The Road to Resolve
A Sober View: He partied hard, then dried out and found a fierce determination. How George Bush was saved—and never looked back
By Evan Thomas, Tamara Lipper and Rebecca Sinderbrand
Newsweek
Sept. 6 issue - It is an article of faith with the president and his advisers, repeated like a mantra, that George W. Bush is "comfortable in his own skin." President Bush himself thinks so: "I know who I am," he told a pair of NEWSWEEK reporters recently. "If you're the president, you don't have time to figure out who you are. I think it's unfair to the American people to sit in that Oval Office and try to find your inner soul." As he sat in a captain's chair in his office on Air Force One, ruminating about leadership and cracking the occasional joke, he betrayed no inner doubts. Stumping through the small towns of northern Wisconsin later that day, he appeared confident, winning and charming crowds with a self-effacing, plain-spoken but resolute manner.
And yet, at other times, he can seem not so self-assured. There is the deer-in-the-headlights look that still pops up at press conferences, and that annoying smirk, possibly meant to convey an air of disdain or superiority, but showing the defensiveness of a teenager.
The country is evenly—and hotly—divided over the real George Bush. Some, predominantly those who live in the conservative Red States, proudly see a confident, self-knowing Bush, the steady commander in chief. Others, mostly liberal Blue Staters, cringe at a cocksure (but insecure) bully boy who seems to strut about the world. How to reconcile the two? One way is to examine how George Bush has dealt with an old curse.
A week after his father, George H.W., was elected president in 1988, George W. turned to a friend and adviser, Doug Wead, and said with a sigh, "What's going to happen to me?" Wead took it to mean that Bush wanted to know how his father's election might change his life. He asked Bush if he wanted some research on the lives of the progeny of earlier presidents, and, as Wead recalled the story to NEWSWEEK, Bush answered yes. The result was a 44-page memo, titled "All the President's Children." It's a discouraging read.
Burdened with high expectations, presidential children seem to sense that people are just waiting (and sometimes hoping) for them to fail. And by and large, their lives have been messy. The fate of many presidential sons, Wead found, was alcoholism, divorce and premature death. A few did have some political success, Wead reported. Franklin Roosevelt's son, FDR Jr., became a congressman and ran for governor of New York. Did he win? asked Bush. No, replied Wead. Bush just "groaned."
But running for governor in Texas, Bush did win—twice, in 1994 and 1998. If he triumphs again this November, he will become the only presidential son ever to be re-elected president. (John Quincy Adams, like his father, John Adams, was defeated after one term.) Just as important on a personal level, perhaps, he will surpass his father, another one-termer. President Bush has shown great sureness of purpose, even courage, rallying his country from its worst day ever. He has faced down fear, disciplined what he once jokingly described to his sister Doro as his "inner fat boy," and emerged resolute in his life and manner.
But not without struggle and, almost surely, at a cost. Behind his calm and outward patience there is an edginess that can seem prickly, resentful. At times, he appears so determined to stay the course and stick to his convictions that he seems too rigid, fixed in his ways, unable to adjust. One cannot help but wonder: At some level, is he afraid that the slightest wavering might fatally crack his whole hard-earned, painfully constructed persona? Is admitting a mistake for Bush like an ex-drunk's taking just one drink? Bush can be empathetic, emotional and even (dread word) sensitive. But he can also be surly and impatient with weakness. At these moments, he seems more dogged than enlightened, his life more a triumph of will than of understanding.
It is easy to mark the turning point in George Bush's life. It was the morning of July 28, 1986, when he woke up, wretchedly hung over after a night of celebrating his 40th birthday at the Broadmoor, a resort in Colorado, and decided to quit drinking. He did not seek therapy or join Alcoholics Anonymous. He just quit, and joined a regular Bible group. Before Bush gave up the bottle, his life was more feckless than accomplished. After that day, he moved from success to success. Bush has been sober for 18 years (less time than John Kerry has spent in the U.S. Senate); for 12 of those years, he has been running for office or governing. His mature life, then, has been a public one, mastering, despite his occasional inarticulateness, the art of politics. And his relatively brief adulthood may also help explain the roots of the self-confident side of his nature. If a man starts focusing only when he's 40 and finds himself president of the United States at 54, what can't he do if he sticks to the script that got him from the Broadmoor to the White House?
A Sober View: He partied hard, then dried out and found a fierce determination. How George Bush was saved—and never looked back
By Evan Thomas, Tamara Lipper and Rebecca Sinderbrand
Newsweek
Sept. 6 issue - It is an article of faith with the president and his advisers, repeated like a mantra, that George W. Bush is "comfortable in his own skin." President Bush himself thinks so: "I know who I am," he told a pair of NEWSWEEK reporters recently. "If you're the president, you don't have time to figure out who you are. I think it's unfair to the American people to sit in that Oval Office and try to find your inner soul." As he sat in a captain's chair in his office on Air Force One, ruminating about leadership and cracking the occasional joke, he betrayed no inner doubts. Stumping through the small towns of northern Wisconsin later that day, he appeared confident, winning and charming crowds with a self-effacing, plain-spoken but resolute manner.
And yet, at other times, he can seem not so self-assured. There is the deer-in-the-headlights look that still pops up at press conferences, and that annoying smirk, possibly meant to convey an air of disdain or superiority, but showing the defensiveness of a teenager.
The country is evenly—and hotly—divided over the real George Bush. Some, predominantly those who live in the conservative Red States, proudly see a confident, self-knowing Bush, the steady commander in chief. Others, mostly liberal Blue Staters, cringe at a cocksure (but insecure) bully boy who seems to strut about the world. How to reconcile the two? One way is to examine how George Bush has dealt with an old curse.
A week after his father, George H.W., was elected president in 1988, George W. turned to a friend and adviser, Doug Wead, and said with a sigh, "What's going to happen to me?" Wead took it to mean that Bush wanted to know how his father's election might change his life. He asked Bush if he wanted some research on the lives of the progeny of earlier presidents, and, as Wead recalled the story to NEWSWEEK, Bush answered yes. The result was a 44-page memo, titled "All the President's Children." It's a discouraging read.
Burdened with high expectations, presidential children seem to sense that people are just waiting (and sometimes hoping) for them to fail. And by and large, their lives have been messy. The fate of many presidential sons, Wead found, was alcoholism, divorce and premature death. A few did have some political success, Wead reported. Franklin Roosevelt's son, FDR Jr., became a congressman and ran for governor of New York. Did he win? asked Bush. No, replied Wead. Bush just "groaned."
But running for governor in Texas, Bush did win—twice, in 1994 and 1998. If he triumphs again this November, he will become the only presidential son ever to be re-elected president. (John Quincy Adams, like his father, John Adams, was defeated after one term.) Just as important on a personal level, perhaps, he will surpass his father, another one-termer. President Bush has shown great sureness of purpose, even courage, rallying his country from its worst day ever. He has faced down fear, disciplined what he once jokingly described to his sister Doro as his "inner fat boy," and emerged resolute in his life and manner.
But not without struggle and, almost surely, at a cost. Behind his calm and outward patience there is an edginess that can seem prickly, resentful. At times, he appears so determined to stay the course and stick to his convictions that he seems too rigid, fixed in his ways, unable to adjust. One cannot help but wonder: At some level, is he afraid that the slightest wavering might fatally crack his whole hard-earned, painfully constructed persona? Is admitting a mistake for Bush like an ex-drunk's taking just one drink? Bush can be empathetic, emotional and even (dread word) sensitive. But he can also be surly and impatient with weakness. At these moments, he seems more dogged than enlightened, his life more a triumph of will than of understanding.
It is easy to mark the turning point in George Bush's life. It was the morning of July 28, 1986, when he woke up, wretchedly hung over after a night of celebrating his 40th birthday at the Broadmoor, a resort in Colorado, and decided to quit drinking. He did not seek therapy or join Alcoholics Anonymous. He just quit, and joined a regular Bible group. Before Bush gave up the bottle, his life was more feckless than accomplished. After that day, he moved from success to success. Bush has been sober for 18 years (less time than John Kerry has spent in the U.S. Senate); for 12 of those years, he has been running for office or governing. His mature life, then, has been a public one, mastering, despite his occasional inarticulateness, the art of politics. And his relatively brief adulthood may also help explain the roots of the self-confident side of his nature. If a man starts focusing only when he's 40 and finds himself president of the United States at 54, what can't he do if he sticks to the script that got him from the Broadmoor to the White House?
