Blinded by the Light

By MARGARET CARLSON

We learned early on that George W. Bush could be a sore loser--when he tried to palm off conceding to John McCain in New Hampshire to an aide, and later in Michigan when he refused to call the victorious McCain at all. But we didn't know he could be a sore winner until last week when, in a New York Times interview, he batted away every opportunity to be gracious to McCain, snatching sour grapes from the jaws of victory. Reminded of how McCain had boosted turnout in the primaries, Bush snapped, "Well, then, how come he didn't win?" Asked whether he had any second thoughts about his tactics, Bush replied, "Like what? Give me an example. What should I regret?"

Did the younger Bush learn nothing on the playing fields of Andover and Yale? "What a great putt on nine" is what winners have said to losers for generations at the Cape Arundel Golf Club in Kennebunkport. Last June on Bush's maiden campaign swing, he stopped at the family compound on the Maine seacoast to celebrate Poppy's 75th birthday, a subtle reminder that he was better bred than the unworthy occupant of the White House. If some thought the young Bush had had it too easy, remained too much the carefree frat boy, they could still count on the fact that he was his father's son.

What Bush may have taken from his father is that too much gentlemanliness can lose you an election. But his tough-guy stance in last week's interview went too far, suggesting that he might not be mature enough to be President and, worse yet, not mature enough to hide it. If a transcript can swagger, this one did. Graceless under no pressure, Bush made a big point of his refusal to follow polls. Fine, but why the hostility? "May I make something really clear to you once again, and I hope this pleases you. I don't care what the polls say," he told the Times. Set aside the fact that Bush has spent a fair chunk of his $70 million on public-opinion surveys. Aren't polls simply an expression of the will of the people? Last week the Republicans in Congress, having read a few polls that showed Americans want their leaders to be fiscally prudent, reversed field and put forth a tax cut smaller than Bush's. But Bush dug in further on his $483 billion tax cut, insisting he was standing on principle but sounding like a guy who's got his back up. He made some pleasant noises about New York Governor George Pataki's gun-control plan, which follows the polls, but Bush is tightly tied to the pro-gun lobby in Texas.

On the death penalty, he laughs about it; he's so sure of himself, even though five of his fellow Governors are so disturbed by new evidence that convictions were brought about by faulty forensics, coerced confessions and false accusations that they've placed a moratorium on executions. Yet Bush insists he hasn't made and couldn't make a mistake.

Bush's high pique over polls comes across as pique over people's not agreeing with him. He proudly says he's "stubborn," as if it's an unalloyed virtue. He wants it known he's not managed, telling the Times, "I can't tell you all the times when I say I'm not going to give this speech...They're changed. Trust me." Wouldn't he have been better off letting words be put in his mouth on David Letterman's Late Show than blundering into an unsavory riff about his host's open-heart surgery? His quick explanation that 60 overnight guests in the Austin, Texas, mansion--who had coincidentally contributed $2 million to him--were all "friends and family" eerily echoed Clinton's first line of defense when the high turnover in the Lincoln Bedroom was disclosed. And when Bush wanted to prove he was now up to speed on world leaders, after having failed a surprise pop quiz last summer, he goaded a reporter to ask him who the President of India is. He shouted the name of the Prime Minister instead. He wasn't trying to be funny.

It may have been something of a pose, but Bush's macho demeanor in the interview revealed a disturbing lack of restraint, a combination platter of unwelcome traits--stubbornness, as he admits, with side dishes of arrogance and an irritability that couldn't be contained even though things are going well for him. He shows a disturbing blindness to the feelings of those around him, whether it's Letterman or those on death row pleading for clemency whom he mocks (Karla Faye Tucker) or the McCain voter.

Facing mounting criticism, Bush tried to backpedal but couldn't bring himself to take back the gloating remarks. He may just be too annoyed at the reality that he needs McCain, who hasn't rushed to his side, more than McCain needs him. Bush likes to think of himself as Reaganesque, but at the moment it is McCain who looks like the Gipper. Like Reagan, he has formed a PAC so he can keep his own campaign going even while Bush wages his. And like Reagan in 1976, who barely mentioned Gerald Ford, who'd beaten him in the primaries (Jimmy Carter became President), McCain now has reason to slight the guy who wants to rub in who lost on the front page of the New York Times. In the past Bush's supporters made much of McCain's temper. Yet they must be concerned that Bush seems more irritated in victory than McCain does in defeat.