My Father, My President Page 35

Dad ultimately decided he did not have the constitutional standing to assert the line-item veto. In fact, after a Republican-controlled Congress gave President Clinton such authority in 1996, and after President Clinton had exercised that power on dozens of occasions, the line-item veto in that form was ruled unconstitutional in 1998.

  It’s interesting: Dad is more of a risk-taker in terms of life choices than Mom, yet it was my mother who found herself having to defend the choices she’d made in life when she spoke to Wellesley College in June 1990. At the time, the undergraduate women were protesting that Mom had been invited as the commencement speaker because she was “the wife of” someone, rather than a leader in her own right. Others would have backed out of the invitation, but not Mom.

  I was at Wellesley that day and can attest to the tension in the air. That strain eased, however, when Mom brought another famous “wife of”—Raisa Gorbachev—and talked about following one’s own dreams, not the stereotypes of yesterday and today. Then she said, “And who knows? Somewhere out in this audience may even be someone who will one day follow in my footsteps, and preside over the White House as the president’s spouse. I wish him well!” The crowd, protesters included, erupted in applause.

  Mom also said something that stayed with me: “Whatever the era, whatever the times, one thing will never change: fathers and mothers, if you have children, they must come first. Your success as a family—our success as a society—depends not on what happens at the White House, but on what happens inside your house.”

  Family first, she was saying, just like Dad always does.

  During the summer of 1990, our Uncle Lou surfaced on the White House radar screen several times. In fact, two of his funnier antics warranted an actual memo from Jan Burmeister, who handled Dad’s personal mail at the White House, to his assistant, Patty Presock, seeking high-level guidance on how to handle one evolving situation:

  July 24, 1990

  Memorandum for Patty Presock

  From: Jan Burmeister

  Subject: Lou Walker

  Patty, we need some guidance regarding phone calls that have been coming into my office and to Debbie Romash’s office regarding Lou Walker.

  In June, we received a call from the Airlines saying that a Lou Walker had a last minute change in flight plans that would add a penalty to the total payment to his ticket. Mr. Walker told the Airlines that he was coming to visit the President of the United States and that he was the President’s Uncle. He asked that they not bill him the extra charge. The Airlines called us wanting to confirm this.

  We told them that, yes, Lou Walker is indeed the President’s uncle, but that the President would NOT want any special handling. Just to handle the matter routinely. As a courtesy to the President, they did not bill the extra charge to Lou Walker.

  Just last week, Debbie Romash received a phone call from a production company in New York saying they received a phone call from Mr. Lou Walker asking for tickets to “Miss Saigon.” Mr. Walker was told that the play would not be in New York for at least a year and that no commitments can be made. Mr. Walker told the production company that he was the “President’s Uncle” and that he wanted to have the tickets confirmed since he was bringing the President’s Mother to the performance.

  Do you think someone is using Lou Walker’s name? Do you want to call Mr. Walker, or mention this to the President so he can discuss it with Mr. Walker.

  In the future, we will refer all phone calls to you.

  Thank you.

  On July 26, 1990, Dad signed the Americans with Disabilities Act before an audience of invited guests on the radiant, sun-drenched South Lawn of the White House. With the single stroke of a pen, he extended fuller access to the American Dream to 43 million Americans with disabilities who had previously been essentially barred from buildings, transportation, and other means to opportunity. To be sure, that moment culminated years of work and dedication on behalf of so many who believed in this noble cause.

  In 1986, Dad personally accepted a report from the National Council on Disability on behalf of President Reagan titled: “Toward Independence.” That report recommended the passage of national, comprehensive legislation that prohibited discrimination against Americans with disabilities—and the ADA was just that. Previous laws and regulations under the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 had addressed discrimination against persons with disabilities by federal agencies and contractors who had business with the federal government, but had “left broad areas of American life untouched or inadequately addressed,” as Dad noted in his statement that accompanied that historic bill signing.

  The beauty of the ADA is that it gave the business community a certain degree of flexibility to meet the requirements, but there is no doubt that there were indeed firm requirements required of both business and local governments that, today, we now take for granted. For example, municipal sidewalks must be “cut” to accommodate wheelchairs, and new businesses must provide ramps. Furthermore, many metropolitan bus systems today across the country also feature “lifts” to assist disabled individuals. The point is that in countless ways large and small, the bill Dad made law that hopeful day has helped to remake the face of American society—and has gone on to inspire numerous nations abroad.

  A number of key leaders paved the way for the passage of such a landmark civil rights legislation: activists such as Evan Kemp, Justin Dart, and Sandy Parrino; legislators like Senators Bob Dole of Kansas and Tom Harkin of Iowa, and House members like California’s Tony Coehlo; and White House staffers such as Mike Deland, Boyden Gray, and Bill Roper. Of course, there were countless more who shared in this bipartisan triumph of the democratic process, but space limits prohibit mentioning them all here. Besides, they have already had their reward: seeing their selfless efforts bear legal, federal fruit.

  For me, as a new member of the National Rehabilitation Hospital that day, I was truly humbled to witness that awesome moment when my father literally threw open a door of exclusion that had previously shut out so many people. As a staff member—and later, as a board member at NRH—I saw firsthand how the ADA would become a reality, how it would affect real lives, and how it would give hope where none had existed.

  Candidly, some conservatives didn’t like Dad signing the ADA, but on a personal level—outside of his skillful efforts to end the Cold War without a shot being fired—I cannot think of another act that made me prouder of my father. The ADA was “kinder and gentler” in action. My dad is always willing to “walk the walk,” and the fact that the ADA has been so universally accepted today speaks to the vision and collective dedication behind it.

  As an avid outdoorsman, Dad was also very committed to passage of the Clean Air Act, with his able general counsel, Boyden Gray, heavily involved. Like the ADA, Dad had promised his support for the Clean Air Act during the campaign; it, too, hit a logjam (this time in Congress), and Dad personally intervened to keep the legislation moving forward.

  “That’s been a great success,” Boyden said, “but it’s never gotten the credit it deserves. It was the most sweeping environmental statute ever passed. The benefits from just one part of the bill alone—the acid rain title—are the greatest net benefits of any regulatory program ever in the history of the United States. It was the first use of emissions trading credits worldwide for achieving environmental compliance, and they are similar to what’s used in global warming now. It’s used in Europe and being studied in Asia. It was a huge, huge success.”

  That desire to make things work in Washington, however, cost Dad politically when the time came to negotiate with congressional Democrats on the federal budget in 1990. Senator Alan Simpson, then the minority whip under Bob Dole, and one of Dad’s closest friends, remembers the negotiations held at a neutral site on the outskirts of Washington:

  It was called the Andrews Air Force Base negotiations, and it lasted for days. Bob Dole would come back and report that we could get things we’ve never been able to get—things they’re still trying to
get right now. Structural reform of the budget. Catastrophic health care. He had the full package together. It represented fifty years’ worth of different attitude on spending. But it needed a little sweetener in the form of a tax. The president said he knew he’d get cremated on it. Dole said, “But we’re going to go pass this package for you.”

  Nobody understands that when President Bush agreed to that [budget deal], it was the biggest act of courage that any president had ever done. We had to do this for the good of the country, and the Senate backed President Bush by a huge vote—63 to 37. It was a great bipartisan vote in the Senate. Big vote.

  It went to the House, and you ought to see the roll-call vote on that. It was every liberal Democrat and every conservative Republican sticking it in George Bush’s ear—liberal lefties, right-wing cuckoos. The Republicans didn’t like the fuel tax in the deal, and the Democrats wanted to see him break “Read my lips,” so down it went. That was a disaster. Those s.o.b.’s in the House—both sides—just cremated it.

  After Republican defections and Democratic gamesmanship in the House had defeated the original budget deal, Dad followed through on his threat to veto the continuing resolution—which was only a temporary fix—and the lack of a federal budget subsequently shut the government down for three days in October. With half a million troops on their way overseas to the Persian Gulf region and Democratic majorities in both houses insisting on a tax increase, however, Dad felt pressured to get a deal done quickly and soon agreed to a new budget deal that raised taxes on the wealthiest Americans and also imposed new charges on tobacco and luxury items. In exchange, Dad got Congress to agree to significant caps on discretionary spending, as well as the single largest deficit reduction package ever enacted.

  To announce the 1990 budget deal, Press Secretary Marlin Fitzwater was told to post a two-sentence statement on the bulletin board and not say anything else.

  “We weren’t able to frame the issue at all,” White House Communications Director David Demarest noted. Shortly after the agreement was announced, in fact, David was standing with Governor Sununu when they were approached by Bobbie Kilberg, Dad’s director of public liaison. Bobbie said, “Governor, the business groups are going crazy. What am I supposed to tell them?” Sununu reportedly said to her, “Don’t tell them anything.”

  “And that was our communications,” David said.

  Many of the agreement’s critics suggested that Dad had failed to appreciate the political consequences of breaking his “no new taxes” pledge. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Even before he was sworn in, Dad knew this would be the toughest domestic problem he would face, and there would be consequences for breaking that pledge. Later, in one crucial private meeting leading up to Dad’s decision to sign the budget deal, John Sununu said, half in jest, “Remember, there have been lots of great one-term presidents.” Dad responded in a half-facetious tone, “I can assure you that is not in any way on my mind.”

  As Dick Darman, one of the chief architects of the agreement, noted, “We all appreciated that he knew very well that he was taking an enormous personal risk—and that, unlike most conventional politicians, he was willing to sacrifice his own political interest for what he took to be the public good.”

  Ways and Means Chairman Dan Rostenkowski, who was involved in the budget negotiations, said, “Your dad has to be admired for making the decision that he did, after he made that asinine statement about no new taxes, because, in my opinion, he sacrificed himself when he realized that we were going to have to balance the budget and we were going to have to raise revenue. I used to argue with your dad, saying, ‘George, you’ve got to do this.’”

  Senator Bob Dole agreed: “It wasn’t that the president wanted to raise taxes, he didn’t have any choice. It was either take what the Democrats were going to give us, because they had the majority, or we weren’t going to get a budget. We had to keep the country moving, and you get to a point where sometimes you have to accept what the opposition, particularly when they have the majority, give you. So it was a big campaign issue. I never thought it was fair, but some things aren’t fair in politics.”

  Years later, Dad looked back at the tumultuous time. “Raising taxes was a tremendous political mistake for me because I shot a lot of credibility. People said, ‘Hey, he said he wasn’t going to do it and he did it.’ Even the biggest tax-raiser of all, my successor, Bill Clinton, used that to undermine my credibility. So that hurt me very much, my own going back on what I said.”

  Dad actually handed the Clinton administration an economy that had resumed vigorous growth before he left the White House. During 1992, for example, the economy grew in excess of 3.2 percent, and the last quarter was even stronger at 5.8 percent.

  “I wish I had never said, ‘Read my lips, no new taxes,’” Dad said to an interviewer years later, “because had I not made it so pronounced, people would say, ‘Well, you know, he has to do this.’ President Reagan raised taxes several times, but he just kept saying, ‘I’m against a tax increase.’ And he was very convincing about it, and for some reason, the right wing of our party that still criticizes me for a tax increase has nothing to say about the Reagan tax increase, which is good. I’m not trying to undermine his legacy. I just wish I’d been that good.”

  Dad continued, “My failure was not being a good enough communicator at the end of my presidency to convince people that the economy had recovered. I needed a couple of quarts of Ronald Reagan to get through the quest for change and the very effective campaign of my opponent that said the economy is in the tank. Not to make the American people believe something that wasn’t true, but just to get them to understand the truth. I think I was maybe a couple of quarts low on charisma.”

  As tough as those decisions were and as difficult as politics at that level can be, Dad had fun with the job. Mom had already given him a nickname within our family—Perle Mesta—after the 1950s socialite whose Washington parties drew so many international types that Harry Truman appointed her ambassador to Luxembourg. There was a Broadway show written about her, titled Call Me Madam, in which Ethel Merman plays the lead and actually sings an Irving Berlin song called “The Hostess with the Mostes’ on the Ball.” That would be Dad—the host with the most, always putting together guest lists, welcoming people and offering drinks, sending notes afterward.

  “He just couldn’t bear not to have something going on morning, noon, and night,” added Laurie Firestone, Dad’s White House social secretary. “If there was an evening free, we were all thinking, ‘Oh, great, they finally have a night off.’ Not at all. He would call me first thing in the morning saying, ‘I see we have a free evening. We’ve got to do something. What movie can you get over and who can you invite? I’m thinking maybe you should invite X, Y, and Z to a little dinner, and watch the movie.’”

  One of the perks of being president is getting to see the latest movie releases—in some cases, even before they are released in public. Helping matters in this regard is the fact that Dad and Jack Valenti, the former aide to Lyndon Johnson who used to be head of the Motion Picture Association, are good friends.

  Dad was equally frenetic on the subject of state dinners, hosting a total of twenty-nine over four years—in addition to often having heads of state to the White House for what they called a “working visit.” I recently came across a letter from Dad to the guests at table 8 (filled with various governors, business leaders, and VIPs) on the morning after the state dinner for Queen Elizabeth. Apparently, they had passed him a funny note after dinner begging for more dessert:

  Dear Table 8:

  It was a pleasure having you at the Queen’s State Dinner. Taken as a whole, your table behaved fairly well. All the silver was accounted for!

  But then, horrors! I received a note from Table 8 begging for the chocolate wheels off the dessert cart. Appalling!

  I tried to be sure that Her Majesty did not see me reading this appeal you sent me. Down, Table 8, down!

 
Next time, though you all seem united, it is better you sit apart. Sincerely,

  George Bush

  One of the people at table 8 was Lenore Annenberg, the wife of Walter Annenberg. Mr. Annenberg was the founder of TV Guide and owned several television and radio stations, in addition to having served as U.S. ambassador to Great Britain. Mrs. Annenberg was President Reagan’s first chief of protocol. In the spring of 1990, the Annenbergs graciously agreed to host a last-minute summit between Dad and the Japanese prime minister at their home, Sunnylands, in Rancho Mirage, California—on only five days’ notice. There were bilateral meetings during the day at a nearby country club, and then a formal dinner that night in the Annenbergs’ dining room, which seated sixty. “The dinner was quite special because we had a receiving line and we did it just like a mini-White House,” Mrs. Annenberg told me. “Nothing like that had ever been done here before. It was exciting.”

  In addition to state dinners, there were congressional barbecues and weekends at Camp David with guests. Dad liked bringing people together so much, in fact, that he even tried his hand as a matchmaker between eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. In October 1990, for example, he purposely seated my single cousin Grace Holden next to Justice David Souter, who was a bachelor, at a state dinner for the Hungarian prime minister. “The evening was magical and memorable, and Justice Souter was engaging and a delightful speaker,” Grace told me afterward. They wrote to each other briefly, and she attended some Supreme Court hearings as his guest, but not much happened after that.

  That same month, Dad asked Marvin to “pinch-hit” for him at an event honoring Princess Diana, who was in the United States raising money for one of her charitable causes at the National Museum Building. Dad explained to Marvin that he would sit next to Princess Diana, and they would brief him on all the protocol issues. “It will be a lot of fun,” Dad reassured Marvin. “Margaret can go and Doro will be there and you’ll just really have a great time.”