And the Good News Is... Read online

  And the Good News Is…

  This book explains the unlikely story of how I became the White House press secretary, the things I witnessed and learned in that job, and how those experiences eventually led me back to what I wanted to do originally—television commentary on politics, policy, and culture.

  I was the first and only Republican woman to be the press secretary, and I served during a time of terror threats, two wars, several hard-fought domestic policy debates, mass shootings, Supreme Court nominations, natural disasters, and a major financial crisis. I spoke for the country and the President and was very privileged to do so.

  During that time, my goal was to represent America and the President with honor, grace, and dignity. I was cautious in choosing my words and my tone—if I thought President Bush would frown at something I said or how I said it, then I didn’t say it. Being prepared, forthcoming, and gracious was important to me. What I said then is a matter of public record, but what I was thinking, feeling, and seeing is what this book is about. These are my personal reflections, the things I remember.

  I chose the title And the Good News Is… because I say it all the time. I’m an optimistic person, and I want people to realize that in America, nothing is ever as bad as it seems because we have the opportunity and capabilities to fix problems (though we don’t always have the will). Optimism has been my coping mechanism for any adversity. “Shoulders back, chin up, smile—you can handle this” is a voice in my head, and that’s helped me deal with all sorts of challenges.

  My instinct to find the positive in any situation might be found in my DNA. I grew up with a ranching family in Wyoming, a tough, unpredictable life where you rely on a certain faith that everything is going to be all right. Those instincts attracted me to other optimistic people. As a kid, I remember hearing Ronald Reagan and how his words made me feel safe. When he talked about living on the sunshine side of the mountain, I liked that image—it fit me. I was drawn to his approach to leadership and life.

  Years later, my own positive outlook served me well when I started briefing the President. He knew that on some days we’d be dealt a tough hand, and he was less interested in hearing how bad it was than how we were going to play it. Over the years that I worked for him he became much more to me than my boss or even the President of the United States. He became like a second father, a friend, and a confidant.

  In this book, I write about the strange twists that led me to the Oval Office. Many people assume I grew up active in Republican politics and that I must have known the Bushes or the Cheneys in order to end up in that job. But I never met any of them until after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I was born in Wyoming, raised in Colorado, and planned to go into television journalism. Instead, in a theme repeated throughout my life, my tendency to plan out my life was disrupted by chance opportunities and my openness to them. How I got my first press secretary job on Capitol Hill, returned to Washington, and ended up as the co-host of The Five on Fox News were all because I was at the right place at the right time, prepared, and willing to take a risk. That’s the same approach I took when I made the most consequential decision of my life—to talk to a guy I was sitting next to on an airplane (he became my husband).

  A section of And the Good News Is… reveals stories from the Bush Administration that you’ve not heard before. These are things that I experienced, my eyewitness accounts and my feelings about them—such as how the President stood up for America when there were no cameras to capture it, shared tender moments with wounded warriors, and made decisions based on principle instead of popularity. I recount stories about things that humbled me and others that still make me laugh. I recall the President teaching me how to pass on taking credit for an accomplishment so that someone else could achieve a goal, conspiring with me to make a point when a young woman reporter was treated unfairly, and helping me get over feelings of bitterness by forgiving a betrayal by a former colleague. As I wrote this, I loved reliving those moments.

  I also include my reflections on the importance of civility that I learned from my childhood and then from the Bushes, and how it’s being lost in politics and pop culture. I worry about how aggressive and vicious our discourse has become. I don’t think all is lost, however. I believe that there are ways that we can get our public debates back on track, because civility and manners are a matter of choice. We don’t have to own each other’s comments, but we are responsible for whatever we say. In America, we are blessed with the freedom to speak our minds—and we should do so thoughtfully. We also have to recognize that people who disagree with us are not enemies. We’re all in this together—and we should act like it.

  In addition to those sections, this book is an opportunity to share the best work and life advice that I’ve used in my own career. Because of the high-profile jobs I’ve held, I’m often asked what I’d suggest young people do in order to be successful (many would like to be the White House press secretary one day). In particular, I’ve found that young people and their parents are hungry for this type of advice, and across the country the questions are similar: Should I go to graduate or law school? How do I make the transition from being someone’s assistant to a management role? What can I do if my boss is a jerk or asks me to do something that I think is unethical? How do you find the perfect work-life balance?

  The problem I’ve had in responding to these questions is that there’s never enough time or resources to reach every person one-on-one, and yet I feel guilty if I don’t respond. I believe that anyone who has achieved some success is obligated to help others do the same. I had people guide me along the way, and I’ve got a lot of pent-up advice to give, so this book helps me address that supply and demand problem. I’ve added as many of the best tips as I can in three sections that can be applied immediately at work, throughout a career, and during a lifetime. If I were a parent, educator, or employer, I’d want my kids and employees to read this section—advice that will stick with them and help them to be more successful, productive, and content.

  I believe that a positive outlook and treating others with respect, dignity, and graciousness lead to professional and personal success. It’s a no-lose formula. I also learned that my best-laid Type A personality plans have been disrupted for better things—plans I didn’t make, but ones I chose to embrace, no matter how difficult or crazy they seemed to be.

  I hope that readers of And the Good News Is… will conclude that it doesn’t matter where you come from—whether you went to an Ivy League school or grew up in a city or on a farm, you can end up advising a President in the Oval Office. No one should think they can’t make it to the top because they didn’t go to Harvard. I hope people will be inspired by stories of my upbringing, my years in the White House, and my transition to television. It wasn’t all sunshine—there have been adverse and humbling experiences that have kept me grounded. But I’ve had the opportunity to travel the world and to realize just how blessed I am to have been born in America with a family that loves me. As a bonus, I am the proud mother of Jasper, America’s Dog—he gets his due in Chapter 4.

  And so, let the good news begin.…

  CHAPTER 1

  Wide-Open Spaces

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” the Secret Service agent whispered in my ear. “The President needs you at Marine One in ten minutes.” No one else in the crowd of fifteen thousand heard him. We were in Norfolk, Virginia, for the commissioning of the USS George H. W. Bush, the latest American aircraft carrier in our military’s fleet. I wasn’t expecting the summons because I thought we had time to watch the speeches. I was trying to soak up the moment—the January air was cold and dry, but the sun was shining so we could all be outside to celebrate the life accomplishments of President George H. W. Bush, the father of the President I worked for, George W. Bush. I was nostalgic because it was one of the last events we’d attend before he left office. The agent’s words snapped me out of it.

  I didn’t want to raise suspicions by a quick reaction, especially no
t with the media, so I didn’t race for the exit. I nodded to the agent and smiled, trying to look unconcerned. It’s a good thing I had big sunglasses on because I was worried. Our intelligence had picked up terrorist chatter that the enemy wanted to disrupt events before the Inauguration of President Barack Obama, and what better place to attack than where the major leaders, public servants, and friends and family of the Bushes were gathered? We had an obligation to be paranoid.

  Still I played it cool. I waited about thirty seconds before I slipped back into the ship and followed the agent through the steel hallways and out a door that I hadn’t seen. I tried to walk at a normal pace. I have short legs, but I’ve always walked fast—I had to keep up with my mom or I’d be left behind.

  Marine One was ready to go. Secretary of State Condi Rice arrived when I did; we climbed aboard and buckled in. A few minutes later, President Bush jogged up the few steps of the chopper. “Let’s go see the SEALs,” he said before taking his seat and buckling on his seat belt.

  Then I got it—this wasn’t an emergency. The President just wanted to see his guys one last time as their Commander in Chief. They’d been through a lot together—he’d asked so much of the SEALs, and they’d exceeded his expectations. Few people knew he was coming to visit, and it was closed to the press. This would be their last moment alone together.

  Navy SEALs are so cool, and a hangar full of them is awesome. Our staff snuck into the building from a side door and made our way to the back of the crowd as the President got ready to take the stage. The SEALs were listening to a speech by Vice President Dick Cheney when all of a sudden he introduced President Bush. The President hopped up onto the stage, shook hands with the Vice President, and took in the scene. The SEALs hooted and hollered with patriotism and appreciation.

  The President addressed the crowd—the East Coast SEALs including DEVGRU (aka SEAL Team Six). He thanked them for all of the missions they’d completed after the attacks on 9/11. He spoke without notes and from the heart. He finished with “God bless you, and may God continue to bless America,” and they cheered for a long time, ignoring his pleas to stop. That was an order they didn’t have to obey. The President had tears in his eyes, and so did I.

  After his speech, President Bush shook hands with every one of them and posed for pictures they could send to their families and friends. All of the young men had really long beards, so it wasn’t hard to figure out where in the world they were about to be deployed (and it wasn’t Indiana). The jackets and ties they were wearing for the President’s visit would soon be switched out for their combat uniforms.

  It’s very humbling to be around Navy SEALs. Their courage and bravery surpasses anything I’d ever thought of doing. They’re remarkably unselfish, honorable, strong, and courageous. They made me feel safe. I loved watching their interaction with President Bush. There’s nothing like the bond that can develop between a Commander in Chief and his troops. That day, as the President was about to turn over his command to President-elect Obama, the SEALs were giving President Bush as much gratitude and encouragement as he was trying to give to them.

  I faded into the background, but two SEALs came over to me and said, “Pardon us, ma’am, but are you the press secretary?” I was honored they even recognized me. I stuck out my hand to introduce myself and thanked them for serving, and they asked if they could get their picture taken with me.

  As one of their guys got his camera phone ready, I tried making some small talk.

  I asked the first guy, “So what was it that made you want to become a Navy SEAL—chance for adventure? Family tradition? Physical challenge? Desire to see the world?”

  “Oh no, ma’am. Chicks dig it,” he said.

  “Even with the beard?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah… they get it,” he said. He was confident of that, and I believed him.

  I then asked the second SEAL, “When you get ready to go… wherever it is you may be going… do you have to take a lot of language courses?”

  “Oh no, ma’am, we’re really not there to talk,” he said. Indeed.

  We laughed and smiled for the cameras. They thanked me for my service, a compliment I accepted but it didn’t compare to theirs.

  We got back on Marine One, and I told President Bush what the SEALs told me about chicks and language classes. He threw his head back and laughed. Then he looked out the window, bit the side of his cheek, and jutted out his jaw a little to the side—an expression I saw him make when he was letting a feeling or a thought settle in.

  “God, I love those guys,” he said.

  To President Bush, those guys were the true celebrities. He felt a responsibility for and a kinship to them. They understood the global war on terror and were in sync with him as their leader. He asked for their sacrifices, and they were eager to fulfill their pledge and commitment to their country. They would miss each other.

  That was my last flight on Marine One. I was thirty-six, and it was as unlikely a place as I ever thought I’d be. I’d grown up modestly in rural America with clear blue skies and lots of sunshine. I was raised to believe that America was a force for good in the world and that it should take its leadership role seriously. I understood early on that the freedom of America is what made our way of life possible, and that we should help other people live in freedom, too.

  My upbringing in the West can sound very unusual, as if from another place and time, and my path to the White House wasn’t exactly a straight line. My family didn’t donate a lot of money to campaigns, nor did they have any connections that helped me get my first job in media or politics.

  I didn’t have a plan to be the White House press secretary, but looking back, I can see how my life experiences built up to that career achievement. So when I try to explain how someone like me ended up working in a place like that, I have to start at the beginning—on a ranch.

  Wyoming and Origins

  I was born in Evanston, Wyoming. Most people have never been to my home state or even heard of my hometown. And most people in Wyoming prefer to keep the state’s beauty their little secret.

  My parents, Leo Ernest Perino and Janice Marie Brooks, were born in Wyoming, too. When I was nearly two years old, they moved to Denver, Colorado, but they took us to Wyoming so often that when I’m asked where I’m from, I say Colorado and Wyoming, as if it were one state. Colorado-Wyoming is a place that makes me feel grounded, steady, and content. Far from shedding my Western roots since I moved away at twenty-two, I’ve clung to them.

  The West is where I learned about independence, self-reliance, patriotism, and the blessings of freedom. It’s where I first galloped on a horse on a cattle drive and watched my family brand their cows, make hay bales, and farm fields of oats. We knew we had a special life experience that most people in America could never imagine. We felt sorry for city dwellers, the poor fellas.

  In the Black Hills, the canyons are filled with big black pines that grow tall and sturdy despite wicked winds, nasty blizzards, and raging forest fires. They dig way down deep into the red dirt and hold on no matter what—one season is too dry, the next too wet. That’s how Wyoming life is, too—you learn to adapt in order to thrive. And people that live that kind of life wouldn’t have it any other way.

  The Black Hills are ancient but they shaped my family’s future early in the twentieth century. Leaving their homes in Italy, my great-grandparents walked into one side of the American Dream and just over a hundred years later, I walked out of the other side as the White House press secretary. They never would have imagined that.

  My surname, Perino, is Italian. My great-grandparents on my father’s side were born in the Piemonte Province, near Torino. They were poor farm workers with little hope of a better lifestyle. They were part of a wave of Italian immigrants who left Italy in the late 1800s, escaping poverty for an opportunity to take a chance, start over, and have something to show for their hard work.

  They didn’t speak English well—in fact, my great-grandmother, Rosi
, spoke very little and had almost no formal education. She relied on the kindness of people to get her from Ellis Island to Coal City, Illinois, in late 1901, where her sister ran a boardinghouse. When she arrived in the States, she told authorities that she was a maid from Mezze, Italy, and reported that she had $15 to her name. She eventually moved to Cambria, Wyoming, and met my great-grandfather, Jacinto “Matteo” Perino, where he worked as a coal miner. They’d actually lived only three miles from each other in Italy, but never met.

  They married in 1904 and pledged to work a homestead in Newcastle, Wyoming, under the government’s Enlarged Homestead Act, where you could get 320 acres for free if you built a structure that had four walls and at least one glass window and agreed to farm the land for five years. On weekends, my great-grandfather dug a mile-long channel from a spring to the homestead and fixed the place up enough to move his bride to their new home.

  Distant relatives and new friends and family moved into neighboring areas in the Black Hills. They farmed and raised a few cattle, but most of them also worked in the coal mines called Cambria Camp. At the same time, my great-uncle Pete reportedly had a full-scale moonshine operation in a box canyon (a ravine with three steep walls) on his place and would smuggle it in wagons to Deadwood, South Dakota, to sell. My great-grandfather would buy a load of grapes every year and make his own wine, too. I don’t know if he sold any, but I’m sure it was a nice vintage by Wyoming standards.

  While my great-grandfather worked the mines, my great-grandmother ran the ranch. She was strong of heart, mind, and body. She gave birth to seven children and six survived—a daughter died of pneumonia at six months. It’s said that people in the area relied on my great-grandmother and that she helped with many births in Newcastle. My great-grandfather died of black lung in the 1960s, and she must have felt sad and lonely after their major life adventure moving to the frontier together and building such a good life for their family.