Is it in his hug? The Bush-McCain relationship

A brief flirtation
Doubtless nursing a grudge from the vicious campaign in South Carolina, McCain spent much of the first Bush term taking well-timed jabs at the new president. He voted for an initial Senate version of the $1.35 trillion Bush tax cuts, but when the bill came up for final passage, McCain voted no. Echoing Democratic denunciations of a giveaway to the rich, McCain told his Senate colleagues, "I cannot in good conscience support a tax cut in which so many of the benefits go to the most fortunate among us, at the expense of middle-class Americans who most need tax relief."

There were other apostasies, and even a brief flirtation with switching parties. At the center of the talk, of course, was Weaver. On March 31, 2001, Weaver had lunch at a Chinese restaurant in Bethesda, Maryland, with Tom Downey. A former congressman from New York, Downey was still as well connected as anyone in the Democratic Party. Downey insists the lunch was at Weaver's request. But the courtship was mutual and intense. Weaver suggested that McCain might bolt the GOP "if the right people asked him." Downey immediately contacted Democratic Senate leader Tom Daschle, who recruited Senators Harry Reid, John Edwards, and Ted Kennedy to join in the effort to persuade McCain. At various points over the next two months, members of the group spoke with McCain on the Senate floor, in his office, at a gathering in Senator Kennedy's office — wherever they could buttonhole him. The talks got pretty specific. "We talked about committees and his seniority ... [a lot of issues] were on the table," Daschle recalled.

As the courtship of McCain heated up at the senatorial level, Weaver and four other McCain confidants gathered for lunch; leaving the GOP was on the menu. McCain had just voted against the Bush tax cuts, and Weaver (who reportedly coined the 2000 campaign's most incendiary slogan, "Burn It Down!") was thinking about new ways to light the fire. "Did it [leaving the GOP and running as an independent in 2004] come up? Sure," Weaver told CNN. "Some people want him to do it, but as far as we know, it is not an option on the table." The conservative writer and editor Bill Kristol was also at the lunch. "I believe that McCain thinks about it a little bit," he said. "But he's been very discreet. All the talk has been among aides and friends."

The talks collapsed on May 24, 2001, when Vermont's Republican senator, Jim Jeffords, became an independent, thus swinging control of the Senate to the Democrats. In the wake of Jeffords's move, McCain was quick to renounce all talk of leaving the GOP. "I have no intention of running for president, nor do I have any intention of, or cause to, leave the Republican Party," he told CNN.

For John McCain, the die was cast. His future was with the Republican Party — and the Republican Party was with George W. Bush.

The attacks of September 11, 2001, caused a rally-round-the-president phenomenon that boosted Bush's anemic approval rating into the stratosphere. McCain could have shown his maverick bona fides then. He could have pointed out that Bush was derelict in his duty when he ignored the CIA's warning that BIN LADEN DETERMINED TO STRIKE IN U.S. He could have noted that a real leader would not have panicked, as Bush did; a real leader would not have run and hid, as Bush did; a real leader would not have hesitated, as Bush did. McCain could have told the nation that a real president would not have sat frozen in front of schoolchildren for over five minutes after being told, "America is under attack." But McCain did not. He joined the chorus of Bush suck-ups, feeding the false story that this incompetent man was somehow the strong, brave, wise leader we needed.

John McCain would remain a Republican. And a Bush Republican at that.

Caving in over coffee
And so in early 2004, John Weaver reached out to Team Bush. He called Mark McKinnon, Bush's media adviser (and my friend since college). It was a smart choice. A conciliator by nature, McKinnon was among the least anti-McCain members of the Bush inner circle. McKinnon had traveled a long and difficult route in American politics: from the far fringes of the student left when he was in college (he considered me a sellout for supporting student government and serving as student body president), McKinnon moved from his first job with the stalwart progressive Texas Democrat Lloyd Doggett, to Ann Richards. Then, in the late '90s, he fell in love with George W. Bush. Perhaps in an ironic tribute to his formerly iconoclastic views, McKinnon named his firm Maverick Media, and the Maverick began making ads for George W. Bush. McKinnon is gifted, and soon the Yale frat boy with the Harvard MBA was seen droppin' his g's and wearin' jeans and boots and swingin' on the front porch with his beloved Laura: just a regular Texas good ol' boy.

Still, it wouldn't have been surprising if McKinnon had retained some deep-hidden respect and affection for another self-styled maverick. Besides, Weaver could hardly have stomached picking up the phone and calling Rove directly. McKinnon called Rove and brokered a date for him with Weaver. They met at Caribou Coffee, at 1701 Pennsylvania Avenue — a short walk from Rove's office at the White House. Weaver made the first move. "Time to put this behind us," he told Rove. There was no need to define "this": the years of bitterness and backstabbing needed no reiteration. Rove was gracious, as gracious as McCain's grandfather was as he stood on the deck of the USS Missouri to help receive the Japanese surrender. It's easy to be gracious when the other side offers total capitulation. "I know how hard this must be for you," Rove said. "And I appreciate it."

Rove then posed the question: would McCain come out and campaign with Bush? The two had suffered through an exquisitely awkward joint appearance in Pittsburgh in the 2000 campaign. McCain left the 2000 convention early. Some believed he could not bear the Bush coronation; others reported he was being treated for cancer. Rove knew just what to ask for — a little of the McCain magic on the campaign trail. "All you had to do was ask," Weaver replied. McKinnon paid the bill, but both sides walked away buzzing from more than the caffeine.

One person who knows both McCain and Bush well suggested the rift was more driven by aides than personal animosity. "McCain and Bush like each other's toughness," this person told me. "Always have." The ease and speed of the reconciliation suggests there is much truth to the point.

"Listen, we had a very tough, intrafamily fight [in the 2000 primaries]," Weaver recalled in a 2007 interview with the Washington Post's Peter Baker. "These are always tougher, the fights between families. McCain was over it before everybody else was. Like a lot of these things, some of the lower-level soldiers didn't come out of the hills for a long time."

It is interesting that Weaver used a military analogy. Of course, all of us campaign hacks fall back on that — even the word campaign comes from the world of warfare. John Weaver, ever the loyal soldier, was offering his most bitter enemy — and his boss's — an unconditional surrender.

The first date
On June 18, 2004, McCain accompanied Bush to Fort Lewis, Washington. Before a Bush campaign rally, they met briefly in the lodge where Bush had stayed the night before. Then the old warrior introduced the old draft dodger to the crowd. The staff of the independent, bipartisan 9/11 Commission had just reported that there was no evidence of any "collaborative relationship" between Saddam Hussein and the al Qaeda terrorist networks, making Bush a liar: One of his principal arguments for invading Iraq was the fact that Saddam was somehow linked to al Qaeda. Again and again Mr. Bush and his vice president sought to associate Saddam Hussein with the terrorism of 9/11. And now Bush's lie was shattered — and John McCain was there to pick up the pieces. McCain vouched for Bush. He did so with gusto, with relish. McCain said the president "led this country with moral clarity." He said Mr. Bush "heard the call to action on that terrible morning in September and summoned the rest of us to this long and difficult task."

I do not know — indeed, cannot know — what was going through McCain's mind at the time. He already knew Bush was a liar; he'd said as much in the 2000 campaign. And he knew that no lie was beyond this man and his supporters — just ask young Bridget McCain. McCain also knew, must have known, that Bush's mendacity violated every sense of honor in McCain's Naval Academy DNA.

As if that wasn't enough, McCain defended Bush's incompetent handling of the Iraq War, which McCain would later pretend he'd been consistently critical of. "There have been ups and downs," McCain told the soldiers of Fort Lewis. "As there are in any war, but like you, he has not wavered in his determination to protect this country and to make the world a better, safer, freer place." McCain closed with a suck-up that would have made the McCain of 2000 gag. He actually drew a moral parallel between the lying coward he was sharing the stage with and the six thousand heroic military men and women he was speaking to. "You will not yield, nor will he."

It was a stunning performance, even for someone used to the phoniness of politics. Tellingly, Bush didn't even try to return the compliment. After McCain's sycophantic introduction, the man who became president in part by smearing McCain and his family dismissed the vanquished with a perfunctory thanks and boilerplate compliments: "It is a privilege to be introduced to our men and women in uniform by a man who brought such credit to the uniform. When he speaks of service and sacrifice, he speaks from experience. The United States military has no better friend in the United States Senate than John McCain."

When Bush finished, he embraced McCain. The Washington Post said, "Bush, waving repeatedly to the crowd as he strode onto the stage amid applause, walked straight toward McCain and put his arms around him. The Arizonan leaned his head toward Bush's cheek, and then the president grinned as the senator whispered in his ear."

How sweet. McCain's admirers probably would like to believe that their hero whispered a four-letter-filled entreaty for Mr. Bush to commit an unnatural act on himself. But no dice. Whatever whispered words were shared by the pair, the two amigos continued their hug-a-thon later that day in Reno. After McCain introduced Mr. Bush there, he gave Bush a hug and patted his back six times.

MORE FROM TODAY BOOKS: HISTORY POLITICS

‘A History of Ghosts’ explores paranormal past

‘A History of Ghosts’ explores paranormal past David Alan Grier: Is beige the new black? Is price gouging in wake of a hurricane wrong? New book places blame for Pat Tillman’s death Blagojevich tells his side of story in ‘Governor’ Geraldo on Hispanics’ new era of prosperity Ousted Ill. governor explains self in new book Michelle Malkin: Obama’s team is corrupt Book: Obama turning slump into socialism Book traces rise of 44th U.S. president   Add Today Books: History Politics headlines to your news reader: