(2 of 9)
"People say the Texas Governor is a weak position," said Bush, propping his boots on a chair. "Only a weak person makes it a weak position." In fact, the Texas state constitution of 1876 made it weak in order to prevent Reconstruction-era carpetbaggers from wielding too much influence. "The Governor has no power," says Texas house speaker Pete Laney, "except what the legislature gives him or he takes with the force of his own personality." A 1997 study by the University of North Carolina ranked the powers of the office 49th out of the 50 governorships--which makes Texas "a perfectly good training ground for the [weak] Executive power of the presidency," says Bruce Buchanan, professor of government at the University of Texas. As with the President, the Governor's success depends on his use of the bully pulpit and his relationships with legislators. "Bush recognized that," says Laney, "so he wanted to work with us from the get-go."
Bush ran for Governor in 1994 on four reform issues: welfare, public schools, the juvenile-justice system and "frivolous" civil lawsuits. He chose them carefully--all were popular in Texas--but getting them done was no sure thing. To improve his odds, he cultivated relationships with the two Democrats who could make him a success--Laney, a West Texas cotton farmer who controls the house; and Bob Bullock, the profane, driven, endlessly colorful Lieutenant Governor who ran the senate and was the most powerful pol in Texas until shortly before he died last year. The three men would meet for breakfast every Wednesday--first at the Governor's mansion and then, because the food there wasn't greasy enough for Bullock, on his or Laney's turf. Laney remembers giving Bush one simple piece of advice: "You work with us, we'll help make you a good Governor." Before long, Bullock would be calling Bush "the best I've ever seen."
Bush tried to bond with every lawmaker in Texas. By the time he took office, in January 1995, he had met with nearly all the 181 members of the legislature--"the lege," which convenes every other year--asking about their issues, trying to understand their minds and motives: a solid month of virtuoso schmoozing. "For Bush, everything is personal," says Terral Smith, his legislative chief. "He needs to have the personal relationship before the issue comes up." He dropped in unannounced on legislators, gave them nicknames and bear hugs and backslaps, went to pancake dinners and football games in their districts. He wasn't just making nice. He was reminding them that he had a mandate and meant to use it. One lawmaker calls this "a velvet hammer. It's a guy thing."