The Dynasticks

By CALVIN TRILLIN

When I read that the Bush family doesn't like to be called a dynasty, I figured that the word must remind them of Dynasty, the '80s soap that was known for the sort of clothing the Bushes would consider unseemly and the sort of intensely personal discussions the Bushes, who pride themselves on being nonintrospective, would find embarrassing. From the impression we've been given about Bush family get-togethers at Kennebunkport, Me., the introduction of a Dynasty sort of problem at the dinner table--let's say the sabotage of a family oil rig, in which the suspect is a nephew who might be gay, unless he's the one who raped his sister-in-law, the blackmailer--would result in the patriarch's confirming that family friends had already been called for an infusion of capital and then getting back to the conversation about Dallas' chances to make it to the next Super Bowl.

It turns out that what the Bushes dislike about being called a dynasty is the implication of power being passed along rather than individuals earning it on their own. Few people can be as blithe about such matters as a jovial friend of mine who presided over a large family business and claimed that when he introduced his son to those who would supervise him in the traditional break-in job, he said, "I want you to treat him the same way you'd treat any employee who will some day own this company."

Still, the Bushes fit the accepted definition of a dynasty. They do pass down power. (In fact, reformers must be pondering what there is about our political system that caused both major parties in 2000 to nominate candidates who patently wouldn't have been there if their fathers had been in another line of work.) Also, the Bushes hold political beliefs as a family: what they believe may have changed since the Wall Street Republicanism of Senator Prescott Bush, but everybody seems to have changed in step. And, like all other dynasties, they could have been choked off a number of times--most notably in 1980, when George the Elder had been whomped by Ronald Reagan and was faced with returning to Texas, having just about run out of offices to which he could be appointed.

I sometimes try to imagine lunch at Kennebunkport on the day in 1980 when George H.W. Bush declared himself an opponent of abortion in order to become Ronald Reagan's running mate.

"Guys," the head of the family says to his grown sons, "I've decided that, despite all the money the family has poured into Planned Parenthood all these years, abortion is not a matter of a woman's right to control her own body, after all. It's baby killing, pure and simple."

"Fine, Pop," Jeb says. "Sounds good. Baby killing it is."

"O.K., Pop," George W. says. "Whatever. Can I use the boat this afternoon?"

At this moment, it is clear that the Bush family has seized the opportunity to survive as a dynasty. George H.W. Bush turns to look seriously at his wife.

"Bar," he says, "I believe this is the best apple cobbler I've ever put in my mouth."