I prepared to announce Condi’s nomination as secretary of state shortly after the 2004 election. To fill the national security adviser post, I decided to promote her outstanding deputy, Steve Hadley, a humble and thoughtful lawyer whose advice was always crisp, discreet, and uncolored by any personal agenda. Then, out of nowhere, Andy informed me that Colin had expressed second thoughts about leaving. I considered Colin a friend and appreciated his achievements, especially his work to rally a strong coalition in the war on terror and lay the groundwork for future peace between the Israelis and Palestinians. But I had already decided on Condi.
I’ve always wondered if one of the reasons Colin hesitated to leave is that he expected Don Rumsfeld to go, too. He was right to assume that. I had planned to make a change at Defense as part of a new national security team. Late in 2004, I asked Andy to approach Fred Smith again to see if he would consider the job. I had seen Fred, and he looked perfectly fine. The problem this time was not Fred’s health; it was his oldest daughter’s. Wendy had been born with a fatal genetic heart condition, and he needed to spend time with her. Sadly, she died in 2005.
I considered other possible replacements at Defense. I thought about sending Condi to the Pentagon, but I decided she would be a better secretary of state. I considered Senator Joe Lieberman of Connecticut, but I didn’t think he was the right fit, either. At one point, I reached out to Jim Baker. Had he accepted, Jim could have claimed a historic triple crown as the first person ever to serve as secretary of state, treasury, and defense. But he was enjoying his retirement and had no interest in returning to Washington.
The reality is that there aren’t many people capable of leading the military during a complex global war. Don Rumsfeld was one of the few. He had valuable experience and shared my view of the war on terror as a long-term ideological struggle. At times, Don frustrated me with his abruptness toward military leaders and members of my staff. I felt he’d made a mistake by skipping the retirement ceremony of General Eric Shinseki, the four-star Army chief of staff who stepped down in 2003 after an honorable career. Don’s decision helped feed the false impression that the general had been fired for policy disagreements over Iraq.**
Still, I liked Don. He respected the chain of command. He and his wife, Joyce, devoted themselves to our troops and frequently visited military hospitals without seeking press attention. Don was doing a superb job transforming the military, the mission that initially attracted me to him. He had increased our arsenal of unmanned aerial vehicles, made our forces more expeditionary, expanded the military’s broadband capacity so we could make better use of real-time data links and imagery, begun bringing home troops from former Cold War outposts such as Germany, and invested heavily in the Special Forces, especially in the integration of intelligence and special operations.
Despite his tough external veneer, Don Rumsfeld was a decent and caring man. One day he and I were in the Oval Office. He had just finished briefing me on a military operation, and I had a few minutes before my next meeting. I asked casually how his family was doing. He did not answer at first. Eventually he got out a few words, but then he broke down in tears. He explained to me that his son, Nick, was battling a serious drug addiction. Don’s pain was deep, his love genuine. Months later, I asked how Nick was doing. Don beamed as he explained that his son had gone through rehab and was well. It was touching to see Don’s pride in his son’s character and strength.
I felt for Don again in the spring of 2006, when a group of retired generals launched a barrage of public criticism against him. While I was still considering a personnel change, there was no way I was going to let a group of retired officers bully me into pushing out the civilian secretary of defense. It would have looked like a military coup and would have set a disastrous precedent.
As 2006 wore on, the situation in Iraq worsened dramatically. Sectarian violence was tearing the country apart. In the early fall, Don told me he thought we might need “fresh eyes” on the problem. I agreed that change was needed, especially since I was seriously contemplating a new strategy, the surge. But I was still struggling to find a capable replacement.
One evening in the fall of 2006, I was chatting with my high school and college friend Jack Morrison, whom I had appointed to the President’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board (PFIAB). I was worried about the deteriorating conditions in Iraq and mentioned Don Rumsfeld’s comment about needing fresh eyes.
“I have an idea,” Jack said. “What about Bob Gates?” He told me he had met with Gates recently as part of his PFIAB work.
Why hadn’t I thought of Bob? He had been CIA director in Dad’s administration and deputy national security adviser to President Reagan. He had successfully run a large organization, Texas A&M University. He served on the Baker-Hamilton Commission, which was studying the problems in Iraq. He would be ideal for the job.
I immediately called Steve Hadley and asked him to feel out Bob. We had tried to recruit him as director of national intelligence the previous year, but he had declined because he loved his job as president of A&M. Steve reported back the next day. Bob was interested.
I was pretty sure I had found the right person for the job. But I was concerned about the timing. We were weeks away from the 2006 midterm elections. If I were to change defense secretaries at that point, it would look like I was making military decisions with politics in mind. I decided to make the move after the election.
The weekend before the midterms, Bob drove from College Station, Texas, to the ranch in Crawford. We met in my office, a secluded one-story building about a half-mile from the main house. I felt comfortable around Bob. He is a straightforward, unassuming man with a quiet strength. I promised him access to me anytime he needed it. Then I told him there was something else he needed to know before taking the job: I was seriously considering a troop increase in Iraq. He was open to it. I told him I knew he had a great life at A&M, but his country needed him. He accepted the job on the spot.
At Camp David with Bob Gates (left), and Peter Pace, Joint Chiefs Chairman. White House/Eric Draper
I knew Dick would not be happy with my decision. He was a close friend of Don’s. As always, Dick told me what he thought. “I disagree with your decision. I think Don is doing a fine job. But it’s your call. You’re the president.” I asked Dick to deliver the news to his friend, which I hoped would soften the blow.
Don handled the change like the professional he is. He sent me a touching letter. “I leave with great respect for you and for the leadership you have provided during a most challenging time for our country,” he wrote. “… It has been the highest honor of my long life to have been able to serve our country at such a critical time in our history.”
Replacing the secretary of defense was one of two difficult personnel changes I made in 2006. The other was changing chiefs of staff. With the environment in Washington turning sour, Andy Card reminded me often that there were only a handful of positions in which a personnel move would be viewed as significant. His job was one of them. In early 2006, Andy often brought up the possibility of his departure. “You can do it easily and it could change the debate,” he said. “You owe it to yourself to consider it.”
Around the same time, Clay Johnson asked to see me. Clay had served with me every day since I took office as governor in 1995. When we sat down for lunch that day, he asked me how I thought the White House was functioning. I told him I was a little unsettled. I had been hearing complaints from staff members. From the perch of the presidency, though, it was hard to tell whether the gripes were petty grievances or evidence of a serious problem.