To hear those closest to him tell it, George W. Bush never broke a sweat during the 36 days of electoral limbo that almost deprived him of the presidency. His closest advisers, friends and even family members all describe Bush's mood during that tense period as "serene" or "calm" or "even keeled." He was never angry, they say, never worried or self-pitying. His sister Dorothy Bush Koch was so concerned about his state of mind that she would call down to Texas periodically to see if he needed cheering up. He didn't. "Don't worry about me," George told her. "I'm fine." David Sibley, a Texas state senator, had invited the Bushes to his daughter's Dec. 2 wedding. Bush called up beforehand and said he'd make it if he'd lost by then but wouldn't be able to if he'd won, because of all the security and other encumbrances that come with the job. It seemed to his friend as if Bush could live with either outcome. "He takes life as it comes," says Sibley.
Bush's "serenity" over that period occasionally bordered on what seemed like total detachment. He spent days out at his ranch in remote Crawford, Texas, hacking away at cedar undergrowth. He dispatched Dick Cheney to Washington to start building a new Administration, in case one was needed. And at the very instant when the oral arguments before the U.S. Supreme Court in the case of Bush v. Gore were being broadcast to the public last Monday, a moment when so many Americans were riveted to their television sets and radios, Bush left his office and went to the gym--not because he was nervous, aides said, but because it happened to be the time of day when he likes to go to the gym.
Whether it's serenity or detachment, or a combination of both, Bush's ability to tune things out is real. But it is not the whole story. On election night, when Al Gore called a second time to withdraw his concession, Bush was famously "snippy" on the phone, his preternatural equanimity having been stretched beyond its limits. And some visitors to the Governor's Mansion in Austin during the postelection interlude say that Bush, when he was in town, was not always so sanguine and accepting about the things he could not control. He was especially bothered by the protesters and supporters who had lined the sidewalk across the street from the mansion. He would jump up and go to the window to stare at the demonstrators and complain about the noise they were making.
Within Bush, the tension between his quick temper and his capacity for detachment is not unique. It is mirrored by the clash between a self-confidence that sometimes borders on arrogance and a humility born out of faith and some experience with failure. And it is reflected also in his willingness to surround himself with smart advisers on the one hand and his disdain for haughty intellectuals on the other. The question is whether the crucible of a two-year campaign changed Bush and, if so, how.