All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings - Softcover

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George H.W. Bush, forty-first president of the United States (1989-1993), is the author of Speaking of Freedom, a collection of his speeches and coauthor with Brent Scowcroft of the critically acclaimed 1998 book A World Transformed. Born in 1924, he died in 2018 at the age of ninety-four.

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All the Best, George Bush

UNITED STATES NAVY

CHAPTER 1

Love and War

When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, I was a seventeen-year-old high school senior at Phillips Academy, Andover. I could hardly wait to get out of school and enlist. Six months later, Secretary of War Henry Stimson delivered our commencement address and advised my class to go to college. He predicted it would be a long war, and there would be plenty of time for us to serve. My dad, Prescott Bush, with whom it was not easy to disagree, hoped I would listen to Secretary Stimson and go on to Yale. After the ceremony, Dad asked me if I had changed my mind. I told him no, I was “joining up.” Dad simply nodded his okay. On my eighteenth birthday, June 12, 1942, I enlisted in the Navy’s flight training program as a seaman second class.

My mother kept all the letters I wrote to her and Dad during World War II, so most of these come from her collection. You will find only one letter to a Barbara Pierce of Rye, New York. Barbara lost her “love” letters during one of our many moves after we got married.

This first group of letters was written from Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where I was enrolled in Naval Aviation Pre-Flight School. For some reason I did not date these letters, but I was stationed there from August to October of 1942.



Dear Mum and Dad,

. . . Today I felt better than I have since I’ve been here. It was hot but not unbearable. One fellow fainted at drill just to remind us that it was still hot. It is amazing how our moods change here. So many little things affect us. A cold Coke after drill can do more for one than you can imagine. I have never appreciated little things before. Ice cream, movies, a 15 minute rest, a letter, a compliment to our platoon. All these little things amount to so much in your mind and it is fun. Spirits go way up and way down, but when they’re up you feel so wonderful . . .

I have gotten to know most of the fellows in the platoon. They are a darn good-hearted bunch . . . There are so many different types here. We have a pretty friendly platoon—also good spirit . . .

On our 5 hr. hike tomorrow my heart’ll be with you in the “docks.”1 So drink a sip of water for me. It is our greatest luxury—a swallow of cold water. I think I’m really going to get a lot out of this place. Already we have learned a lot about people & discipline and tired muscles.

Much love,

Pop2



This is a letter to my sister, Nancy, who was two years my junior. I was one of five children: Prescott (whom we called Pres or Pressy), myself, Nancy, Jonathan, and William (nicknamed Bucky), who was only four years old when I joined the Navy.

Dear Nance,

. . . There is not much “news” here. We live by the day—a wholesome life, at times seemingly futile, but looking at it philosophically I wouldn’t change positions with any fellow in civilian life. The Navy itself is great, but what we are here for is even greater, and if at all times I can keep my objective in view I am hopeful of a successful conclusion to this one year course. After having been here just one month my desire to win my wings and become an officer is tremendous. I’m afraid if I fail for any reason my disappointment will be very deep. I am proud to be here, Nance, and as I said before wouldn’t change for the world.

. . . I have to write Bobsie3 now. I miss her more than she knows, Nance. I don’t know why but she seems so perfect a girl—beautiful, gentle, a wonderful sense of humor, so much fun etc. I think of her all the time and would love to see her.

Give her my love especially—

Much love to you and write if you get another minute—so long,

Pop



Dear Mum and Dad,

. . . The only thing wrong with this place is, they don’t realize the average intelligence. They hand out so much crude propaganda here. It is really sickening—Many of the men here realize it—also the intelligent officers. Stuff like “Kill the Japs—hate—murder” and a lot of stuff like “you are the cream of American youth.” Some fellows swallow it all. These are the fellows many whom are below average intelligence, 2 of my roommates, for example, get a big kick out of hearing it. Maybe it is good. All the well educated fellows know what they are fighting for—why they are here and don’t need to be “brainwashed” into anything . . .

Much love,

Pop



Dear Mum,

Well the war strikes home, as it were, doesn’t it—c.c. with the very sad news of George Mead.4 I didn’t know him very well, but from all sides all you could hear was praise. He died the way all of us would like to die when our time comes—Mum, it’s a very funny thing. I have no fear of death now. Maybe it’s because I am here safely on the ground that I say this. I do not think I will change. All heroics aside, I feel, and every fellow here I’m sure feels, that the only part of the whole thing of any worry would be the sorrow it might cause to our families. I cannot express myself as clearly as I see it in my own mind. Once in the air death may strike at any time, but I shall not fear it. Perhaps with this fleet it will be different—God grant it won’t! . . .

Much, much love,

Pop



Dear Mum,

Well today sure was wonderful.

. . . I met Barbara at the Inn at 12. She took a cab over from Raleigh. She looked too cute for words—really beautiful. We had a sandwich in town and then walked. I showed her the plant and then we walked over to Keenan Stadium. When we started it was clear, but once there it poured—just buckets. We got some protection from the canvas covered press box, but couldn’t leave there. . . . Not thrilling but such fun just seeing her. We laughed at everything. I had formation at six so we went back to the Inn. She took a bus for Raleigh where she is staying overnight with a girl from school. She was so swell to come way over here. I sure am glad you said “grand idea” to Mrs. Pierce.5 . . .

Much love to all,

Pop



This next group of letters was written from Wold-Chamberlain Naval Air Station, Minneapolis, where I was based from November 1942 to February 1943. It was here that I finally began to learn how to fly.

Dear Mum,

Well today was the big day—in fact one of the biggest thrills of my life, I imagine. We marched down to the #1 hanger and they read out the names for the first hop. I was in. I went down, got my gear, and then consulted the board. Plane P-18 1st hop—2nd hop Plane P-18 check...