Decision Points

young, anything can happen.…” Those who understood the electoral map recognized I had just lost. Jeb and I were furious that the networks had called Florida before the polls closed in the Panhandle, the heavily Republican part of the state that lies in the central time zone. Who knew how many of my supporters had heard that news and decided not to vote? Laura and I slipped out of the dinner without touching our food.
    The car ride back to the Governor’s Mansion was quiet. There isn’t much to say when you lose. I was deflated, disappointed, and a little stunned. I felt no bitterness. I was ready to accept the people’s verdict and repeat Mother’s words from 1992: “It’s time to move on.”
    Shortly after we got back, the phone rang. I figured this was the first of the consolation calls: “You gave it your best shot.…” Instead, it was Karl. He didn’t sound dejected; he sounded defiant. He was talking fast. He started spewing information about how the exit polls in Florida had overweighted this county or that precinct.
    I cut him off and asked for the bottom line. He said the projections in Florida were mathematically flawed. He then got on the phone to the networks and screamed at the pollsters with the facts. Within two hours, he had systematically proved the major television networks wrong. At 8:55 p.m. central time, CNN and CBS took Florida out of the Gore column. All the others followed.
    Laura and I followed the returns from the mansion with Mother, Dad, Jeb, and several top aides. Eventually the Cheneys, Don Evans , and a contingent of other close friends arrived. As the night went on, it becameapparent that the outcome of the election would turn on Florida. At 1:15 in the morning, the networks called the state again—this time for me.

    With brother Jeb on election night 2000, when things were looking good.
Time Magazine/Brooks Kraft
    Al Gore called shortly after that. He congratulated me graciously and said, “We sure gave them a cliffhanger.” I thanked him and said I was headed out to address the twenty thousand hardy souls freezing in the rain at the state capitol. He asked that I wait until he spoke to his supporters in about fifteen minutes. I agreed.
    It took time for the meaning of the news to sink in. A few hours earlier I had been getting ready to move on with my life. Now I was preparing to be president of the United States.
    Fifteen minutes passed. Then another fifteen. Still no concession speech from Gore. Something was wrong. Jeb got on his laptop and started monitoring the Florida returns. He said my margin was narrowing. At 2:30 a.m., Bill Daley , Gore’s campaign chairman, called Don Evans . Don spoke to Daley briefly and handed me the phone. The vice president was on the line. He told me his numbers in Florida had changed since the last call, and thus he was retracting his concession.
    I had never heard of a candidate un-conceding. I told him that in Texas, it meant something when a person gave you his word. “You don’t have to get snippy about it,” he replied. Soon after, the networks put Florida back into the undecided category—their fourth position in eight hours—and threw the outcome of the election into question.
    I don’t know about snippy, but I was hot. Just when I thought this wild race had ended, we were back at the starting gate. Several folks in the living room advised that I go out and declare victory. I considered it, until Jeb pulled me aside and said, “George, don’t do it. The count is too close.” The margin in Florida had dwindled to fewer than two thousand votes.
    Jeb was right. An attempt to force the issue would have been rash. I told everyone that the election would not be decided that night. Most went to bed. I stayed up with Jeb and Don as they worked the phones to Florida. At one point, Don called the Florida secretary of state, Katherine Harris , to get an update. I heard him yell, “What do you mean you are in bed? Do you understand that the election is in the balance? What’s going on?!”
    With that, a strange night ended—and an even stranger five weeks began.

    Of the 105 million ballots cast nationwide, the 2000 election would be determined by several hundred votes in one state. Florida immediately turned into a legal battlefield. Don Evans learned around 4:30 a.m. that Gore’s campaign had dispatched a team of lawyers to coordinate a recount. He advised me to do the same. I was confronted with the most bizarre