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Chapter 21 When All Is Said and Done, There’s Nothing Left but Family January 20, 1993 dawned bright and brisk, and the political pall that had been cast over our lives seemed to lift as the 747 formerly known as “Air Force One” took off from Andrews Air Force Base for one last trip—this one bringing George and Barbara Bush, and the rest of their extended political family, back to Houston and home. With the Democrats controlling the White House and both chambers of Congress, it felt good to get out of Dodge. The Clinton Inauguration festivities had been tough to watch, as they proved a constant reminder of a campaign that we could—and should—have won. The bitterness of that experience still lingered; yet the majesty and solemnity of the inauguration ceremony that day served as a cathartic reminder that our beloved republic was resilient and would indeed survive. The flight that afternoon to Houston was remarkably cheerful under the circumstances, with small amounts of friendly banter and discussions of the future. What melancholy we felt remained largely below the surface, though a few let their tears bubble up. When they did, the president was quick to wrap an arm around and comfort them. In fact, for some time after the 1992 election, George tried to comfort me— and I know he did the same with many others. Usually, we would be talking about something else when his expression turned forlorn and he would suddenly , softly lament, “I let you down.” You could hear the genuine pain in his voice. Ours is not the most introspective generation, and I think these unsolicited mea culpas were George’s way of coming to terms with what he perceived as a public rejection. He hated leaving his mission unfinished; he didn’t like seeing the beltway pundits proved right; but most of all, I think, he abhorred the thought of letting anyone who worked or voted for him down. The fact that he was trying to assume responsibility was vintage Bush, but the truth is he didn’t let us down. It was his team that failed him, and the country , in 1992. After the Bushes received a very warm welcome home at Ellington Air Force Base, we said our goodbyes and took our separate paths back into private life. Driving home, I knew I was turning the page from one fulfilling chapter to the 278 夝 When All Is Said and Done next; and once again I was confronted with my good fortune. Unlike most who leave a presidential administration, I knew I was going to get my old job back heading Mosbacher Energy—though the vote among my colleagues and family might have been close had it come to that. After four years in Washington, I was ready to dive headfirst back into my company. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as the saying goes, and I truly missed the business—the deals, studying the different plays. I missed making tough decisions such as whether to spend millions of dollars you might lose if you got a “duster,” or as my friend Chesley Pruet used to say, “the suitcase sand.” (That meant if your test sand came back with saltwater, it was time to plug your well, pack your suitcase, and move on to the next prospect.) Hope springs eternal for the Texas oilman. There is a certain truth to the myth that if you cut a Texan with a knife, he bleeds half crude oil. Once you get the business in your bloodstream, you can never get it fully out. I was doubly fortunate because, while I was in Washington those four years, my son Rob had kept Mosbacher Energy going in an oil market that was still fairly soft since the price had taken a nosedive to $10 a barrel in the mid-1980s. Despite a brief spike in the price of oil following the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990, the price of a barrel of crude oil hovered around $20 between 1989 and 1993—well off the highs of roughly $38 a barrel we had seen in the late 1970s and early 1980s. I was itching to get back into the company—to try and help kick things into higher gear—and helping me, advising me, mentoring me almost from the beginning was my old friend Max Fisher. Max began calling me on a daily basis, offering wise advice. If Pop couldn’t be...

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