Decision Points Page 12

  The reality is that there aren’t many people capable of leading the military during a complex global war. Don Rumsfeld was one of the few. He had valuable experience and shared my view of the war on terror as a long-term ideological struggle. At times, Don frustrated me with his abruptness toward military leaders and members of my staff. I felt he’d made a mistake by skipping the retirement ceremony of General Eric Shinseki, the four-star Army chief of staff who stepped down in 2003 after an honorable career. Don’s decision helped feed the false impression that the general had been fired for policy disagreements over Iraq.**

  Still, I liked Don. He respected the chain of command. He and his wife, Joyce, devoted themselves to our troops and frequently visited military hospitals without seeking press attention. Don was doing a superb job transforming the military, the mission that initially attracted me to him. He had increased our arsenal of unmanned aerial vehicles, made our forces more expeditionary, expanded the military’s broadband capacity so we could make better use of real-time data links and imagery, begun bringing home troops from former Cold War outposts such as Germany, and invested heavily in the Special Forces, especially in the integration of intelligence and special operations.

  Despite his tough external veneer, Don Rumsfeld was a decent and caring man. One day he and I were in the Oval Office. He had just finished briefing me on a military operation, and I had a few minutes before my next meeting. I asked casually how his family was doing. He did not answer at first. Eventually he got out a few words, but then he broke down in tears. He explained to me that his son, Nick, was battling a serious drug addiction. Don’s pain was deep, his love genuine. Months later, I asked how Nick was doing. Don beamed as he explained that his son had gone through rehab and was well. It was touching to see Don’s pride in his son’s character and strength.

  I felt for Don again in the spring of 2006, when a group of retired generals launched a barrage of public criticism against him. While I was still considering a personnel change, there was no way I was going to let a group of retired officers bully me into pushing out the civilian secretary of defense. It would have looked like a military coup and would have set a disastrous precedent.

  As 2006 wore on, the situation in Iraq worsened dramatically. Sectarian violence was tearing the country apart. In the early fall, Don told me he thought we might need “fresh eyes” on the problem. I agreed that change was needed, especially since I was seriously contemplating a new strategy, the surge. But I was still struggling to find a capable replacement.

  One evening in the fall of 2006, I was chatting with my high school and college friend Jack Morrison, whom I had appointed to the President’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board (PFIAB). I was worried about the deteriorating conditions in Iraq and mentioned Don Rumsfeld’s comment about needing fresh eyes.

  “I have an idea,” Jack said. “What about Bob Gates?” He told me he had met with Gates recently as part of his PFIAB work.

  Why hadn’t I thought of Bob? He had been CIA director in Dad’s administration and deputy national security adviser to President Reagan. He had successfully run a large organization, Texas A&M University. He served on the Baker-Hamilton Commission, which was studying the problems in Iraq. He would be ideal for the job.

  I immediately called Steve Hadley and asked him to feel out Bob. We had tried to recruit him as director of national intelligence the previous year, but he had declined because he loved his job as president of A&M. Steve reported back the next day. Bob was interested.

  I was pretty sure I had found the right person for the job. But I was concerned about the timing. We were weeks away from the 2006 midterm elections. If I were to change defense secretaries at that point, it would look like I was making military decisions with politics in mind. I decided to make the move after the election.

  The weekend before the midterms, Bob drove from College Station, Texas, to the ranch in Crawford. We met in my office, a secluded one-story building about a half-mile from the main house. I felt comfortable around Bob. He is a straightforward, unassuming man with a quiet strength. I promised him access to me anytime he needed it. Then I told him there was something else he needed to know before taking the job: I was seriously considering a troop increase in Iraq. He was open to it. I told him I knew he had a great life at A&M, but his country needed him. He accepted the job on the spot.

  At Camp David with Bob Gates (left), and Peter Pace, Joint Chiefs Chairman. White House/Eric Draper

  I knew Dick would not be happy with my decision. He was a close friend of Don’s. As always, Dick told me what he thought. “I disagree with your decision. I think Don is doing a fine job. But it’s your call. You’re the president.” I asked Dick to deliver the news to his friend, which I hoped would soften the blow.

  Don handled the change like the professional he is. He sent me a touching letter. “I leave with great respect for you and for the leadership you have provided during a most challenging time for our country,” he wrote. “… It has been the highest honor of my long life to have been able to serve our country at such a critical time in our history.”

  Replacing the secretary of defense was one of two difficult personnel changes I made in 2006. The other was changing chiefs of staff. With the environment in Washington turning sour, Andy Card reminded me often that there were only a handful of positions in which a personnel move would be viewed as significant. His job was one of them. In early 2006, Andy often brought up the possibility of his departure. “You can do it easily and it could change the debate,” he said. “You owe it to yourself to consider it.”

  Around the same time, Clay Johnson asked to see me. Clay had served with me every day since I took office as governor in 1995. When we sat down for lunch that day, he asked me how I thought the White House was functioning. I told him I was a little unsettled. I had been hearing complaints from staff members. From the perch of the presidency, though, it was hard to tell whether the gripes were petty grievances or evidence of a serious problem.

  Clay gave me a look that showed there wasn’t much doubt in his mind. Then he pulled a pen out of his pocket, picked up his napkin, and sketched the organizational chart of the White House. It was a tangled mess, with lines of authority crossing and blurred. His point was clear: This was a major source of the unrest. Then he said, “I am not the only one who feels this way.” He told me that several people had spontaneously used the same unflattering term to describe the White House structure: It started with “cluster” and ended with four more letters.

  Clay was right. The organization was drifting. People had settled into comfort zones, and the sharpness that had once characterized our operation had dulled. The most effective way to fix the problem was to make a change at the top. I decided it was time to take Andy up on his offer to move on.

  The realization was painful. Andy Card was a loyal, honorable man who led the White House effectively through trying days. On a trip to Camp David that spring, I went to see Andy and his wife Kathi at the bowling alley. They are one of those great couples whose love for each other is so obvious. They knew I wasn’t there for bowling. My face must have betrayed my anguish. I started by thanking Andy for his service. He cut me off and said, “Mr. President, you want to make a change.” I tried to explain. He wouldn’t let me. We hugged and he said he accepted my decision.

  I was uncomfortable creating any large vacancy without having a replacement lined up. So before I had my talk with Andy, I had asked Josh Bolten to come see me. I respected Josh a lot, and so did his colleagues. Since his days as policy director of my campaign, he had served as deputy chief of staff for policy and director of the Office of Management and Budget. He knew my priorities as well as anyone. My trust in him was complete.

  When I asked Josh if he would be my next chief of staff, he did not jump at the offer. Like most at the White House, he admired Andy Card and knew how hard the job could be. After thinking about it, he agreed that the White House needed restructuring and refreshi
ng. He told me that if he took the job, he expected a green light to make personnel changes and clarify lines of authority and responsibility. I told him that was precisely why I wanted him. He accepted the job and stayed to the end, which made him one of the first staffers I hired for my campaign and the last I saw in the Oval Office—with ten full years in between.

  Shortly after taking over, Josh moved forward with a number of changes, including replacing the White House press secretary with Tony Snow, a witty former TV and radio host who became a dear friend until he lost his valiant battle with cancer in 2008. The trickiest move was redefining Karl’s role. After the 2004 election, Andy had asked Karl to become deputy chief of staff for policy, the top policy position in the White House. I understood his rationale. Karl is more than a political adviser. He is a policy wonk with a passion for knowledge and for turning ideas into action. I approved his promotion because I wanted to benefit from Karl’s expertise and abilities. To avoid any misperceptions, Andy made clear that Karl would not be included in national security meetings.

  With my communications team, (from left) Dan Bartlett, Dana Perino, and Tony Snow. White House/Eric Draper

  By the middle of 2006, Republicans were in trouble in the upcoming midterm elections, and the left had unfairly used Karl’s new role to accuse us of politicizing policy decisions. Josh asked Karl to focus on the midterms and continue to provide strategic input. To take over the day-to-day policy operations, Josh brought in his deputy from OMB—Joel Kaplan, a brilliant and personable Harvard Law graduate who had worked for me since 2000.

  I worried about how Karl would interpret the move. He had developed a thick skin in Washington, but he was a proud, sensitive man who had absorbed savage attacks on my behalf. It was a tribute to Karl’s loyalty and Josh’s managerial skill that they made the new arrangement work until Karl left the White House in August 2007.

  While White House staff and Cabinet appointments are crucial to decision making, they are temporary. Judicial appointments are for life. I knew how proud Dad was to have appointed Clarence Thomas, a wise, principled, humane man. I also knew he was disappointed that his other nominee, David Souter, had evolved into a different kind of judge than he expected.

  History is full of similar tales. John Adams famously called Chief Justice John Marshall—who served on the bench for thirty years after Adams left office—his greatest gift to the American people. On the other hand, when Dwight Eisenhower was asked to name his biggest mistakes as president, he answered, “I made two and they’re both sitting on the Supreme Court.”

  Shortly after the 2000 election was decided, I asked my White House counsel, Alberto Gonzales, and his team of lawyers to develop a list of candidates for the Supreme Court. Al was an impressive second-generation American who had worked his way through Rice University and Harvard Law School and earned my trust when I was governor. I told him the Supreme Court list should include women, minorities, and people with no previous experience on the bench. I made clear there should be no political litmus test. The only tests in my mind were personal integrity, intellectual ability, and judicial restraint. I was concerned about activist judges who substituted their personal preferences for the text of the law. I subscribed to the strict constructionist school: I wanted judges who believed the Constitution meant what it said.

  With Al Gonzales. White House/Chris Greenburg

  For more than eleven years, the same nine justices had sat together on the Court, the longest such streak in modern history. On June 30, 2005, Harriet Miers—who had replaced Al Gonzales as White House counsel when he became attorney general—was informed that the Supreme Court would be forwarding a letter for me from one of the justices. We all assumed it was from Chief Justice William Rehnquist, who was eighty years old and sick. But the next morning Harriet called me with a surprise. “It’s O’Connor,” she said.

  I had met Justice Sandra Day O’Connor many times over the years. The first female justice in the history of the Court, she had an engaging, straightforward personality. I was fond of Sandra and called her immediately after I received her letter. She told me it was time for her to go take care of her beloved husband, John, who was suffering from Alzheimer’s.

  While the vacancy was not the one I expected, we were prepared to fill it. Harriet’s team prepared a thick binder that contained the biographies of eleven candidates, as well as detailed analyses of their writings, speeches, and judicial philosophies. I had a trip to Europe scheduled in early July, and the long hours on Air Force One made for good reading time. After studying the binder, I narrowed the list down to five impressive judges: Samuel Alito, Edith Brown Clement, Michael Luttig, John Roberts, and J. Harvie Wilkinson.

  Each came to meet me in the White House residence. I tried to put them at ease by giving them a tour of the living area. Then I took them to the family sitting room that overlooks the West Wing. I had read the summaries of their legal opinions; now I wanted to read the people. I was looking for someone who shared my judicial philosophy, and whose values wouldn’t change over time. I went into the interviews hoping one person would stand apart.

  One did. John Roberts flew in from London, where he was teaching for the summer. I knew Roberts’s record: top of his class at Harvard and Harvard Law School, law clerk to Justice Rehnquist, dozens of cases argued before the Supreme Court. Roberts had been nominated to the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals in 1992, but he wasn’t confirmed before the election. I had nominated him to a seat on the same court in 2001. He was confirmed in 2003 and had established a solid record. Behind the sparkling résumé was a genuine man with a gentle soul. He had a quick smile and spoke with passion about the two young children he and his wife, Jane, had adopted. His command of the law was obvious, as was his character.

  Having coffee with John Roberts in the West Wing Sitting Hall the morning after his nomination. White House/Eric Draper

  I talked about the decision with Dick, Harriet, Andy, Al, and Karl. They liked Roberts, but he was not at the top of all lists. Dick and Al backed Luttig, who they felt was the most dedicated conservative jurist. Harriet supported Alito because he had the most established judicial record. Andy and Karl shared my inclination toward Roberts. I solicited opinions from others, including some of the younger lawyers in the White House. One was Brett Kavanaugh, whom I had nominated to the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals. Brett told me that Luttig, Alito, and Roberts would all be solid justices. The tiebreaker question, he suggested, was which man would be the most effective leader on the Court—the most capable of convincing his colleagues through persuasion and strategic thinking.

  I believed Roberts would be a natural leader. I didn’t worry about him drifting away from his principles over time. He described his philosophy of judicial modesty with a baseball analogy that stuck with me: “A good judge is like an umpire—and no umpire thinks he is the most important person on the field.”

  On Tuesday, July 19, I called John to offer him the job. We made the announcement that night in the East Room. Everything went according to plan until, during my primetime televised speech, four-year-old Jack Roberts slipped out of his mother’s grip and started dancing around the floor. We later learned he was imitating Spider-Man. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, and it took all my concentration to continue my remarks. Eventually Jane reclaimed little Jack. The audience had a good laugh, and Jack’s family got slide-show material for life.

  In early September, three days before Roberts’s confirmation hearing was scheduled to begin, Karl called me late on a Saturday night. Laura and I were in bed, and nobody calls with good news at that hour. Karl told me the chief justice had just died. Rehnquist was one of the greats. He had served thirty-three years on the Supreme Court, nineteen of them in the center chair. He had conducted Dad’s swearing-in as president in 1989 and mine in 2001. As my Second Inauguration approached, Rehnquist was ailing with thyroid cancer. He hadn’t been seen in public for weeks. But when it came time to read the oath of office, his voice boome
d loud and clear: “Repeat after me: I, George Walker Bush, do solemnly swear …”

  I now had two vacancies on the Court to fill. I decided that John Roberts’s leadership ability made him a perfect fit for chief justice. John excelled at his hearing, was confirmed by a wide majority, and came back to the East Room for his swearing-in. The moment showed what unlikely turns life can take. John Roberts, who thirteen years earlier assumed that his chance to be a judge had passed, was now chief justice of the United States.

  With O’Connor’s seat still vacant, I felt strongly that I should replace her with a woman. I didn’t like the idea of the Supreme Court having only one woman, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Laura agreed—and shared her views with the press.

  This was a rare occasion when Laura’s advice spilled out into the public, but far from the only time I relied on her thoughtful counsel. Laura had an instinctive feel for the pulse of the country. She wasn’t involved in every issue, and she didn’t want to be. She picked areas that appealed to her—including education, women’s health, rebuilding the Gulf Coast after Katrina, AIDS and malaria, and freedom in Burma and Afghanistan.

  I instructed Harriet and the search committee to draw up a new list with more women. The candidates she found were impressive. But there were frustrating roadblocks. When I asked for a more thorough vetting of one well-qualified woman judge, it turned out that her husband had a financial problem that would jeopardize her confirmation. A top choice on the list was Priscilla Owen, a former justice on the Texas Supreme Court. Priscilla was one of the first people I nominated for a federal appeals court position in 2001. Unfortunately, Democrats made her a target. She was finally confirmed in the spring of 2005 as part of a bipartisan compromise. I thought she would make a fine member of the Supreme Court. But a number of senators, including Republicans, told me the fight would be bloody and ultimately she would not be confirmed.