Decision Points

debate. I was still thinking when Bachman turned to me: “Governor Bush?” No more time to weigh my options. The words tumbled out of my mouth: “Christ,” I said, “because He changed my heart.”
    Everybody looked stunned. Where had that come from? On the car ride back to the hotel, Mother and Dad checked in. They almost always called after major events. “Fine job, son,” Dad said. “I don’t think your answer will hurt you too much.” “Which answer?” I asked. “You know, that one on Jesus,” he said.
    At first I hadn’t thought about the answer hurting me. I had just blurted out what was in my heart. Upon reflection, however, I understood the note of caution. I was skeptical of politicians who touted religion as a way to get votes. I didn’t believe in a Methodist or Jewish or Muslim approach to public policy. It was not the role of government to promote any religion. I hadn’t done that as governor of Texas, and I certainly didn’t intend to do it as president.
    Sure enough, my words prompted an outcry. “There is something unholy about this,” one columnist wrote. “W. is just checking Jesus’ numbers, and Jesus is polling well in Iowa,” another concluded.
    The reaction wasn’t all negative. My response had connected withmany people who had had similar experiences in their own lives and appreciated my speaking openly about faith.
    On caucus night, I won Iowa with 40 percent of the vote. After a brief victory celebration, we made the trek to New Hampshire. I knew that the Granite State could be treacherous for front-runners. New Hampshire voters have a history of knocking down the favorite. I felt good about our operation in the state, led by my friend Senator Judd Gregg . I had spent a lot of time in New Hampshire, marching in parades and perfecting my pancake-flipping skills. On primary day, Laura and I settled into our hotel in Manchester to watch the returns. Early in the afternoon, Karl came by with the first exit polls: I was going to lose, and lose badly.
    Laura spoke up. “George, do you want to be president?” she asked. I nodded. “Then you’d better not let yourself get defined again,” she said.
    She was right. I had made the classic front-runner mistake. I had let Senator John McCain of Arizona, the other top contender for the nomination, take the initiative in New Hampshire. He had run an energetic campaign that attracted a lot of independents, which overcame my solid support from fellow Republicans. McCain, a member of Congress since 1983, had managed to define himself as an outsider and me as an insider. He talked about reform at every campaign stop, even though I was the one who had reformed a school system, changed the tort laws, and revamped Texas’s approach to welfare. I had to give John credit for a smart, effective campaign. And I had to learn from my mistake.
    I went to the gym for a hard workout. On the treadmill, I thought about what to do next. I faced the biggest personnel decision of my young campaign. The conventional playbook called for me to fire a few people and claim a fresh start. I decided to go in the opposite direction. I got the senior staff together and told them I refused to chuck anyone overboard to satisfy the loud voices on TV. One person deserved blame, and that was me. Win or lose, we would finish this race as a team. Then I gave everybody an assignment. Karl called the political directors in upcoming primary states. Joe reassured the campaign staff. Karen reached out to key members of the media. Don Evans bucked up the fundraisers.
    I called Policy Director Josh Bolten , who was with the majority of our staff back at campaign headquarters in Austin. “How is everyone holding up?” I asked.
    “Most people are in shock,” he admitted.
    I knew the team would be looking to me for a signal. “Get them together and tell them they ought to hold their heads high because we’re going to win this thing,” I told Josh.
    Looking back on it, the loss in New Hampshire created an opportunity. Voters like to gauge how a candidate responds to adversity. Reagan and Dad showed their resilience after losing Iowa in 1980 and 1988, respectively. Bill Clinton turned his campaign around after defeat in New Hampshire in 1992, as did Barack Obama in 2008. In 2000, I looked at the defeat as a chance to prove I could take a blow and come back. The lesson is that sometimes the best personnel moves are the ones you don’t make.
    In South Carolina, we