Seeking answers, yet a president at peace

WASHINGTON — At the nadir of his presidency, George Bush is looking for answers. One at a time or in small groups, he summons leading authors, historians, philosophers and theologians to the White House to join him in the search.

Over sodas and sparkling water, he asks his questions: What is the nature of good and evil in the post-Sept. 11 world? What lessons does history have for a president facing the turmoil I'm facing? How will history judge what we've done? Why does the rest of the world seem to hate America? Or is it just me they hate?

These are the questions of a president who has endured the most drastic political collapse in a generation. Despite a reputation for lacking intellectual curiosity, Bush is seeking out those who are, embarking on an exploration of the currents of history that have swept up his administration. For all the setbacks, he remains unflinching, rarely expressing doubt yet trying to understand how he got off course.

These sessions, usually held in the executive mansion, are never listed on the president's public schedule and remain largely unknown even to many on his staff. To some of those invited to talk, Bush seems alone, isolated by events beyond his control, with trusted advisers departing and friends turning on him.

"You think about prime ministers and presidents being surrounded by cabinet officials and aides and so forth," said Alistair Horne, a British historian who met with Bush recently. "But at the end of the day, they're alone. They're lonely. And that's what occurred to me as I was at the White House. It must be quite difficult for him to get out and about."

Friends worry about that as well.

Burdened by an unrelenting war, challenged by an opposition Congress, defeated just last week on immigration, his last major domestic priority, Bush largely stays inside the fortress of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. in the seventh year of a presidency turned sour. He still travels, making speeches to friendly audiences and attending summit meetings, such as this weekend's Kennebunkport, Maine, talks with President Vladimir Putin of Russia. But he rarely goes out to dinner, and he no longer plays golf. He finds relaxation in the seclusion of Camp David or his Texas ranch.

"I don't know how he copes with it," said Donald Burnham Ensenat, a friend for 43 years who just stepped down as State Department protocol officer. Rep. K. Michael Conaway, R-Texas, another longtime friend who once worked for Bush, said he looks worn down. "It's a marked difference in his physical appearance," Conaway said.

Bush is fixated on Iraq, according to friends and advisers. One former aide went to see him recently to discuss various matters, only to find Bush turning the conversation back to Iraq again and again. He recognizes that his presidency hinges on whether Iraq can be turned around in 18 months. "Nothing matters except the war," said one person close to Bush.

In public and in private, according to intimates, he exhibits an inexorable upbeat energy that defies the political storms. Even when he convenes philosophical discussions with scholars, he avoids second-guessing his actions.

"You don't get any feeling of somebody crouching down in the bunker," said Irwin Stelzer, a senior fellow at the Hudson Institute who was part of one group of scholars who met with Bush. "This is either extraordinary self-confidence or out of touch with reality. I can't tell you which."

The reality has been daunting by any account. Bush's approval rating slipped below 50 percent in Washington Post-ABC News polls in January 2005 and has not topped that level in the 30 months since. The last president mired under 50 percent so long was Harry Truman. Even Richard Nixon did not fall below 50 percent until April 1973, 16 months before he resigned.

The polls reflect the events of Bush's second term, an unyielding sequence of bad news. Social Security. Hurricane Katrina. Harriet Miers. Dubai Ports World. Vice President Dick Cheney's hunting accident. Jack Abramoff, Tom DeLay and Mark Foley. The midterm elections. I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby, Alberto Gonzales and Paul Wolfowitz. Immigration. And overshadowing it all, the Iraq war.

Since winning re-election 2 ½ years ago, Bush has had few days of good news, and what few he has had rarely lasted. Purple-fingered Iraqis went to the polls to establish a democracy but elected a dysfunctional government riven by sectarian strife. U.S. forces hunted down Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the al-Qaida leader in Iraq, but the violence only worsened. Saddam Hussein was convicted, but his execution was marred by videotaped taunting. Perhaps the only unalloyed second-term victory for Bush has been the confirmation of two Supreme Court justices who have begun to move the court to the right.

Other presidents have been crushed by the pressure. Lyndon Johnson was tormented by Vietnam War protesters outside his window shouting, "Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?" Nixon swam in self-pity during Watergate, talking to paintings and once asking Henry Kissinger to pray with him. Bill Clinton fumed against enemies and nursed many grievances during his impeachment battle.

But if Bush vents like that, no one is talking. "I find him serene," Kissinger said. "He feels he's doing what he needs to do, and he seems to me at peace with himself."

Bush has virtually given up on winning converts while in office and instead is counting on vindication after he is dead. "He almost has ... a sense of fatalism," said Rep. Peter King, R-N.Y., who recently spent a day traveling with Bush. "All he can do is do his best, and 100 years from now people will decide if he was right or wrong. It doesn't seem to be a false, macho pride or living in your own world. I find him to be amazingly calm."

To an extent, Bush walls himself off from criticism. He does read newspapers, contrary to public impression, but watches little television news and does not linger in the media echo chamber. "He does a very good job of keeping out the extreme things in his life," Conaway, the congressman, said. "He doesn't watch Leno and Letterman. He doesn't spend a lot of time exposing himself to that sort of stuff. He has a terrific knack of not looking through the rearview mirror."

Rep. Jack Kingston, R-Ga., who attended a legislative meeting with Bush last month, said his impervious nature works both ways. "The things that make him unpopular also help him deal with all the pressure," Kingston said. "He's stubborn. He's loyal to his philosophy."

The fabled loyalty of the Bush team, though, has frayed far more than might be apparent to him. The fight over whether Gonzales should remain attorney general has exposed a deep fault line. Bush remains convinced that his old friend did nothing wrong ethically in firing U.S. attorneys, and senior adviser Karl Rove angrily rejects what he sees as a Democratic witch hunt, according to White House officials. Yet beyond the inner circle, it is hard to find a current or former administration official who thinks Gonzales should stay.

"I don't understand for the life of me why Al Gonzales is still there," said one former top aide, who, like others, would speak only on the condition of anonymity

Some aides see it as Bush refusing to accept reality. "The president thinks cutting and running on his friends shows weakness," said an exasperated senior official. Another former aide said that no matter how many people Bush consults, he only heeds two or three.

Beyond Gonzales, the grievance against the Bush presidency is broader and deeper among Republican lawmakers, some of whom seethe with anger. "Our members just wish this thing would be over," said a senior House Republican who met with Bush recently. "People are tired of him."

Bush's circle remains sealed tight, the lawmaker said. "There's nobody there who can stand up to him and tell him, 'Mr. President, you've got to do this. You're wrong on this.' There's no adult supervision. It's like he's oblivious. Maybe that's a defense mechanism."

Aides said they do challenge Bush. White House Chief of Staff Joshua Bolten had what one colleague called "a lot of hard discussions" with the president after the November election to shock him into recognizing that his approach to Iraq had failed. Bolten set up meetings so Bush could hear from critics of his policy and sent him written material to emphasize the need for change, the colleague said. That led to the decision to send more troops.

A group of moderate House Republicans bluntly told Bush during a recent White House meeting that he had become a drag on the party. And when the president invited conservative radio host Laura Ingraham for a bike ride last month, she upbraided him for his position on immigration.

As Bush heads toward the twilight of his presidency, the White House feels increasingly empty. One after another, aides who have stuck with him are heading out the door. Andrew Card, his chief of staff for more than five years, stepped down last year. And now counselor Dan Bartlett, an aide for 14 years, is leaving.

Card and Bartlett were the aides who spent the most time at Bush's side. Bolten, Card's replacement, and Ed Gillespie, Bartlett's successor, each decided not to devote as much time to so-called body duty, leaving the president without their constant presence. Others who have left have publicly castigated the president. Bush was particularly hurt, friends said, when re-election strategist Matthew Dowd disavowed him.

Bush seeks solace in his oldest friends from Texas and Yale University, hosting an annual summer picnic and a Christmas party. He invites friends to the White House or the ranch in Crawford. But those experiences are strangely impersonal. "It can be kind of clinical," said a friend who spoke only on the condition of anonymity. "You're in there and in that event it's all very controlled — you come in for drinks at 7, you have dinner at 7:30 and by 9 you're back at your hotel."

Bush rarely leaves the White House for social outings, though lately he has tried to get out more, attending dinners last month at the homes of two old friends, attorney Jim Langdon and budget aide Clay Johnson. Bush avoids politics in such moments. He reaches out for signs of normalcy, asking about business or mutual friends. "He wants to know if we've caught any fish," said Robert McCleskey, a friend since grade school.

Bush also deals with stress through discipline, routine and exercise. On a typical day, he wakes at 5 a.m., arrives at the Oval Office at 6:30, then leaves at 4:30 p.m. for a 60-minute workout. He returns to work for a while before retiring to the residence, where he turns in at 9:30. On weekends, he favors two-hour biking sessions at a Secret Service facility in Beltsville, Md., with companions such as Card or Alexander Ellis, a young cousin.

"There isn't any doubt that he is totally and completely aware of all the existing circumstances around him," said a close friend. "There's not anything that he's not aware of — how he's perceived, how his people are perceived, the problems his people have. He is the furthest thing from oblivious. ... Somewhere in the back of his mind there's a pretty complete autopsy."

Yet Bush can seem disengaged. When he flew to New York to visit a Harlem school and promote his education program, he brought along New York congressmen on Air Force One, including Democrat Charles Rangel, chairman of the Ways and Means Committee. The White House was in the midst of tough negotiations with Rangel over trade pacts. But Bush did not try to cut a deal with Rangel, chatting instead about baseball. "He talked a lot about the Rangers," Rangel said. "I didn't know what the hell he was talking about."

On that trip King, the GOP congressman, introduced him backstage to a soldier injured in one eye. Bush teared up and asked the young man to take off dark glasses. "Human instinct is when someone has a serious injury to look the other way," King said. "He actually asked him to take them off. He actually touched the eye a little. It was almost as if he felt he had to confront it."

As they headed back to Washington a few hours later aboard Air Force One, King mused that Bush must be feeling the weight of his office.

"My wife ... doesn't know how you don't wake up every morning and say, 'I've had it. I'm out of here,' " King told him.

"She thinks that?" Bush replied. "Get her on the phone."

King dialed but got voice mail. Bush left a message: "I'm doing OK. Don't worry about me."