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Sunday, Jul 12, 2009
A Texas reporter explores Karen Hughes' cultlike devotion to George W. Bush.
May 13, 2004 | No one saw Karen Hughes' transcendent moment with George W. Bush. Possibly, she had already crossed over from being his communications consultant to being his confidant. None of us on the outside had any way of knowing until a brief, late-night phone call. While he was governor of Texas, Hughes was the interface between Bush and journalists. But she was already working her relationship with Bush, making every effort to evolve it into something beyond the daily grind with reporters.
Early in the presidential campaign, Bush and his entourage were in New York for a speech and bus tour. A reporter for a major daily newspaper, who arrived late because of airline delays, was without a schedule and logistical information for the subsequent day's events.
"I guess I got in about 11 p.m.," he said. "I called Karen in her room, sort of worried that I might be waking her up. I was very polite. I said, 'Karen, I was wondering if you could give me the schedule, etc. for reporters for tomorrow.'"
"I don't do press," Hughes said.
"And then she hung up on me," the reporter said. "All I could think was she must be big stuff now. She could have at least been polite. She didn't even bother to tell me who I was supposed to call."
Actually, Hughes had become unsettlingly close to her boss long before journalism or outsiders began to take note. In fact, her worst critics have accused the presidential counselor of living almost vicariously through Bush. His goals and political ideology have been so inculcated into Hughes' consciousness that she may no longer be able discern between her own thinking and the president's. This undoubtedly is an odd characterization to make of two of the world's most powerful adults. There is, however, no shortage of evidence to prompt the speculation.
The first time I noticed an indication of a radio frequency bouncing between the brains of Bush and Hughes was during Gov. Bush's initial State of the State speech in Texas. Still a simple press hack, Hughes did not take to the riser in the Texas House of Representatives, instead standing off to the side, behind the shiny brass railing rimming the chamber's floor.
"Look at Karen," I said, nudging a colleague.
"Oh, my God. You've got to be kidding me."
As Gov. Bush read the text of his speech from a teleprompter, his communications director was silently mouthing the words along with him. The synchronized delivery suggested a parent sitting in the audience of an elementary school pageant while mouthing forgotten lines as her child stood dumbstruck onstage.
"Do you suppose she has any idea how odd that looks?" my friend asked.
"If she does, I don't think she cares. She seems to just want her guy to do well."
