目录
Content
Chapter_1
Chapter_2
Chapter_3
Chapter_4
Chapter_5
Chapter_6
Chapter_7
Chapter_8
Chapter_9
Chapter_10
Chapter_11
Chapter_12
Chapter_13
Chapter_14
Chapter_15
Chapter_16
Chapter_17
Chapter_18
Chapter_19
Chapter_20
Chapter_21
Chapter_22
Chapter_23
Chapter_24
Chapter_25
Chapter_26
Chapter_27
Chapter_28
Chapter_29
Chapter_30
Chapter_31
Chapter_32
Chapter_33
Chapter_34
Chapter_1
The final year of my presidency, I began to think seriously about writing
my memoirs. On the recommendation of Karl Rove, I met with more than a
dozen distinguished historians. To a person, they told me I had an
obligation to write. They felt it was important that I record my perspective on
the presidency, in my own words.
“Have you ever seen the movie Apollo 13?” the historian Jay Winik asked.
“Everyone knows the astronauts make it home in the end. But you’re on the
edge of your seat wondering how they do it.”
Nearly all the historians suggested that I read Memoirs by President
Ulysses S. Grant, which I did. The book captures his distinctive voice. He
uses anecdotes to re-create his experience during the Civil War. I could
see why his work had endured.
Like Grant, I decided not to write an exhaustive account of my life or
presidency. Instead I have told the story of my time in the White House by
focusing on the most important part of the job: making decisions. Each
chapter is based on a major decision or a series of related decisions. As a
result, the book flows thematically, not in a day-by-day chronology. I do not
cover all of the important issues that crossed my desk. Many devoted
members of my Cabinet and staff are mentioned briefly or not at all. I value
their service, and I will always be grateful for their contributions.
My goals in writing this book are twofold. First, I hope to paint a picture of
what it was like to serve as president for eight consequential years. I
believe it will be impossible to reach definitive conclusions about my
presidency—or any recent presidency, for that matter—for several
decades. The passage of time allows passions to cool, results to clarify,
and scholars to compare different approaches. My hope is that this book
will serve as a resource for anyone studying this period in American history.
Second, I write to give readers a perspective on decision making in a
complex environment. Many of the decisions that reach the president’s
desk are tough calls, with strong arguments on both sides. Throughout the
book, I describe the options I weighed and the principles I followed. I hope
this will give you a better sense of why I made the decisions I did. Perhaps
it will even prove useful as you make choices in your own life.
Decision Points is based primarily on my recollections. With help from
researchers, I have confirmed my account with government documents,
contemporaneous notes, personal interviews, news reports, and other
sources, some of which remain classified. There were instances in which I
had to rely on my memory alone. If there are inaccuracies in this book, the
responsibility is mine.
In the pages that follow, I have done my best to write about the decisions I
got right, those I got wrong, and what I would do differently if given the
chance. Of course, in the presidency, there are no do-overs. You have to
do what you believe is right and accept the consequences. I tried to do that
every day of my eight years in office. Serving as president was the honor of
a lifetime, and I appreciate your giving me an opportunity to share my story.
t was a simple question. “Can you remember the last day you didn’t have
a drink?” Laura asked in her calm, soothing voice. She wasn’t threatening or
nagging. She did expect an answer. My wife is the kind of person who picks
her moments. This was one of them.
“Of course I can,” came my indignant response. Then I thought back over
the previous week. I’d had a few beers with the guys on Monday night. On
Tuesday I’d fixed myself my favorite after-dinner drink: B&B, Benedictine
and brandy. I’d had a couple of bourbon and Sevens after I put Barbara and
Jenna to bed on Wednesday. Thursday and Friday were beer-drinking
nights. On Saturday, Laura and I had gone out with friends. I’d had martinis
before dinner, beers with dinner, and B&Bs after dinner. Uh-oh, I had failed
week one.
I went on racking my memory for a single dry day over the past few weeks;
then the past month; then longer. I could not remember one. Drinking had
become a habit.
I have a habitual personality. I smoked cigarettes for about nine years,
starting in college. I quit smoking by dipping snuff. I quit that by chewing
long-leaf tobacco. Eventually I got down to cigars.
For a while I tried to rationalize my drinking habit. I was nowhere near as
bad as some of the drunks I knew in our hometown of Midland, Texas. I
didn’t drink during the day or at work. I was in good shape and jogged
almost every afternoon, another habit.
Over time I realized I was running not only to stay fit, but also to purge my
system of the poisons. Laura’s little question provoked some big ones of
my own. Did I want to spend time at home with our girls or stay out
drinking? Would I rather read in bed with Laura or drink bourbon by myself
after the family had gone to sleep? Could I continue to grow closer to the
Almighty, or was alcohol becoming my god? I knew the answers, but it was
hard to summon the will to make a change.
In 1986, Laura and I both turned forty. So did our close friends Don and
Susie Evans. We decided to hold a joint celebration at The Broadmoor
resort in Colorado Springs. We invited our childhood friends Joe and Jan O
’Neill, my brother Neil, and another Midland friend, Penny Sawyer.
The official birthday dinner was Saturday night. We had a big meal,
accompanied by numerous sixty-dollar bottles of Silver Oak wine. There
were lots of toasts—to our health, to our kids, to the babysitters who were
watching the kids back home. We got louder and louder, telling the same
stories over and over. At one point Don and I decided we were so cute we
should take our routine from table to table. We shut the place down, paid a
colossal bar tab, and went to bed.
I awoke the next morning with a mean hangover. As I left for my daily jog, I
couldn’t remember much of the night before. About halfway through the run,
my head started to clear. The crosscurrents in my life came into focus. For
months I had been praying that God would show me how to better reflect
His will. My Scripture readings had clarified the nature of temptation and the
reality that the love of earthly ple