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Nicholas Lemann talks about the real George W. Bush
Hendrik Hertzberg reviews the Vice-Presidential debate
Philip Gourevitch on following John Kerry into the homestretch
Anthony Lane on the films of Ronald Reagan
Folder: The 2004 Campaign
When something important doesn't turn out the way you expected, you go back to the beginning and try to see if there were clues you missed. In the summer of 1999, I drove up to Cooperstown, New York, for my first view of George W. Bush in action as a politician. I thought of it as a trip in the spirit of the opening scene of "All the King's Men," where Jack Burden goes to see Willie Stark in a small-town appearance so that he can find out what the fuss is about. Bush was going to Cooperstown for the induction of Nolan Ryan--Texan, former Texas Ranger, all-time strikeout leader--into the Baseball Hall of Fame. He was already in the thick of running for President, so he had other business to attend to as well; there was a fund-raiser for him in Cooperstown, and he had a long private discussion with Governor George Pataki that people thought might be Pataki's Vice-Presidential audition. But he was plainly going out of his way to make time for Ryan.
Besides the induction ceremony, there was an event in an auditorium for Bush, Ryan, and the press. Bush ambled onto the stage without a lot of ceremony. He was wearing a light-colored sports jacket and slacks, and he made a crack about how Ryan was lucky enough to be able to come out in shorts and sandals. With evident relief, Bush declared that he wasn't there to talk about politics--just sports. The main impression he made was of a man who liked baseball a great deal and admired Nolan Ryan extravagantly. Ryan exemplifies a certain type of Texas maleness, a type that Bush seems to hold almost in awe, perhaps because, contrary to perceptions in Blue America, Europe, and places of that sort, in the Texas context Bush isn't as brawnily masculine as it gets. (Bush is a guy who hunts doves and quail but not deer.) Ryan is tall, laconic, devoted to church and family, rural by upbringing and current residence and urban only by the temporary necessity of playing major-league ball. And tough as hell.