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.