All the best,

  George Bush

  P.S.: All author proceeds from this revision will be donated to the Bush School of Government and Public Service at Texas A&M University. Next to family, the Bush School students and their interest in serving their country is the most important thing in my life. I feel very good about leaving our world in their hands.

  UNITED STATES NAVY

  CHAPTER 1

  Love and War

  When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, I was a seventeen-year-old high school senior at Phillips Academy, Andover. I could hardly wait to get out of school and enlist. Six months later, Secretary of War Henry Stimson delivered our commencement address and advised my class to go to college. He predicted it would be a long war, and there would be plenty of time for us to serve. My dad, Prescott Bush, with whom it was not easy to disagree, hoped I would listen to Secretary Stimson and go on to Yale. After the ceremony, Dad asked me if I had changed my mind. I told him no, I was “joining up.” Dad simply nodded his okay. On my eighteenth birthday, June 12, 1942, I enlisted in the Navy’s flight training program as a seaman second class.

  My mother kept all the letters I wrote to her and Dad during World War II, so most of these come from her collection. You will find only one letter to a Barbara Pierce of Rye, New York. Barbara lost her “love” letters during one of our many moves after we got married.

  This first group of letters was written from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where I was enrolled in Naval Aviation Pre-Flight School. For some reason I did not date these letters, but I was stationed there from August to October of 1942.

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  . . . Today I felt better than I have since I’ve been here. It was hot but not unbearable. One fellow fainted at drill just to remind us that it was still hot. It is amazing how our moods change here. So many little things affect us. A cold Coke after drill can do more for one than you can imagine. I have never appreciated little things before. Ice cream, movies, a 15 minute rest, a letter, a compliment to our platoon. All these little things amount to so much in your mind and it is fun. Spirits go way up and way down, but when they’re up you feel so wonderful . . .

  I have gotten to know most of the fellows in the platoon. They are a darn good-hearted bunch . . . There are so many different types here. We have a pretty friendly platoon—also good spirit . . .

  On our 5 hr. hike tomorrow my heart’ll be with you in the “docks.”1 So drink a sip of water for me. It is our greatest luxury—a swallow of cold water. I think I’m really going to get a lot out of this place. Already we have learned a lot about people & discipline and tired muscles.

  Much love,

  Pop2

  This is a letter to my sister, Nancy, who was two years my junior. I was one of five children: Prescott (whom we called Pres or Pressy), myself, Nancy, Jonathan, and William (nicknamed Bucky), who was only four years old when I joined the Navy.

  Dear Nance,

  . . . There is not much “news” here. We live by the day—a wholesome life, at times seemingly futile, but looking at it philosophically I wouldn’t change positions with any fellow in civilian life. The Navy itself is great, but what we are here for is even greater, and if at all times I can keep my objective in view I am hopeful of a successful conclusion to this one year course. After having been here just one month my desire to win my wings and become an officer is tremendous. I’m afraid if I fail for any reason my disappointment will be very deep. I am proud to be here, Nance, and as I said before wouldn’t change for the world.

  . . . I have to write Bobsie3 now. I miss her more than she knows, Nance. I don’t know why but she seems so perfect a girl—beautiful, gentle, a wonderful sense of humor, so much fun etc. I think of her all the time and would love to see her.

  Give her my love especially—

  Much love to you and write if you get another minute—so long,

  Pop

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  . . . The only thing wrong with this place is, they don’t realize the average intelligence. They hand out so much crude propaganda here. It is really sickening—Many of the men here realize it—also the intelligent officers. Stuff like “Kill the Japs—hate—murder” and a lot of stuff like “you are the cream of American youth.” Some fellows swallow it all. These are the fellows many whom are below average intelligence, 2 of my roommates, for example, get a big kick out of hearing it. Maybe it is good. All the well educated fellows know what they are fighting for—why they are here and don’t need to be “brainwashed” into anything . . .

  Much love,

  Pop

  Dear Mum,

  Well the war strikes home, as it were, doesn’t it—c.c. with the very sad news of George Mead.4 I didn’t know him very well, but from all sides all you could hear was praise. He died the way all of us would like to die when our time comes—Mum, it’s a very funny thing. I have no fear of death now. Maybe it’s because I am here safely on the ground that I say this. I do not think I will change. All heroics aside, I feel, and every fellow here I’m sure feels, that the only part of the whole thing of any worry would be the sorrow it might cause to our families. I cannot express myself as clearly as I see it in my own mind. Once in the air death may strike at any time, but I shall not fear it. Perhaps with this fleet it will be different—God grant it won’t! . . .

  Much, much love,

  Pop

  Dear Mum,

  Well today sure was wonderful.

  . . . I met Barbara at the Inn at 12. She took a cab over from Raleigh. She looked too cute for words—really beautiful. We had a sandwich in town and then walked. I showed her the plant and then we walked over to Keenan Stadium. When we started it was clear, but once there it poured—just buckets. We got some protection from the canvas covered press box, but couldn’t leave there. . . . Not thrilling but such fun just seeing her. We laughed at everything. I had formation at six so we went back to the Inn. She took a bus for Raleigh where she is staying overnight with a girl from school. She was so swell to come way over here. I sure am glad you said “grand idea” to Mrs. Pierce.5 . . .

  Much love to all,

  Pop

  This next group of letters was written from Wold-Chamberlain Naval Air Station, Minneapolis, where I was based from November 1942 to February 1943. It was here that I finally began to learn how to fly.

  Dear Mum,

  Well today was the big day—in fact one of the biggest thrills of my life, I imagine. We marched down to the #1 hanger and they read out the names for the first hop. I was in. I went down, got my gear, and then consulted the board. Plane P-18 1st hop—2nd hop Plane P-18 check pilot Boyle. I immediately went around trying to find out what kind of a check Boyle is. All I got was “pretty tough”. This was quite disheartening. I then went out and warmed up the ship waiting for Ens. Crume (CRUME pronounced croom)6 to arrive. . . . The fog was pretty thick but they let us go up. Crume came and we were off. I did it all myself and everything went O.K. However, I was so nervous, that in the beginning my legs were shivering around. Once in the air I was completely cool much to my surprise. We did some emergencies and landings and then came in. I gave him one poor landing so I wasn’t sure about my “up”, but when we got out he told me “O.K.” Then for the real check. Ens. Boyle came out. Once in the plane we didn’t say a word. I taxied out, revved up the engine, locked the tailwheel, adjusted my goggles & seat, checked the instruments & the tower, swung into the wind and we were off. For about one turn of the field I was pretty nervous. First he signaled (wouldn’t talk) to make 2 landings (When I speak of landings I mean “touch and go” except for this final one before the plane stops rolling, gun her and take off again.) The first landing was swell—the 2nd rather rough. We then dove into the fog and went off and did 2 1,000-foot emergencies. (That is he cuts the gas, and I h
ave to establish a glide, get going into the wind to land on a field which I select—we don’t actually land, just go down to about 75 feet) Once I picked out a good field but the other time I’m afraid it’d have been a pretty rough procedure if I had had to land. He then indicated to head back to the field—For a minute I was lost—couldn’t see the field through the mist, but luckily I located it. I did 2 more landings and taxied in. My nervousness, which had subsided after the first takeoff, came on again. As he climbed out I looked for the verdict. “Did you get an up from your instructor,” he said. “O.K.—then take it up yourself,” and off he walked. There I was alone in the plane: I gave the “thumbs up” to the plane captain, he removed the chocks and I was off. I wasn’t shaky on the controls, and was completely confident for some reason. I had to taxi way down between rows of army bombers to get to my take off point. My solo was just “2 landings”—that’s your first solo assignment. Off I zoomed—climbed to 300 ft at 65 knots; level off—pass under the traffic circle. Nobody was there saying all this, this time yet I did it—The needle seemed to stay right at 500—whereas with the instructors I’d drop or gain. Everything seemed so free and easy and really wonderful. My landings weren’t good—I bounced and didn’t cut quite soon enough, but I didn’t worry as I have before. This was the thing that made it so much fun. I turned back in and it was over—just as quickly as it had come. I felt good though—Mum, It was the first time I have climbed out of the plane without worrying or having a touch of discouragement. Yes, tonight I am very happy.

  When we leave here we want to specify the type of flying we want to do. I have been considering the Marines (I’d be commissioned 2nd Lt. instead of Ensign) The reason is they fly a lot in attack bombers—fly low and strafe as well as bomb. They clear the way for advancing troops. This or long range bombing appeals to me more than anything else, and from all I can gather, the Marines do more of it than the Navy. I have 2 months before I choose anyway, and besides you don’t always get your choice. I’ll let you know what I decide as soon as I know more about flying and find out what I’d be best in . . .