TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/102891/1028100.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 5.6 KB | 122 lines

                                                                                NATION, Page 27

THE PRESIDENCY

You Shouldn't Win 'Em All


By Hugh Sidey


    Talk about determination. In the midst of the Clarence
Thomas political war, George Bush took to his new putting green
on the South Lawn, and armed with his 48-in. Pole-Kat putter,
he launched a ferocious assault on the flag.

    Startled White House aides heard shouts of triumph float
up from the shrubs when the ball found the hole. "I got it! I
got it!" Bush exulted. In fact, as a remarkable week came to a
close, the President had got almost everything he wanted on
every front he chose to fight. And he chose many.

    When aides suggested that he veto the $6.4 billion
unemployment-benefits bill with no fanfare, Bush would have none
of it. He ordered a Rose Garden offensive with his political
general staff assembled for the cameras, and he signed the veto
with a flourish. As House Minority Leader Robert Michel left the
scene, he muttered, only partly in jest, "Could you airbrush me
out of this picture?''

    But the President's maneuver succeeded. His record for
sustained vetoes remained perfect -- 23 to zip.

    Even some of Bush's Republican friends are astonished at
his enduring toughness, although it is cloaked in Yankee
properness. "He set rules for himself for eight years as Vice
President," explains one. "He never bragged about what he did
for Reagan, he never criticized Reagan. He was tough as nails,
but it was masked by many different exterior signals."

    Older friends, like Mississippi Democrat Sonny Montgomery,
who met Bush on the Hill after being elected to Congress in
1966, had a better fix. "When he locks his mind on something,"
says Montgomery, "he is going all the way."

    Almost weekly now, either publicly or privately, Bush
sends a message to Saddam Hussein to live by the truce signed
last March. "I intend to see that he abides by every one of
those U.N. resolutions," Bush tells his staff. The President is
unwavering in his belief that the time has come for the U.S. to
assert its interests in the Middle East, even when it means
opposing Israel.

    John Sununu remains as White House chief of staff despite
recommendations from Bush's advisers and friends that Sununu be
dumped for his abuse of government transportation. "But Sununu
is not the same chief of staff," claims an aide. Sununu got the
message: either abandon some of your perks or leave. Bush bent
him with what one White House man termed "presidential tough
love," a mix of ire and affection that even leaves a little room
for humor. At last Thursday's Al Smith dinner, Sununu deadpanned
about the difficulty getting to Manhattan: "The problem was we
had trouble landing the B-2 in Central Park."

    Not since John Kennedy's time have discipline and
determination been so pervasive in an administration. Lyndon
Johnson managed his domestic agenda with an iron hand, but when
it came to running the Vietnam War his ignorance of world
affairs made him uncertain. The opposite was true of Nixon, the
consummate power broker in global matters but a fellow who never
mastered the folkways of the capital. And neither Johnson nor
Nixon held the depth of respect from their staff that Bush now
enjoys.

    Historian Arthur Schlesinger Jr. once wrote that
successful Presidents progressed only by defeating vociferous
and protesting minorities. Franklin Roosevelt rode roughshod
over entrenched minorities to create the New Deal. Harry Truman
not only battled outside skeptics but also went against his own
Secretary of State, George Marshall, in rushing to recognize the
state of Israel in 1948. Political capital had to be expended.

    By that measure, Bush is doing the job right. But there is
a danger and a downside to relentless attack. Resentment
collects and coagulates among the defeated. Toughness sometimes
shades into arrogance and stubbornness. Author Gloria Steinem
hardly bothered to focus her ire on the Senators who in the end
supported Judge Thomas for the Supreme Court and instead
unleashed her anger against "the master puppeteer." In the
political world that is both grudging compliment and warning.
Senate Majority Leader George Mitchell, smarting yet again from
defeat, took the floor after the Thomas vote and poured unusual
rancor on Bush. Every victory alienates someone.

    Bush carefully studied the leadership style of Ronald
Reagan, which was to keep a public amiability while having a
wrecking crew ready in the boiler room. Bush has had his
political roughnecks, like Roger Ailes and the late Lee Atwater,
who played the Willie Horton race card in the 1988 campaign. "I
can't imagine this campaign will be that tough," muses a White
House tactician. "But we will be ready."

    Bush himself has changed. It has been a long time since he
blurted anything like "kicked a little ass" or had an on-camera
goofy streak. The other day his barber, Milton Pitts, asked Bush
if he'd heard any new jokes. "All the jokes have dried up,"
answered Bush. That's an exaggeration, but Pitts did notice a
few more gray hairs, a few more wrinkles. The war Bush wages has
taken a toll.

    Old L.B.J., perhaps the all-time champion legislator and
pop political psychologist, was once asked in his most
successful months how come he had lost a couple of minor
skirmishes with Congress. "You don't want to win 'em all," he
said. "Give the other side something, or there may come a day
when you won't win anything." George Bush may want to start
looking around for a victory or two to throw the Democrats' way
lest he forget how lousy it feels to lose.