Ceci Connolly
In his run for the
White House, George W. Bush has steadfastly
evaded comparisons to his father, the 41st president of the United States.
With the exception of
their shared affinity for fishing, speed golf and malapropisms, the Texas
Republican shows little hint of reprising his father's presidential style.
Instead, on a three-day swing through Southern California, Bush the younger evoked memories of another governor-turned-president:
Ronald Reagan.
"Our nation can
achieve anything we set our mind to," he said at a Cinco de Mayo breakfast
in San Diego. "Our nation is a nation of doers. With the right leadership,
we can make this country so hopeful, so optimistic!"
Far more than his
reserved, detail-oriented, credential-laden father, this Bush offers himself as
the cheerful patriot itching to "restore dignity" to the Oval Office.
Ever mindful of his role in Campaign 2000, he jauntily plays to the cameras and
crowds, painting his political goals in easy-to-swallow slogans.
"There are no
second-rate children in America," goes one of his favorite lines.
"And no second-rate dreams."
There's tough talk for
criminals who, Bush says, must be held accountable. "That accountability's
called the jailhouse."
There's just a bit of
swagger for the party faithful. "I'm gonna win California," he declares
often. And after that, "See you at the dance."
There are even instant
replays in this campaign drama. When one television network accidentally missed
his comments on the death of Cardinal John O'Connor, Bush sportingly delivered
his lines again. (Only later, in the confines of his chartered airplane, does
he draw back the theater curtain, handicapping each performance with his band
of traveling reporters.)
And although neither
Bush nor Reagan served in the active military, both seem to have cornered the
market on flag-waving.
With red, white and
blue bunting draped behind him and pompon-waving fans in front, Bush told one
rally: "Our country deserves a commander in chief who will respect the men
and women in uniform and a commander in chief who in return earns the respect
of the men and women in uniform."
When it comes to
rhetorical firepower, Bush lacks one weapon Reagan routinely fell back on--the
easy mark. Today, there is no "evil empire," no "welfare
queens." Instead, Bush speaks of the struggling waitress, truck driver or
Jose, owner of the taqueria in Santa Ana.
It is as if the Texas
governor, with his "compassionate conservatism" theme, finally has
managed to display the "kinder, gentler" approach his father could
never convincingly execute.
"Jose is living
the American dream," Bush says after recounting the Mexican immigrant's
climb from poverty to middle-class success. It is a dream, he adds, "which
says in this country the dream should be available for every willing
heart."
At times, a Bush
campaign event feels more like a cotton candy snack than a hearty Texas steak.
After describing the need for a more caring national policy toward immigrants,
the governor says he is not ready to offer his views on amnesty proposals. He
promises budget "efficiencies" in a Bush White
House--"cuts" is a banned word in the Bush entourage--but he has yet
to reveal one. So far, voters cannot know how he will revamp Social Security or
the Pentagon, because he hasn't said.
To his critics, the
soothing words cannot mask his inexperience, his right-wing tendencies. But for
now, Bush is untroubled by such charges. He has won the endorsement of his
nemesis Sen. John McCain; his bank account has been replenished, and in most
national polls he's winning.
Even gray skies did
not dampen Bush's sunny disposition as he journeyed from Dana Point on the
Pacific Coast to the mission at San Juan Capistrano. Would he pose for a photo
with the kindergarten class at Hankey Elementary?
"I would love
it," he exulted. "This just might be the highlight of the whole day
for me!"