“My Father, My President” (Warner) takes an inside look at the personal stories, family memories and intimate challenges that remained largely out of the public eye during Bush’s presidential years. Dorothy (Doro) Bush Koch, spoke with NEWSWEEK’s Jessica Bennett about her father’s legacy. Excerpts:
NEWSWEEK: What does this book tell us about your father than we may not have known?
Doro Bush Koch: My dad reached the highest pinnacle of his career when he became president, but he also had some low points, such as the death of a daughter. We have a firsthand account of when my dad was shot down on Sept. 2, 1944, which I think is very fascinating. But I hope people will learn how he coped not only with the good times but with the bad times with sort of dignity and grace.
What were your family dynamics growing up—did you ever think your father or brother would be president?
I never really thought that—it just sort of evolved and happened. But we have a very close-knit family, my brothers all played Little League, so we didn’t ever dream really that anything like that would happen. But when it did happen it wasn’t a surprise.
I know your sister died before you were born, but what kind of an impact did her death have on your family.
The thing about Robin, it was obviously very, very sad for my parents. But on the other hand, looking back, they only have happy memories of Robin. Her life has really inspired my parents to do so much for cancer research, so her life has really been a blessing in a way. Many families break apart over the death of a child, but my parents grew stronger and were able to make good out of her short little life.
What does the book say about the relationship between your mother and father?
There’s one story in the book that I really love. After he became president, my dad was knighted by Queen Elizabeth. And, my dad said to my mom one day, “What’s it like to live with a real live knight?” And my mom turned to him and said, “Make the coffee, Sir George.” That’s sort of typical of their rapport.
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Is there any childhood story you remember that really gives a sense of the type of father George H.W. Bush was?
When I moved to Washington [at age 8] and my dad was entering the House of Representatives, school was starting and my dad brought my two brothers and I to Washington to start school. I was very worried because in Houston, the girls wore short socks, and I wasn’t sure if they wore knee socks in the Northeast or short socks. My dad went across the street to the neighbors and rang the doorbell, because he’d heard a little girl there was going to be in my class, and he asked the neighbors if the girls were wearing short or long socks. I love that story because it’s just kind of sweet.
Why hasn’t your father written his own memoirs?
He has such a full life and he’s constantly out there doing things for other people, you’ve seen him with President Clinton, doing all his work for the tsunami and Katrina [victims], he really doesn’t put aside much time for writing a book.
Describe your father’s relationship with Bill Clinton, his onetime rival.
A friend of mine told me once, “If your father invites Bill Clinton to Kennebunkport then I’ll know he’s really lost it.” And then sure enough the very next weekend, he got invited up to Kennebunkport, and he’s been twice already. They have a genuinely warm friendship based on the bond of both being former presidents and both wanting to get out in the world and do something good. President Clinton is very respectful of my dad. When they traveled [together after] the tsunami, my dad’s chief of staff told me that if there were rough roads they were walking on, President Clinton would take my dad’s arm and [be] very tender in making sure he was taken care of. That says a lot to me, and I think that’s very sweet.
What has it been like, on a personal level, seeing your father and brother picked apart by critics over the years?
It’s hard in both cases, as you can imagine, because politics—for someone who’s related to a president—is very personal. It’s hard, and I talk a lot about that in the book. You know, sometimes the media has a narrative about something, and they decide that someone’s going to be out of touch or something like that and they find stories to fill that narrative, and then it becomes sort of a false history.
Was it kind of crazy growing up in such a political family?
It’s kind of amazing when I think about it. I don’t think about it very much, I have four children, I’m very busy. I’ve been able to see history from the front row in many cases, which has been a real thrill for me. I feel very lucky.
Do you call your brother George or Mr. President?
I call him Mr. President, with affection though. He doesn’t ask me to, but I do just out of respect for the office, something my dad had taught me early on. He has great respect for the presidency. So it’s Mr. President, but with affection.
Was there ever a time when you flatly disagreed with one of your dad’s or brother’s policies?
Probably.
Was that something you’d raise with them or keep to yourself?
Yeah, sure, we’d talk about all kinds of things. But I don’t want to make it news reported in NEWSWEEK.
Your husband is a Democrat. Has that caused political debates over the years?
It’s been fine. A lot of Democrats marry Republicans and it works out just fine.
Your father was president, your brother is president, another brother is a governor, and your parents’ late dog wrote a best seller. Is that a lot to live up to?
No, not at all. One of the things that I love about my dad is that he loves you if you’re a governor, he loves you if you’re a mom, he loves you if you’re a banker, whatever you are. He really was a father first, so there wasn’t any pressure in any way.
What’s the one thing you hope people can take away from your father’s life?
There’s a chapter in the book called “Master of the Small Gesture,” that no matter who you are and what you do in life you can always take the time to call someone who’s down and out or write a note to cheer someone up. It’s the little things in life that make the enormous difference, and that’s something my father’s very, very good at.
