deferred voting until they could see that a clear majority of the Republicans were voting
against their own president's plan. Then the Democrats also cast negative votes. The
deficit package was soundly defeated, 254-179. Bush was humiliated: only 71
Republican stuck with their president, joined by 108 Democrats. 105 GOPers had
revolted, and joined with 149 Democrats to sink the accord Bush had pleaded for on
television. Even Rep. Newt Gingirch of Georgia, who as House GOP Minority Whip
should have superintended efforts to dragoon votes for Bush, had jumped ship on October
1, encouraging other GOP defections.
The Congress then quickly passed and sent to Bush a further continuing resolution to
keep the government going; it was now the Friday before the Columbus Day weekend.
Bush had threatened to veto any such legislation, and he now made good on his threat,
intoning that "the hour of reckoning is at hand." The federal government thereupon began
to shut down, except for Desert Shield and some other operations the bureaucracy
considered essential. Tourists in Washington noticed that the toilets maintained by the
National Park Service were shutting down. Bush, wanting to set a good example, decided
that Sunday that he would drive back from Camp David by car: he got a rude taste of how
the other half lives, ending up stalled in a typical traffic jam on the interstate.
The following week was a time of great political hemorraging for George Bush. His
problems grew out of a clumsy series of trial baloons he floated about what kind of tax
package he would accept. By one count, he changed his mind five times in three days.
First came the government itself. Any president, and especially an apparatchik like Bush,
has a healthy respect for what the Washington bureaucracy might do to him if it, like the
mercenaries Machiavelli warned about, were not paid. Bush accordingly relented and
signed a short-term continuing resolution to keep the paychecks flowing and the
bureaucracy open. Now Congressmen of both parties began to offer amendments on the
$22 billion tax bill that was at the heart of the new austerity package. First Bush indicated
that he would accept an increase in income tax rates for the most wealthy in exchange for
a cut in the capital gains tax. Then he indicated that he would not. In a press conference,
he said such a deal would be "fine." Then a group of Republican Congressmen visited
him to urge him to drop the idea of any such deal; they came out declaring that Bush was
now in agreement with them. But then Bush drifted back towards the tradeoff. Richard
Darman, one of Bush's budget enforcers, was asked what Bush thought about the tax
rates trade off. "I have no idea what White House statement was issued," said the top
number cruncher, "but I stand behind it 100%." By the weekend of October 13-14, there
were at least three draft tax bills in circulation. Even hard-core Bushmen were unable to
tell the legislators what the president wanted, and what he would veto. The most
degraded and revealing moment came when Bush was out jogging, and reporters asked
him about his position on taxes. "Read my hips!," shouted Bush, pointing towards his
posterior with both hands. It was not clear who had scripted that one, but the message
was clear: the American people were invited to kiss Bush's ass.
It was one of the most astounding gestures by a president in modern times, and posed the
inevitable question: had Bush gone totally psychotic?