Free Decision Points by George W. Bush

working for other candidates?” I asked. Jeb chimed in: “If someone throws a grenade at our dad, we expect you to jump on it.” Our tone was tough, but it reflected our love of Dad and our expectations of his staff—an agenda that put the candidate first and personal ambition second.
    Lee said he had known Dad at the Republican National Committee, admired him a lot, and wanted him to win. He added that he was planning to sever his conflicting business connections. Yet it was obvious that our doubts had shaken him. Later in the day, he sought out Jeb and me. If we were so worried, he asked, why didn’t one of us move to D.C., help in the campaign, and keep an eye on him and the staff?
    The invitation intrigued me. The timing was right. After the downturn in the oil markets, my partners and I had merged our exploration company and found jobs for all the employees. Dad liked the idea, and Laura was willing to give it a try.
    At the campaign office in downtown Washington, I had no title. As Dad put it, I already had a good one: son. I focused on fundraising, traveling the country to deliver surrogate speeches, and boosting the morale of volunteers by thanking them on Dad’s behalf. From time to time, I also reminded some high-level staffers that they were on a team to advance George Bush’s election, not their own careers. I learned a valuable lesson about Washington: Proximity to power is empowerment. Having Dad’s ear made me effective.
    One of my tasks was to sort through journalists’ requests for profile pieces. When Margaret Warner of
Newsweek
told us she wanted to do an interview, I recommended that we cooperate. Margaret was talented and seemed willing to write a fair piece. Dad agreed.
    Mother called me the morning the magazine hit the newsstands. “Have you seen
Newsweek
?” Not yet, I told her. “They called your father a wimp!” she growled.
    I quickly tracked down a copy and was greeted by the screaming headline: “Fighting the Wimp Factor.” I couldn’t believe it. The magazine was insinuating that my father, a World War II bomber pilot, was a wimp. I was red-hot. I got Margaret on the phone. She politely asked what I thought of the story. I impolitely told her I thought she was part of a political ambush. She muttered something about her editors being responsible for the cover. I did not mutter. I railed about editors and hung up. From then on, I was suspicious of political journalists and their unseen editors.
    After finishing third in Iowa, Dad rallied with a victory in New Hampshire and went on to earn the nomination. His opponent in the general election was the liberal governor of Massachusetts, Michael Dukakis . Dad started the campaign with a great speech at the convention in New Orleans. I was amazed at the power of his words, elegantly written and forcefully delivered. He spoke of a “kinder, gentler” nation, built by the compassion and generosity of the American people—what he called “a thousand points of light.” He outlined a strong policy agenda, including a bold pledge: “Read my lips, no new taxes.”
    I was impressed with Dad’s sense of timing. He had managed to navigate perfectly the transition from loyal vice president to candidate. He left the convention leading the polls and charged down the home stretch. On November 8, 1988, the family watched the returns at our friend Dr. Charles Neblett ’s house in Houston. I knew Dad had won when Ohio and New Jersey, two critical states, broke his way. By the end of the night, he had carried forty states and 426 electoral votes. George H.W. Bush, the man I admired and adored, was elected the forty-first president of the United States.

    Laura and I enjoyed our year and a half in Washington. But when people suggested that I stay in Washington and leverage my contacts, I never considered it. I had zero interest in being a lobbyist or hanger-on inDad’s administration. Not long after the election, we packed up for the trip back to