National Perspective — David Shribman — September 27, 2017

David Shribman

So endeth one of the great American lives.

It wasn’t the Ragged Dick up-from-poverty American life of a Horatio Alger bootblack; George H. W. Bush was born to privilege and profited from primogeniture. It wasn’t the Mr.-Smith-Goes-to-Washington American life of a James Stewart ingenue; he was the son of a senator (and then the father of a president). It wasn’t the rusticated eloquence of an Andrew Jackson of the Carolina Waxhaws or an Abraham Lincoln of the Indiana farmlands; the 41st president was the product of Phillips Academy, Andover and of the Cole Porter anthems of Yale College and yet he mangled the English language in a goofy, sometimes incomprehensible way. And it wasn’t a parade of triumphs celebrated by a nation that loves winner: He lost a brutal 1970 Senate race, a trying 1980 presidential-nomination campaign and an excruciating 1992 battle for re-election as president. He also witnessed his son, former Florida Gov. Jeb Bush, get defeated in the 2016 GOP primaries against Donald Trump.

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