Decision Points

one of the worst years of my life.
    The morning after the election, Mother said, “Well, now, that’s behind us. It’s time to move on.” Fortunately for me, baseball season was never too far away. In the meantime, I trained for the Houston marathon, which I ran on January 24, 1993—four days after Dad left office. I was holding my 8:33-per-mile pace when I passed Mother and Dad’s church around mile 19. The 9:30 a.m. service had just ended, and my family was gathered on the curb. I had a little extra spring in my step for the gallery. Dad encouraged me in his typical way. “That’s my boy!” he yelled. Mother had a different approach. She shouted, “Keep moving, George! There are some fat people ahead of you!” I finished in three hours, forty-four minutes. I felt ten years younger at the finish line and ten years older the next day.

    Just as I had once run to rid my body of alcohol, the marathon helped purge the disappointment I felt about 1992. As the pain began to fade, a new feeling replaced it: the itch to run for office again.
    It started gradually. When Laura and I moved back to Texas in 1988, I became more aware of the challenges facing the state. Our education system was in trouble. Children who couldn’t read or do math were shuffled through the system without anyone bothering to ask what, or if, they had learned.
    The legal climate in our state was a national joke. Texas personal injury lawyers were ringing up huge jury verdicts and driving jobs out of the state. Juvenile crime was growing. And I worried about a culture of “if it feels good, do it” and “if you’ve got a problem, blame somebody else.”
    The dividends of that approach were troubling. More babies were being born out of wedlock. More fathers were abdicating their responsibilities. Dependence on welfare was replacing the incentive to work.
    My experiences on Dad’s campaigns and running the Rangers had sharpened my political, management, and communications skills. Marriage and family had broadened my perspective. And Dad was now out of politics. My initial disappointment at his loss gave way to a sense of liberation. I could lay out my policies without having to defend his. I wouldn’t have to worry that my decisions would disrupt his presidency. I was free to run on my own.
    I wasn’t the only one in the family who reached that conclusion. In the spring of 1993, Jeb told me he was seriously considering running for governor of Florida. In an ironic way, Dad’s defeat was responsible for both our opportunities. What had first seemed like the sad end to a great story now looked like the unlikely beginning of two new careers. Had Dad won in 1992, I doubt I would have run for office in 1994, and I almost certainly would not have become president.
    The big question was how to get involved. I asked for advice from a close friend, political strategist Karl Rove. I first met Karl in 1973, when Dad was chairman of the Republican National Committee and Karl was the head of the College Republicans. I assumed he would be another oneof the campus politician types who had turned me off at Yale. I soon recognized that Karl was different. He wasn’t smug or self-righteous, and he sure wasn’t the typical suave campaign operator. Karl was like a political mad scientist—intellectual, funny, and overflowing with energy and ideas.

    With Karl Rove, my political mad scientist.
White House/Eric Draper
    Nobody I know has read or absorbed more history than Karl. I say that with confidence because I’ve tried to keep up. A few years ago, Karl and I squared off in a book reading contest. I jumped out to an early lead. Then Karl accused me of gaining an unfair advantage by selecting shorter works. From that point forward, we measured not only the number of books read, but also their page count and total lateral area. By the end of the year, my friend had dusted me in all categories. ***
    Karl didn’t just amass knowledge, he used it. He had studied William McKinley ’s 1896 election strategy. In 1999, he suggested that I organize a similar front-porch campaign. It turned out to be a wise and effective approach. I regretted not working with Karl during my congressional run in 1978. I never made that mistake again.
    In 1993, Karl and I both saw a political opportunity. The conventional wisdom was that Texas Governor Ann Richards was guaranteed reelection the next November. Texas’s first woman governor since the 1930s, Ann Richards was a