In the wake of the anniversary of September 11th, a pause to remember our brave leader in those dark days, ever steadfast and resolute in times of great crisis:
We were faced with a dilemma: Should Bush still go out and address the nation, or should he cancel? And if he did go out, what should he say? Ed, typically, told us to write two drafts for the address to the nation---one outlining the proposal as originally announced and another that only discussed the "principles" the legislation needed to incorporate to win the administration's support. Chris and I looked at each other warily. Two versions of a major prime-time address that may or may not be given hours from now? Sure, no problem. Ultimately, Ed decided to go with the second speech. But he clearly didn't share his plan with the president. When the president came into the Family Theater to rehearse the speech in front of a teleprompter, he didn't like the idea of just talking about principles. It sounded like the administration was backing away from its own plan (which it was)."We can’t even defend our own proposal?” the president asked. “Why did we propose it, then?” This was not bold decision making. There were about a dozen people gathered in the theater to watch him rehearse, and all of us remained silent as the president looked at us for an answer . . .
"Too late to cancel the speech?" the president asked into the air. He was joking, I think. Finally, Ed (who hadn't exactly rushed to jump into the line of fire) explained that we had to make this change to the address because the proposal the president liked might not end up being the one he had to agree to. "Then why the hell did I support it if I didn’t believe it would pass?" he snapped. There was yet another uncomfortable silence.
Finally, the president directed us to try to put elements of his proposal back into the text. He wanted to explain what he was seeking and to defend it. He especially wanted Americans to know that his plan would likely see a return on the taxpayers' investment. Under his proposal, he said, the federal government would buy troubled mortgages on the cheap and then resell them at a higher price when the market for them stabilized.
"We're buying low and selling high," he kept saying.
The problem was that his proposal didn't work like that. One of the president's staff members anxiously pulled a few of us aside. "The president is misunderstanding this proposal," he warned. "He has the wrong idea in his head." As it turned out, the plan wasn't to buy low and sell high. In some cases, in fact, Secretary Paulson wanted to pay more than the securities were likely worth in order to put more money into the markets as soon as possible. This was not how the president's proposal had been advertised to the public or the Congress. It wasn't that the president didn't understand what his administration wanted to do. It was that the treasury secretary didn't seem to know, changed his mind, had misled the president, or some combination of the three . . .
After finally getting the speech draft turned around and sent back to the teleprompter technicians, we trudged back to the Family Theater, where the president rehearsed. In the theater, the president was clearly confused about how the government would buy these securities. He repeated his belief that the government was going to "buy low and sell high," and he still didn't understand why we hadn't put that into the speech like he'd asked us to. When it was explained to him that his concept of the bailout proposal wasn't correct, the president was momentarily speechless. He threw up his hands in frustration.
"Why did I sign on to this proposal if I don't understand what it does?" he asked.
As if Iraq, Katrina and 9/11 didn't convince you already. I can't think of a more fitting epitaph to engrave on this idiot's memorial when the time comes to lay him to rest. This is one kiss-and-tell book I definitely look forward to devouring.
---Vitelius
Comments