George is Drunk

by Bruce Schimmel

I encountered George W. Bush on the campaign trail four and a half years ago and what he said to me, one-on-one, has haunted me ever since. But finally, after all this time, I think I've figured it out.

I believe that Bush was, in effect, drunk and I believe he still is.

Bush is a former drinker who says he saved himself through religion. But it is now clear that Bush's thinking has all the classic deficits of an uncured alcoholic. Dry drunks substitute their obsession for the bottle with other fixations. In Bush's case, these fixations appear to be religious.

When I met Bush, it was February 2000, early in the primaries, and Bush had just suffered a humiliating defeat in New Hampshire. But the setback seemed only to arouse the faithful at the campaign's next stop.

The fundraiser in rural Rehoboth Beach, Del., thrummed like a tent revival. It climaxed with Bush announcing that he wanted to be certain that people farthest away from the stage "would get the prize" — that is, meet him.

With that, a jacketless Bush bounded from the stage and bolted to the back of the hall, toward the people in the cheap seats — and me. Bush jogged down the center aisle and along the back wall, where people were standing and applauding. I was standing there, too, taking notes and wearing the bright orange pass that identified me as a member of the press.

I expected Bush to pass by, but instead he came to a dead stop right in front of me. I looked up from my notepad, surprised. He was about two feet away, staring and looking upset.

In real life, Bush's eyes are set close and deep. His nose, patrician from a distance, looks like a beak on closer inspection. He wears cologne so the overall effect is not unlike an angry chicken who smells good.

"Get out of the way," Bush said to me in a low growl.

Trouble was, like the people on either side of me, I wasn't in his way. I think the sight of a neutral observer passively taking notes was actually what upset him. The thinking of dry drunks is often marked by grandiosity and rigidity; they cannot tolerate ambiguity. So for Bush, my not applauding was the same as my opposing him; my simple presence constituted being "in his way."

I didn't move but a moment later, Bush covered his frown with his classic smirk and continued to the corner of the room to meet and greet the farthest of his followers. As a dry drunk, Bush is able to abstain from alcohol only because he's intoxicated by delusions that border on the messianic.

Our president is a drunk and dangerous man.